Page 25 of Hooked on Love

I press one last kiss to her trembling pussy and push to my feet.

She’s a vision. Hair destroyed, lips parted, chest heaving, eyes glazed and heavy. Undone and laid out across her bed like the most beautiful thing I’ve ever wrecked. She blinks up at me slowly, like she’s trying to remember how to work her eyes.

I reach for my belt buckle.

Her gaze drops. She pushes herself up onto her elbows, watching me with dark eyes as I unbuckle my belt, pop the button of my jeans. I’ve barely gotten the zipper down when she sits up fully, swings her legs over the edge of the mattress, and reaches for me.

Last night I stopped her. Took her hand and moved it away and watched something in her face shutter and close, and I’ve been hating myself for it for the last twenty-four hours.

Tonight, I let her.

Her fingers wrap around me and my head drops back, jaw tight, every muscle in my body locking down against the instinct to take over. She takes her time the same way I took mine. Learning me. I look down at her and the sight of her gazing back up at me while her hand moves over my hard length has heat building at the base of my spine.

“Peyton,” I groan.

She leans forward and takes me into her mouth. My hand goes to her hair, needing something to grip while she tears down every wall I have left. She moans around my throbbing length, taking me deeper. Her head bobs up and down, shuttling my cock over her tongue and down her throat. When she grips the base of me tightly… “Fuck, baby,” I moan.

She’s good, and she knows it, and the small sound of satisfaction she makes around me when my hips snap forward involuntarily nearly finishes me entirely.

I step back gently, her name a warning on my tongue.

She looks up at me, lips swollen, eyes dark, the ghost of a smile playing at the corner of her mouth. Satisfied with herself. And, damn, she should be.

“Get on the bed,” I manage, my chest heaving with need.

She smiles as she scoots backward across the mattress, and I follow. I crawl after her until she’s backed up against the pillows and I’m caging her in with my arms on either side of her head.

Her hands rest on my chest as I lower myself over her. Her hips shift up toward me, and I groan, pressing my forehead to hers, and take a slow breath as something inevitable settles in my chest.

“I don’t have anything,” I murmur, her hand circling my cock, stroking and guiding me toward her wet heat. I hiss as she drags the raw head of my cock through her bare, slick pussy. “Peyton,” I hiss.

“I don’t care,” she whispers, seductive like the goddamn siren she is.

Mine.

I push inside her slowly, watching her. Her lips part on a soft exhale and her eyes flutter. Her nails bite into my shoulders as I start to move.

She meets every thrust, her hips rising to mine with the rhythm that builds between us. Slow at first, letting her snug walls accommodate my girth. My mouth moves to her jaw, her throat, her shoulder. Her nails drag down my back enough to leave marks for days and I shudder.

“More,” she breathes.

I stroke deep, bottoming out before pulling back only to slam into her with force. Her head tips back against the pillow, throat bared, a broken moan escaping her as I pick up the pace. I hook an arm under her knee, driving deeper. She gasps, arching into me. I bury my face in her neck and let myself go.

Pounding into her with reckless abandon—taking, giving, marking.

My want turning to need.

She comes apart beneath me, her entire body tightening, pussy contracting in waves, my name on her lips, my face pressed to her hair. “That’s it, baby. Such a good fucking girl. Fuck.” I come—hard—following her over the edge buried deep with a broken moan of her name on my lips.

I hold us in the moment for a brief second, then fall to the bed with her in my arms. My cock still nestled between her thighs. We lie tangled in the dark. Her cheek against my chest, my arm around her shoulders, holding her close.

My hand moves in slow circles across her back. I press my lips to the top of her head. “You’re making it far too easy to fall for you, sweetheart,” I murmur into her hair.

She sighs, lifting her gaze to mine. A car passes outside, illuminating the room just long enough for me to see her and fall a little deeper into her world. “She would’ve liked you,” Peyton says softly.

I grin, slow and wide. “Yeah?”

“She had terrible taste in coffee,” she continues, “but excellent taste in people. She would’ve taken one look at you and said—” She drops her voice into a warm imitation. “—that one’s a keeper, baby girl.”