My breath caught as he lifted both my hands over my head and pinned me back against the rock, his body pressing in, locking me in place.
“You first.” His breath was heavy, eyes dark.
Keeping my wrists secured in one hand, he dragged the other slowly down my arm. Over my shoulder. Across my collarbone. His fingertips skimmed the curve of my breast, light enough to tease.
My chest arched toward him, chasing his touch, and his mouth curved into something devilish. His hand came back, full this time, cupping and squeezing until a low moan escaped me.
His hand left my breast on a pained protest that died the moment he reached the hem of my shirt. The second my wrists were free, he stripped it over my head, his gaze never leaving my face.
I wrapped my arms around his neck without thinking, holding him there.
“Look at you.” He watched his fingers trail over my skin. “All flushed.”
“It’s your fault.”
“Good. I like it.” The corner of his mouth lifted. “You’re fucking sexy.”
His hand slid down again, dragging the cup of my bra aside before he bent his head. The first brush of his mouth against my nipple sent a sharp pulse straight through me to my aching core.
My fingers fisted in his hair, but he didn’t rush.
He took his time, tongue circling, drawing out every reaction, his fingers working the other peak with slow, knowing pressure.
I writhed against him, caught between wanting more and wanting to make it last.
Slow and gentle gave way to something more demanding. His mouth grew more insistent. His grip firmer. The measured control turning rougher as I arched further into him.
“Eric. Oh God. I need… I need…” The words fell apart as his mouth moved up my neck, and whatever grip I had on myself unraveled fast.
“I’ve got you, beautiful girl. I know exactly what you need.”
Before I could catch my breath, he pressed in closer, grinding his hard body against mine, reminding me exactly what I’d started. His hand slid down, possessive and sure, slipping beneath the waistband of my leggings. Heat flared as he pushed past my thong, slicking his hand through my folds, and discovered exactly how worked up I was.
A pleased-sounding growl rumbled through his chest, and I whimpered as he circled my clit.
My hips lifted on instinct, but he didn’t let me rush him. He took his time, stroking, teasing, drawing out the ecstasy until I wasn’t sure I could handle any more.
By the time he finally pushed one finger, and then a second, inside of me, I was ready to combust.
My fingers dug into his shoulders as he set the pace, watching my face like he was studying every reaction.
The world narrowed to his hand. His mouth at my throat. The solid rock at my back.
“Fuck, that’s it, Jamie. Let me feel it.”
I barely registered the scrape of stone against my spine or how loud I’d gotten. Nothing existed outside the rhythm he controlled.
Embarrassment didn’t stand a chance.
I spread my legs wider, silently demanding more.
He answered by tightening his grip and driving me right to the edge, slow enough to make me beg, steady enough to prove he wasn’t losing control.
He had me. And he knew it.
“You like that, beautiful?”
“Yes,” I moaned.
