Her chest rises fast. Her pupils are blown wide. Her lips are slick.
“I don’t want careful,” she says.
I pull my shirt off in one motion. “Good.”
Her shirt’s gone next. Then her pants. Then her everything.
She’s all curves and attitude, scars and softness, and she looks at me like she dares me to say something sentimental.
I don’t.
I kneel over her. My hands skim her thighs, slow and reverent, and her breath hitches. I trace the edge of her hip, then lower, and she shudders.
When I kiss the inside of her knee, she makes a sound that nearly undoes me.
“You sure about this?” I ask, voice rough.
Her answer is to grab my wrist andpull.
I slide my hand between her thighs, find her wet and wanting, and my cock throbs hard enough it hurts.
“Fuck,” I murmur.
“Took you long enough.”
I tease her, slow and thorough. She gasps. Arches. Curses.
And then I fuck her with my fingers until she’s shaking, eyes wild, back bowed.
When she comes, it’s not polite. It’s not pretty.
It’shonest.
And I nearly follow her over the edge just from watching.
She pulls me up, breathless. “Clothes. Off. Now.”
“Yes ma’am.”
She watches me strip like she’s cataloging weak points. When I drop my pants, her eyes go wide.
“Stars,” she breathes. “Do you come with a warning label?”
“Wouldn’t help.”
When I push inside her, she grabs my arms so hard she’ll leave bruises.
I don’t care.
She feels like heat and heaven and hell all at once, and I have to brace a hand against the wall to keep from losing it.
She meets every thrust, nails in my back, breath in my mouth.
“Harder,” she demands.
“Greedy,” I growl.
She grins. “Youlikeit.”
