He turned her swiftly, and thrill roared through her as she lay with her cheek down and her arms flat against the still warm hood of his truck.
His hands slid over her back and he sighed with a surfeit of pleasure and satisfaction.
He guided himself into her with a single deep thrust.
He swore softly, a sound that tapered into a groan. She heard the roar of his breath. He palmed her bare cheeks and pulled himself back, then drove himself in again, slowly this time.
She whimpered and it trailed into very nearly a keen of pleasure, which seemed to spur him on. Fast now.
Her breath came in gusts, and half begged, half threatened him with tattered words and threats. “J. T.... I swear to God...so good...if you don’t hurry...”
She could hear the roar of his breath. And then he was plunging into her, swift and hard, pulling her back against him to take it as deeply as he could, their bodies colliding hard again and again. Her nails skidded along the hood of his truck, and she was already near exploding when his hand sneaked around front between her legs and stroked hard.
Her mouth opened on a ragged, near-silent scream of his name, and she writhed, her body bucking upward, racked again and again by an onslaught of bliss. She could have sworn she saw the whole Milky Way behind her eyes.
“Britt...sweet Jesus...” His voice was a raw scrape.“I’m going to...”
The missing word was eithercomeorexplode, but he gave a hybrid groan-battle cry instead and then went still like he’d been shot.
But she could feel his body shaking, too, and even replete, she knew a purely primal satisfaction, that she could have rendered this hot-as-Hades man limp as a rag.
She heaved an enormous sigh. Dear God, she was disheveled and bent over the hood of a truck in the woods. It was as trashily sexy as it got. It was practically porn.
She was too pleased with herself to think too hard about this.
For a moment they were apparently both trying to remember how to breathe normally.
He gave a short, dazed laugh. “You alive?”
“Give me a minute, and then I’ll tell you,” she murmured.
He slipped back away from her, his hands sliding along the length of her back, claiming her, a sort of possession.
She peeled herself away from the truck and dragged her shorts up, buttoning them swiftly.
He watched. His eyes were still dazed and dark. She wanted to lick that little bead of sweat that was traveling from his clavicle down the seam that divided those gorgeous sections of muscle on his torso.
So she moved up against him and did just that.
And his hand came up to cup her head. He stroked her hair, threading his fingers through it. She turned her face up to him, and he kissed her. Gently. Her mouth felt a little bruised, which she didn’t mind. It felt amazing in a cathartic way. She suspected he felt that way, too. They’d gone at each other ferociously.
“Icando it when I’m lying down, too,” he murmured against her mouth, “and at a leisurely pace.”
She laughed. “Your thighs are probably sore, J. T., but I think you need to hold me up for a moment. I am replete.”
He obliged and wrapped his arms around her tightly. “Mythighsare probably sore? You think I’m that out of shape?”
“Not really. I just don’t think any gym has a thigh workout quite like that.”
“If it did, no membership would lapse ever again.”
She laughed. He kissed the damp little hollow beneath her ear. She could feel his heart thumping against her cheek.
And then he loosened his arms and retied her halter top as if he were buckling her in for safety.
She pulled away from him and then turned around again and leaned back against the lovely hot, damp wall of his chest, blankly, blissfully replete. He smelled amazing—sweaty and musky and male, with a hint of soap. The air was cooling and releasing the whole bouquet of mountain smells.
“I think we could bottle how tonight smells, and call it Sex on a Truck,” she said dreamily.
