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“More than.” I swallow hard. “Don’t stop.”
The corner of his mouth jerks up. His hand wraps around his length and pumps it once, his jaw flexing. He’s so pretty, and I’m done for. After this, I’m going to be skipping around the house like he’s my first crush. My mind drifts and is sharply jerked back by his rolling on the condom and moving over me. I flick my gaze to the side. God, he’s got nice hands—long fingers, square tips, veins standing out across the backs. I turn my head up, and he kisses me, lips apart, tasting like my pussy.
His cock slides in.
Fuck, I’m wet.
He pushes in the head and then pauses, lips brushing mine.
“You feel fucking perfect,” he murmurs as he slides all the way in. The taste of my own pleasure off Coen Taylor’s mouth is exhilarating.
We both gasp as he sheathes himself. He smiles, flexing inside me. He’s getting a little cocky. I wonder if he was just shy before, maybe afraid of coming on too strong. This new side of him makes me understand how he could be a star, up on a stage, bright lights burning his skin, probably making sweat trickle down his abs.
Creak.
Slam.
We both go completely still. My mouth goes dry, and I grip his upper arms.
“Who is that?” he mouths.
“I don’t know,” I whisper. “They can’t be back already.”
“Can’t? You sure?”
Honestly, I’m not. We’re both quiet, holding our breath. He’s still rock hard inside me, which is flattering. Downstairs, the door opens again, and several pairs of boots tread loudly across the floor, followed by a barrage of loud voices.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “It’s the AG club meeting.”
His brows rise. “The what?”
“It’s all these eighty-year-old men who meet here every month,” I whisper. “Dad is probably with them. I forgot it’s always the first Tuesday.”
He smiles.
“Okay, you go out first and go down the front stairs. I’ll stay up here for a while.”
He doesn’t answer. Then, eyes locked with mine, he pulls out halfway and thrusts all the way in. The adrenaline makes everything so sensitive. My fingers seize, and my nails drag down his arms. He moans, so quietly, I only see his lips move and his eyes roll back. A rush shoots up my spine, and my body aches in the sweetest way.
Downstairs, they’re still clomping and chattering.
Upstairs, I don’t care.
He’s good at being quiet. Faintly, I wonder if he’s so discreet because he’s used to fucking on tour buses. I hope not, but that’s also not my business. My thighs shake. He braces one knee on the bed and pulls out in a controlled movement, so slow, I feel every vein. Then, he pushes in and shifts, grinding so his groin hits my clit.
“Oh, God,” I gasp.
“Shh,” he murmurs. “You need me to cover your mouth?”
Need? Maybe. Want? Absolutely.
He thrusts. I gasp, adding a yelp. He cocks his head, and the hard palm of his hand slides over my mouth. The next thrust is far more punishing. My eyes roll back to the fluttering curtain and fading pattern on the wallpaper. Warm pleasure pools between my thighs. I wonder if he’s going to make magic happen and push me over the edge with just his cock. There’s a pressure deep inside. It gets stronger, like I might explode, not come. I whimper against the palm of his hand. He slides his other free hand beneath my body and lifts my lower back. The pressure is explosive. A tear slides from the corner of my eye and runs into my hair.
Oh no. I’m going to get attached to this one.
He’s thrusting short and fast now, the tip of his cock hitting the front wall of my pussy. The pressure mounts so fast and hard, I bite my mouth hard to keep quiet.
They’re laughing downstairs. They probably wouldn’t hear it if I screamed.
