My favorite.
I kiss my way down her throat while I work the dress up over her thighs, then lift it over her head and toss it onto the grass beside the blanket. Her skin is warm from the sun, soft as sin under my hands, familiar enough to feel like home and still capable of wrecking me inside ten seconds.
“Roll over for me,” I murmur.
Her breath catches.
Then she does it.
Slow.
Graceful.
Up on her knees on the blanket with a look over her shoulder that damn near finishes me on the spot.
Jesus.
I grip her hip hard.
“Pretty girl.”
Her back arches at that. Bare skin. The round sweet curves of her ass. The slick heat I’ve spent three years worshipping with my mouth, my hands, and every filthy thought in my head.
I drag a hand down her spine, spread her open with my fingers, and just look at her for one hard second.
Wet already.
Glossy and swollen and ready.
For me.
Always for me.
She glances back over her shoulder, breath shaky. “If we actually make a baby out here, I’m blaming you for the story.”
A laugh punches out of me.
“That what you’re worried about?”
“I’m trying to be practical.”
“You’re naked on a blanket in our yard.”
“That doesn’t mean I can’t also be practical.”
I line myself up and push in slow, because no matter how many times I’ve had her, that first stretch still gets me. Hot. Tight. Velvet around me in a way that makes my jaw lock every damn time.
She moans and pushes back against me, and any good intention I had about taking it easy goes straight to hell.
I bury my cock deeper.
“Weston.”
There it is.
That sound.
I brace one hand beside her on the blanket and use the other to hold her hip while I start moving.
