Page 28 of Worth the Wait

But damn if it isn’t all-consuming.

Lightning flashes and thunder roars. Enough to shock us apart and snap me from the spell I never agreed to fall under.

Our eyes meet across the darkened room and I see the desperation in his gaze. It looks the way I feel.

“Fuck me, Reznor.”

That chuckle again. The one that feels like it rumbles through me deeper than the thunder does as he loosens the grip on my wrists and slides his hands between my thighs.

I sigh. I step farther apart. I dig my nails into his shoulders as he cups me and runs his finger up and down the length of my slit on the outside of my shorts.

“I never thought you’d ask,” he says, moments before his lips crash back against mine and his fingertip slides beneath the hem of my shorts and finds me wet and wanting and oh-so aroused.

The next few moments feel like the lightning flashing around us. Unpredictable. Energetic. Explosive.

Clothes are removed in the short seconds that our bodies separate before they crash back together again. Stumbling steps are taken down a darkened hallway. His mouth is on mine. His hands are running over me. His body is against mine.

And this is how we fall onto his bed—in a torrent of unsated desire where we can’t get enough. A rush of words falls from our mouths.

Please. Hurry. Yes. You ready? Oh, God.

Then there is nothing but pleasure as Reznor licks his fingers and rubs them up and down the length of me before using the crest of his dick to do the same. And then with eyes focused between my thighs and his tongue just barely between his lips in concentration, he pushes that glorious cock into me.

All words turn to groans.

All muscles tense and liquify as the pleasure of him sliding across my G-spot hits me.

“Reznor.” It’s a moan. A plea. A thank you.

“God, that feels good.”

I nod—at least I think I do—because I’m too busy absorbing the pleasure assaulting me as he pulls out before taking his time to push back into me.

My hands grip the sheets as he palms my breasts when he starts to move with a bit more force. Driving in, grinding against my pelvis, ever-so-slowly pulling out before starting the frenzied process all over again.

The pace picks up. Our own panting and the sound of our bodies connecting with each thrust battling for an audience over the thunder.

Right there.

“Feel good?”

Oh yes.

“Jesus, woman.”

He looks incredible as the muscles in his neck strain and his fingers dig into the sides of my hips as he tips my center to meet him with every thrust. A damn Adonis giving me exactly what I need.

And then it hits me.

The Molotov cocktail.

Its impact turning into an out-of-control wildfire.

It eats the oxygen in the room. It pushes and pulls at every part of me until the flames consume me in an explosion of pleasure.

The orgasm washes over me. In a tsunami of sensations. Followed by waves. Then ripples. With his hips stilled, he stares at me and watches me absorb the ecstasy.

Every part of me wants to look away, but hell if those eyes on me only heighten the intensity. It makes me want to show him how good he made me feel.