Krista’s breath hitched as his hand slipped beneath her shirt, fingers trailing up her back. He sat up slightly, his mouth finding the skin just beneath her ribs.
“Can I?” he asked, voice husky.
She nodded, arms lifting, and he pulled her shirt over her head in one smooth motion. Flushed skin, rising chest, the soft curve of her in the moonlight.
“Jesus, Krista,” he whispered.
He kissed her collarbone, then his mouth moved over the swell of her breasts. She arched into him, a soft gasp escaping her lips. He took his time, his tongue flicking, lips teasing until her breath turned ragged and her thighs trembled.
Only then did his hand drift down again, skimming her stomach, sliding her panties down as she exhaled sharply.
And when his fingers found her—slick and wanting—Krista gasped, her hand clenching in his shirt. His thumb circled, gentle at first. She rocked against him, whispering his name like a secret.
“Slow down. Let me take care of you,” he murmured.
He slid down, mouth replacing fingers, kissing her thighs, licking into her and learning her with every moan and shift ofher hips. She was already shaking when he crawled back up and kissed her again, her taste still on his lips.
Then she reached for him, pulling his shirt over his head, her hands roaming the expanse of his chest, the hard line of his stomach. She unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down, freeing him.
He let out a low groan and dropped his head back onto the blanket.
She pressed a kiss to his sternum, then another lower. Joe let her ease him back fully onto the blanket, helpless to do anything but follow her lead.
When she straddled him, her thighs bracketing his hips, his hands flew to her waist.
And then—slowly, deliberately—she sank onto him.
They gasped together, the sound low and broken between them. Joe’s hands tightened, holding her steady as she took him in inch by inch. The heat of her, the way her body stretched around him, stole whatever breath he had left.
She was looking down at him, eyes fluttering closed as her hips settled, as her body adjusted.
“Krista…” he breathed again, voice ragged.
Her lips parted, a quiet moan escaping as she braced her hands on his chest, fingertips digging in.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. The way the moonlight kissed her collarbone. The rise and fall of her breath. The way she moved—confident, sensual, completely unguarded.
He’d give her everything. Every bit of patience, every ounce of restraint, if only to see her fall apart on top of him.
She rode him with slow, sensual purpose, like she was writing her name in his body. Her hands slid to his shoulders, her breath catching, her movements building. When she came, it was with a soft, broken cry, her body trembling around him, her muscles tightening as her head dropped to his shoulder.
Joe held her, one hand stroking her back, heart pounding as he tried to memorize the sound she’d made.
Before he could gather himself enough to take the lead again, Krista shifted—sliding off him, pressing a lingering kiss to his mouth.
And then she moved down.
“I want to finish you,” she whispered, voice low and thick with heat. “Let me.”
She took him into her mouth, slow and sure, and Joe’s head fell back with a groan. One hand tangled in her hair, the other fisted in the blanket beneath him. She licked and sucked and teased with that same confidence, deliberate and devastating. She knew exactly how to unravel him.
She worked him with her mouth until he was panting, his eyes closed, hips jerking helplessly beneath her. He tried to warn her—tried—but she just squeezed his thigh and took him deeper.
He came hard, with a shout that echoed off the lake, fireworks bursting behind his eyelids, every nerve in his body lit up like the Fourth of July.
For a long time, he didn’t move.
Krista slid back up and tucked herself into his side like it was the most natural thing in the world.
