Page 75 of Until You

Quiet.

Oh my God.

Shh.

Harder.

Faster.

Fuck me, Crew.

Hold on, Tenny.

I can’t wait.

Come for me.

It’s my riotous mewl that fills the room. It’s his hand that covers my mouth to muffle the sound as he pounds into me, the table shaking beneath us as Crew’s climax slams into him seconds after mine does me.

And it’s then—when we’re both riding the peak of pleasure, trying to stay quiet but turned on even more by the thought of being caught—that the table leg breaks beneath me.

Our yelps fill the empty room when in an instant the table slants and we both go tumbling into each other.

And then it’s laughter. Pure, unfiltered laughter edged by the high of our orgasms, as Crew lies on top of me as I slide down and off the table, legs in the air, arms flailing.

We land in a thump on the ground, half undressed, cheeks flushed, bodies still climaxing, breaths panting, and laughter still slipping from our mouths.

Crew presses a kiss to my lips. A delve of the tongue. A nip of my bottom lip. “Promise me you’ll wear those panties again later.”

“I’ll wear anything you want so long as you make me come like that again.”

“Quickies are overrated,” he murmurs and presses another kiss to my lips before standing and pulling me up off the floor.

“Definitely overrated.”

“Tenny?” The call of my name and the sound of the door shoving open has the two of us shrieking quietly. He quickly shoves his cock back into his jeans, while I try to straighten my skirt and put my breast back into my bra that somehow Crew had pulled out in our crazed frenzy.

“Back here,” I call out as the two of us fall into another fit of giggles.

“I was just helping her find those banners,” Crew calls out as the clickety-clack of Bobbi Jo’s shoes draws closer.

“Look at you,” she says when she meets the end of our aisle. “Always so helpful.”

We fight the urge to laugh again, but damn is it hard with the taste of his kiss still on my tongue, the ache he caused still present between my thighs, and the knowing smirk on his lips.

Quickies are definitely overrated.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Tennyson

This chapter is a mess. Grammar-wise, it seems like my author was drunk when she wrote it. And plot-wise, there are holes so big you could drive a truck through.

I lean back in my chair and stare at the screen until the words blur and the muted sounds of the girls filming a video is all I hear.

“Knock. Knock.”

“Hey.” I swivel around in my chair to find Crew standing in the doorway. His hands are shoved in his jean pockets, his feet are bare, and his shoulder is resting against the doorjamb.