Okay. Later.
I notch the head of my cock at her core. A quick thrust and I’ll be home.
She grabs me again and guides me exactly where she wants me. Without breaking the kiss, I push inside her inch by inch, giving her time to adjust.
“You feel so fucking good, Yank,” I grind out.
She throbs around me, milking my cock for pleasure in a way that tells me she’s chasing something more, something harder than just sex.
I link my fingers through hers and tug her arms above her head before I start moving again.
A quick angle buries me. I pull back, intent on keeping control—only to ruin myself when she cries out.
“Yes. Yes.”
I drag my length through her soaked folds, teasing until her breath saws out.
“You like this? You want?—”
She shushes me with another kiss, then wraps her legs around my waist and locks at the ankles. “No talking.”
I go still, latching onto it. The boundary. The crack in her control.
Then she lifts her hips and grinds against me, and the last of my restraint snaps clean in half.
“Shiloh, please.”
I surge into her so fast and hard she scoots back several inches and her breath leaves her in a gasp.
My name. She’s here, in this moment. With me. There’s no shadow of what happened earlier, and it’s all I can do not to bust right now.
Moving so I’m holding her wrists with one hand, I reach between us and press my thumb to her throbbing clit.
The bud is already swollen. She jerks and whimpers when I find the right spot, and I increase the friction along with the speed of my thrusts.
She feels better than I imagined—hot and tight, dripping for me.
I slam into her until her nails bite into my skin and her keening threatens to wake her neighbors.
Good.
I fuck her hard, to the point of pain without losing myself to the frenzy. The slap of skin, the pound of my body into hers, becomes a roar in my ears.
Her orgasm splinters through her. She squeezes me tight, her cunt gripping my cock, keeping me where she needs me while she rides it out.
I’m not far behind.
I bury myself deep and chase my own release, hips jerking. When it hits, I go still and spill into the condom, cursing once through clenched teeth.
Sweat sticks us together.
After, Reva is quiet. Too quiet.
She stares at the ceiling with her eyes half open like she’s listening for a presence that isn’t here.
I gather her against my side as far as she’ll let me. The inches between us are too cavernous for me and not wide enough for her. She rests on her side with a hand to my chest to hold me just a few inches distant, face angled up las though the boob light on the ceiling might answer her questions.
Throat dry, I ask softly, “Who are you runnin’ from, Reva?”
