Fearless by Brynley Bush

up in a futile attempt to fill the growing ache between my legs. I grip his hips, urging him toward me. I may as well try to move concrete.
    His cock pushes into me slightly. Apparently he wants to torture me because he stops, poised there at my entrance.
    â€œTell me, Emmaline,” he urges. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
    I am beyond need. I am desperate to feel him deep inside me—pushing, thrusting, releasing this unbearable tension in my body. Any reserve I have is gone. There is only me and him and this primal need.
    â€œI want you to fuck me,” I beg. “Hard!”
    With a low hiss, he impales me slowly, inch by delicious inch, until he’s buried in me and I’m stretched to the limit by his long and thick hardness. I whimper. I have never experienced anything like this before, and the feel of this powerful man inside me, filling me, possessing me, is exquisite. My hips lift toward him as if of their own volition, and with a groan he begins to move, driving in and out of my slick heat with slow powerful thrusts as I writhe beneath him.
    He slips a hand between us where our bodies are joined and finds my silken nub. He plays with it, rolling it lightly under his thumb. I moan and buck against him. He increases the pressure, rubbing faster and then slower, teasing me mercilessly.
    I feel like I’m about to explode from the onslaught of sensation—the feel of him thick and rock-hard inside me, the primeval, rhythmic pulse of his thrusts that are sending sizzling shocks of pleasure through me, his expert manipulation of my clitoris. I can’t take it anymore. Then he pinches my clit as he thrusts deep inside me and I scream, the orgasm ripping through me like a tornado.
    As my muscles contract around him, Beckett gathers me in his arms, pulling me tight against his hard chest as he explodes inside of me.

Chapter Five
    I’m dreaming. Someone is touching my face, tracing the bones of my cheek and the lines of my eyebrow, and I purr with pleasure at the sensation. I’m curled up next to a hard rock and I feel safe and warm. The rock moves and I want to protest, but I’m distracted by the soft caress along my inner thigh and belly, and instead I moan with pleasure. I’m shocked awake by a pinch on one of my nipples, followed by the other.
    â€œGood morning,” Beckett says huskily, leaning over to seal his mouth to mine. My mind is still groggy, but my body is fully awake and it responds instinctively to his touch. I kiss him back, parting my lips to let his tongue probe deeper and possess my mouth as completely as he possessed my body last night. This must be what my friends mean when they talk about chemistry and sexual attraction. Before Beckett, I’ve never had this primal response to a man before. I have never felt anything like the adrenaline rush I get from his slightest touch, or the all-consuming need I feel for him, the desperation for the feel of his hands and mouth on my body. He’s like a drug, and I want to be an addict.
    Sex has always been okay, even fun sometimes, but I didn’t particularly miss it after Tim and I split up. In some ways, I was relieved I didn’t have to perform anymore. But Beckett has aroused a hunger in me that I never dreamed existed.
    He deepens our kiss, his hand sliding down between my legs where I’m already wet and ready. With sleep still numbing my mind, my body responds without reserve. In one swift motion I climb on top of him, straddling his hips. I run my hands over his tanned chest, reveling in the feel of his smooth skin against my palms. He watches me, his eyes hooded with desire as my hands explore his body, roaming over his chest with a boldness I didn’t know I possessed. I grind my pelvis against his cock so that he can feel my damp heat.
    â€œYou’re wet for me,” he murmurs.
    â€œI know, right?” I say. I can’t explain it myself. He smiles and cups his