Page 127 of Lucky Shot

I reach out, take his hand, and lead him down the hallway to my bedroom. He’s worried he’s going to hurt me. I can see it in his eyes and hear it in his words—and so I know I’ll have to take the lead.

“Whitney,” he murmurs, his lips pressing kisses on my shoulder as we stop at the foot of the bed, his front to my back.

I can feel every long, powerful inch of his body behind me, against me, and it makes me feel so small, so feminine against him. I tilt my head to the side to give him access to lace open-mouthed kisses to my neck, and he does with such adeptness that my entire body hums with a need it seems only he can create within me and sate.

“Show me what you need,” he murmurs against my skin as his fingers find their way between my thighs and part me.

I lift a leg up on the bed to grant him better access and mewl at the sensation of him tucking inside of me.

“Christ,” he says as his cock jerks against my lower back, only serving to heighten my need for him. “So fucking tight. So goddamn wet. So bloody perfect.”

“Hardy.” My breath is labored as I drop my head back on his shoulder and let myself feel.

“This is all I’ve thought about, Whitney. Being inside you again. You taking all of me until you can’t take anymore. You gagging on my cock. You dripping all over my balls.” He bites gently on my shoulder, and it causes me to buck my hips farther into his hand. And when I do that, he hits every single sensation within me.

His hand begins to move quicker. The slick sounds of his movements are loud, paired with my panted breaths. I reach back and dig my fingers into the sides of his thighs. It’s the only place I can think to touch, to grip, to hold on to because the minute I come, my legs are going to give out, and my body will sag.

“Get on the bed,” he orders, clearly with different plans for how this is going to go. “Lie on your back and let me taste you. It’s all I’ve thought about. All I want.”

And no sooner are the words out does he dip his head down and lick his way into me. With his hands braced on my thighs to keep them spread and his nose hitting my clit as his tongue works me over, I slowly unravel. Loop by loop. Lick by lick. I see him between my thighs—his dark hair and gray eyes looking up at me—and I give myself over to the sensations.

To the friction and the wetness and the pressure and Alexander Hardy.

I scream when I come. It’s a resounding explosion of heat and pleasure, a coil that snaps so its reverberation is a constant push out to my fingers and toes before snapping back and hitting my core.

“That’s it, baby. Come for me.” The heat of his breath hits my pussy. “Let me taste you. Let me lick it all up. Let me have you completely.”

His words only make what I’m feeling more intense, more damaging to any chance I might keep my heart in check.

“I need to feel you like this,” he says as he lines his cock up at my center, pulls a nipple in his mouth at the same time, and pushes his way slowly into me.

His groan is feral and erotic and enough to make my orgasm continue.

“Hardy.” I reach down for his cock, to wrap my fingers around what he can’t fit inside but realize engaging my abs after the surgery isn’t exactly going to happen.

“No,” he murmurs as he laces his fingers through my hand and begins to slowly move in and out of me.

It’s a slow dance we begin. A slow climb for him as my body begins to descend. There is still that animalistic need between us, but every part of Hardy screams control because he’s afraid of hurting me.

“Just like that,” he coos and then begins a constant stream of comments as he manipulates each and every nerve within me.

“You feel incredible.”

“My God, you make me want like I’ve never wanted before.”

“Your pussy is . . . fuck, that feels good.”

He slowly picks up the pace, but with a gentleness that shows even in his most carnal of moments, he’s thinking of me.

“God.” He leans over and buries his face in my neck as his hips continue to move. “Yes. Right there.” His mouth laces open-mouthed kisses, and his groan sounds in my ear. “I’m coming. Fuck, I’m coming.”

His body pulls tight, then his hips begin jerking as he climaxes himself, before gently collapsing on top of me.

His heart beats against mine. I revel in the weight of him on top of me. It’s the weirdest, most satisfying feeling that has me running my fingers up and down the line of his back, memorizing every single thing about it. His stubble tickles the skin under my jaw, and the scent of his shampoo fills my nose. His labored breath and the feel of him softening inside me. His sweat misted skin, and the pads of his fingers as they rub back and forth on my skin.

“You okay?” he murmurs and presses another kiss to my shoulder.

“Yes. Fine. Wonderful, really.” I giggle, and the sound is so unlike me, but really, isn’t that the perfect explanation of Hardy? He brings things out of me that aren’t normal but that make me feel . . . better? Lighter? More carefree? Alive?