Page 73 of The Hometown Heartbreaker

I braced myself on the marble countertop, grasping at the edge until my knuckles went bloodless. He added another finger, and I clenched around him, the pressure so much, too much, and then suddenly exactly right. He flicked his tongue against my clit, fast and merciless, and I lost my grip, both on the counter and on reality. My orgasm ripped through me, a body-wrecking burst that left me shaking, mouth open, no sound coming out but raw, primal gasps. I came so hard I almost blacked out, and he didn’t stop, didn’t slow, just coaxed every last aftershock from me with his mouth and hands until tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.

When I could breathe again, I looked down and saw Dawson staring up at me, his chin slick, his eyes gone dark with satisfaction. He pressed one last linger of his tongue to my oversensitive skin, then rose to his full height, looming over me with his cock still hard and glistening in his fist.

He kissed me once, deep and slow, so that I could taste myself on his tongue. The intimacy of it, the lack of shame, made my heart slam against my ribs. His other hand was still between my legs, two fingers hooked inside me, and he moved them with slow, obscene precision. I whimpered into the kiss, restless and desperate for more of him, grabbing at his hips, wanting to feel him inside me, wanting to be filled, wrecked, unmade.

28

STAY IS A FOUR LETTER WORD

Dawson

The first time I had sex in a kitchen was on the counter, and I was sixteen. The second time, I was thirty, with the same woman on the counter who I’d spent twelve years pretending to forget.

Funny how life worked.

Sadie’s pulse hammered beneath my lips, wild and unsteady, as I kissed the hollow of her throat, and the vibration of her moan traveled along my tongue straight to the base of my spine. I almost lost whatever self-control I had left.

When I rasped against her ear, “You want me to take you to bed or fuck you right here?” my voice came out ragged, animal.

Her breath caught and for a second, her body tensed in my arms, like she needed the question to settle into her bones. Then she melted, eyelids fluttering, and she whispered, “Here. Fuck me here.”

I don’t know what snapped inside me at those words, but it was like a match to gasoline. My hands were shaking, actually shaking, and I tried to slow down, to savor every second with her, but she was already moving—hips canting forward, hands gripping the countertop behind her, open and hungry. I watched her watch me, pupils blown wide. My cock was so hard it ached, painfully, and I didn’t have the patience for finesse. I shoved my pants and boxers down, kicking them across the floor, not caring where they landed. The second my dick sprang free, her eyes went wide, and she licked her lips like she was dying to taste me.

As much as I’d love to have her mouth on me, I knew it would be over if that happened. I stepped close, so close her thighs brushed the hair on my legs and lined myself up at her sex. My hands bracketed her hips, holding her steady as I ran my blunt head up and down her slick heat, teasing her, drinking in the way she shuddered and whimpered. I let myself linger at her entrance, savoring the impossible velvet of her folds, then slid in, slow at first, letting her stretch around me, letting her feel every inch.

She was hot and wet, and so fucking tight it almost knocked me off my feet. Her nails dug into my shoulders, nearly drawing blood, but I wanted the pain, wanted any reminder that this was real and happening and not some fever dream I’d torture myself with later. I thrust into her, slow at first, then faster. The slap of skin against skin echoed in the house, each sound ratcheting my need higher.

But it wasn’t enough. I needed more of her: the sound of her breath, the taste of her arousal, the way she clenched around me every time I shifted my angle. I bent and took her left breast in my mouth, tongue circling slowly before I pulled her nipple between my teeth. As I sucked, her whole body arched, pushing her flesh into my mouth, and her hand tangled in my hair, holding me in place. Her tits were perfect, round and soft and just the right size for my hand. I wanted to worship them, to lavish her with my tongue until she was shaking.

She moaned, a high, keening sound, and the noise went straight to my groin. I could feel her walls starting to flutter, but she wasn’t all the way there yet. I wanted her to come, needed her to come, needed to see her lose control because of me. I let go of her tit with my mouth and kissed my way up her jaw, along her cheek, until I was at her ear.

She gasped, the sound rough and desperate, and I grinned against her skin, remembering how sensitive she was there, how just a little pressure would make her soak my fingers or shaft. I thumbed her nipple, rolling it hard, and her whole body arched off the counter. Her hips jerked up, trying to force me deeper, but I held her steady, savoring the way her inner walls clenched down on me. She was slick, fluttering hot around me, but I could tell she was holding back, waiting for that last push over the edge.

Instinctively, I knew exactly what she needed. Without warning, I slid free, making her whimper in protest, and eased her off the countertop. She clung to my shoulders like she thought I might disappear, but I gripped her waist and spun her around so her hips pressed into the stone, her skirt bunched around her waist. I shoved the fabric down and off, leaving her bare to the cold kitchen air, then bent her forward and pulled her ass back to meet me. I took a moment to stare—she had the kind of ass that was so juicy it made my mouth water, and I couldn’t resist smacking it, just once, just hard enough to leave my print.

“Oh fuck, Dawson,” she gasped, voice thready, and when I lined myself up again I didn’t bother to go slow.

My grip tightened on her hips, guiding her ass back against me with the kind of greedy, possessive force I’d been dreaming about for years. She braced herself on the counter, fingers gripping the edges as her back arched, offering herself up like a prayer, her body trembling with anticipation. With one hand, I steered my plump tip to her entrance, teasing just the slick tip up and down her folds, feeling her pulse. She whimpered, a desperate little plea, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I drove myself inside in one long, hungry push, dragging a cry from her lips that echoed in the space.

I started slow, deep, even, savoring every inch as her body stretched to accommodate me again, as if she’d been waiting all this time for me to fill her. But it wasn’t enough. I needed more. I needed to rebrand every memory she had of us with the way I felt now: older, harder, desperate to prove no one else would ever make her feel like this.

My pace quickened, I locked my hands around her hips and pounded into her, hips slapping hard against the soft curve of her ass, the sound loud and shameless. Every thrust sent a shockwave through my spine, building a pressure so savage it was almost unbearable. It was like every second we’d spent apart condensed into a single, seismic need—primal, unstoppable.

I leaned in and buried my face in her neck, breathing in the smell of her sweat and shampoo. “I missed you,” I growled, and bit the delicate shell, just hard enough to make her whimper. I continued telling her how good she felt and all the things I’d fantasized doing to her during our time apart.

She shuddered, and I could feel her tighten around me, her body responding to every filthy thing I whispered. I remembered every spot that made her crazy, every spot she’d ever begged me to touch, every place I’d once mapped with my mouth. I made it my mission to find them all again.

I caught a handful of her hair, winding it gently around my fist, and pulled her head back so I could see her face over her shoulder. She was flushed and wild-eyed, her lips red and wet, her expression a mess of agony and bliss. I felt a savage kind of pride at the sight. Her ass was as perfect as ever—high, round, just begging for trouble. I brought my palm down on it with a sharp smack again, coloring her skin with my handprint. She moaned, rocking back to meet every single thrust, greedy for the contact.

“You want it harder?” I rasped, my voice raw.

She nodded, her lips falling open. “Yes. Yes. Fuck, harder.”

I obliged, grabbing both her hips with bruising force and slamming into her, relentless, until the world was reduced to the sound of our bodies colliding and the ragged breaths tearing from our lungs.

As I fucked her, my free hand roamed her body. I cupped her tits, kneading them, pinching her nipples until she whimpered and begged, then let my hand slide down her stomach and between her legs. Her clit was swollen, slick, so sensitive that the first press of my thumb made her shudder and gasp my name. I circled it, slow at first, then faster, matching the rhythm of my hips. She was close, I could feel it, her pussy clenched tighter and tighter, her breaths coming in frantic, high-pitched whines.

My own release was building, primal and unstoppable, pleasure coiling tight in my balls. I wanted to hold on—to drag this out, to burn the memory of it into my brain forever—but the way she moved, the way she sounded, the way she felt, it was overpowering. I’d never wanted anyone like this. I’d never needed anyone to the point of pain.