Page 82 of Hard Pass

The contemplation is fleeting though because thoughts evaporate the minute my hand closes around his rock-hard cock.

“Dublin.” My name is a groaned warning. A confession. A need.

The sound sends shivers through me that has nothing to do with the rain and everything to do with anticipation. If his lips, if his groan, can do this to my body—sate an ache that burns this bright—then I can only imagine what the rest of him will do to me.

“I need this. Need you.” The words are murmured against that sensitive spot just beneath my ear that sets me on fire. Words that have no place in this first time together but that somehow do.

But the thought vanishes as his thumb and finger lightly pinch my nipple and mainline sensation straight to my core.

“Cole.” Breathless. “Please.” Even more so.

We stumble forward together, half-walking, half-falling, as we bump into walls, into a high table in the foyer, into anything that gets in the way of where we’re going.

Neither of us cares.

A laugh almost escapes but it’s swallowed by another kiss. And we’re halfway up the stairs before he pushes me to sit on one, his hand at the back of my neck, as he slows the moment down to steal another deep, seductive kiss from me.

I feel like everything slows so I can feel it—the kiss to end all kisses. The soft carpet against my back. The drips of water falling off his hair onto my chest. The warmth of his tongue. The demand in his fingertips as he spreads my thighs and draws lazy circles on the outside of my leggings—enough to make me gasp into his mouth and enough to tease me with what’s to come.

The moment—the kiss, the tease—doesn’t last. Not when this moment is built on urgency. On need. On something neither of us is pretending to control anymore.

We move again. Up the stairs. Down the hall. The world narrowing to just this—the way our bodies keep finding each other like they were always meant to be.

The bedroom door hits the wall as we push it open without breaking contact. Clothes come off in an awkward dance made more difficult by the wet fabric.

Shoes kicked. Clothes stripped, making a slopping sound when they hit the floor. Underwear. Bra.

And then it’s just him, just me, and nothing left.

There’s a brief moment where our eyes roam. His breath hitches as his gaze scrapes over my body.

“Jesus, Dublin,” he murmurs while my fingers itch to touch and taste and enjoy every long, hard inch of him.

My back hits the bed seconds later, Cole collapsing on top of me, one arm propping him up as his other cups my breast.

My hands roam, desperate to touch every scar, every muscle, every shiver that ripples in response.

His fingers slide down my torso leaving fire in their wake, and as they move between my thighs, he finds evidence of what he does to me.

“You’re fucking soaked,” he groans, his lips against mine.

And for a brief moment, his words hit both of us—the double entendre—as my hair soaks the pillow beneath me and we laugh.

But that laugh is smothered within seconds when he coats his fingers in my arousal and then slides them back up to add friction to my clit. My knees fall apart even farther giving him complete access because it feels so damn good. The pace. The pressure. The way I can feel his eyes on me watching to make sure I’m enjoying his tempo.

His lips meet mine again. A slow lick of his tongue against mine. A nip of my bottom lip as my breath becomes harsher and my head begins to dizzy from the pleasure.

My hands fumble down his chest, over his hip, and circle around his cock the same moment he pushes two fingers into me.

My moan becomes a mewl as his groan vibrates through the room.

I forget that his cock is in my hand as he begins to work his fingers in and out of me, hitting that sweet spot that has me bowing my back and bucking my hips.

Without thought or fear of embarrassment, I slide my free hand down my abdomen to my clit and add friction there while he’s working me out.

“Christ, that’s sexy,” he says, breaking from our kiss to watch both our hands work in unison to drive me higher and higher.

His cock pulses in my hand and I’m so turned by the whole thing—the way his teeth dig into his bottom lip, how I want to lick the rivulet of rain sliding from his hair down the side of his neck, how fucking hard he is for me, the tendons taut as he coaxes the orgasm from me . . .