hungry wind.
He yanked her knees further apart—there was no time for persuasion, no capacity for civility—and buried his face. He’d tasted her before, but this was better. This felt like coming home.
Reveling in her moans and coos, he explored her, licking her outer lips slowly, nudging the swollen nub at the crux of her sex, circling it, and lapping it, teasing.
“Wade!” A command. She fisted his hair, scored his scalp with her nails in her determination to control his seduction.
He didn’t allow it.
He worked her mercilessly, toying with her clit, nudging at her opening with two fingers, until she was a wild woman, thrashing and snarling and begging. And then he drew her between his lips. She stilled and stared down at him. Trembling.
He sucked.
And at that exact moment, he thrust his fingers inside. Filling her.
She came with a violence that stunned him, her body clenching around him with an intensity that made the little hairs at his nape stand on end.
Holy God. He nearly came himself.
But he didn’t.
Because he wanted to come inside her. Lose himself in the insanity of that wicked grip.
He couldn’t wait. It had been too long. And he wanted her too much. Ached too deeply.
Later, he couldn’t recall ripping off his pants and kicking them away. But he did remember, he would always remember, the first kiss of her cunt. He fisted his cock and set the tip against her opening.
Hell. Hell. Hell .
He gritted his teeth and bit his tongue as a reminder to take it slow.
She was tiny. He was huge.
Or at least, he looked huge, poised there, ready to sink into heaven.
“Wade.” She wiggled impatiently. The slick, tight muscles of her channel sipped at his sensitive glans. A red tide descended over his sanity as need possessed him.
“God. Lyssa,” he groaned. And he lunged in.
Forgotten was his vow to be careful. Forgotten was his concern at her fragility.
All he knew, all he felt, all he was—pleasure. Bone-deep, soul satisfying, heart-mending pleasure.
She was tight, slick, and warm. She quivered around him and hummed like a bow string drawn tight. It was exquisite. It was divine.
It was torture.
He clenched his balls to keep from releasing with the first stroke. He wanted this to last. He wanted this to last forever.
Slowly he withdrew, gazing into her eyes.
Her lips parted. A breath escaped.
“Are you okay?” he asked, grunted, hissed. It was all he could do to form the words.
His universe was shrinking, imploding, and becoming nothing more than this moment, on this sofa with this woman. In this woman. He wanted, needed, nothing more.
“Yes. Oh yes. Please.” She tried to stop his retreat, clenching around him, closing in as though she could not bear to lose the delicious contact.
But he wasn’t going anywhere.
Before he fell free, he reversed direction and sank into her again. Slowly. Carefully. It nearly killed him.
“Yes!” she huffed, sinking her nails into the fleshy globes of his ass.
She probably was not aware how tightly she was gripping his ass. He didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything. Not his scars, not the past, not the future. Buried deep within her, he dipped his head and suckled her breasts again. Excruciating ripples massaged his cock. He loved her reaction, so he did it again.
He could have done that all day, enjoying the fiendish pleasure, but a stronger urge rode him.
The irresistible urge to fuck. To fuck her.
Hard and hot and fast.
Slowly he eased out again, shivering at her resistance. And then he plunged deep. And again. And again. Picking up the pace, going faster, wilder, and deeper with each manic thrust. Her body tightened, quivered, peaked. He knew when she came. Knew the look, the feel, the tenor of her cries. But he didn’t stop. He drove her higher and higher still. Ruthlessly, he pummeled her with pleasure.
But he tormented himself as well. He wanted to come. Wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted. Wanted to empty in her.
He yanked her knees further apart—there was no time for persuasion, no capacity for civility—and buried his face. He’d tasted her before, but this was better. This felt like coming home.
Reveling in her moans and coos, he explored her, licking her outer lips slowly, nudging the swollen nub at the crux of her sex, circling it, and lapping it, teasing.
“Wade!” A command. She fisted his hair, scored his scalp with her nails in her determination to control his seduction.
He didn’t allow it.
He worked her mercilessly, toying with her clit, nudging at her opening with two fingers, until she was a wild woman, thrashing and snarling and begging. And then he drew her between his lips. She stilled and stared down at him. Trembling.
He sucked.
And at that exact moment, he thrust his fingers inside. Filling her.
She came with a violence that stunned him, her body clenching around him with an intensity that made the little hairs at his nape stand on end.
Holy God. He nearly came himself.
But he didn’t.
Because he wanted to come inside her. Lose himself in the insanity of that wicked grip.
He couldn’t wait. It had been too long. And he wanted her too much. Ached too deeply.
Later, he couldn’t recall ripping off his pants and kicking them away. But he did remember, he would always remember, the first kiss of her cunt. He fisted his cock and set the tip against her opening.
Hell. Hell. Hell .
He gritted his teeth and bit his tongue as a reminder to take it slow.
She was tiny. He was huge.
Or at least, he looked huge, poised there, ready to sink into heaven.
“Wade.” She wiggled impatiently. The slick, tight muscles of her channel sipped at his sensitive glans. A red tide descended over his sanity as need possessed him.
“God. Lyssa,” he groaned. And he lunged in.
Forgotten was his vow to be careful. Forgotten was his concern at her fragility.
All he knew, all he felt, all he was—pleasure. Bone-deep, soul satisfying, heart-mending pleasure.
She was tight, slick, and warm. She quivered around him and hummed like a bow string drawn tight. It was exquisite. It was divine.
It was torture.
He clenched his balls to keep from releasing with the first stroke. He wanted this to last. He wanted this to last forever.
Slowly he withdrew, gazing into her eyes.
Her lips parted. A breath escaped.
“Are you okay?” he asked, grunted, hissed. It was all he could do to form the words.
His universe was shrinking, imploding, and becoming nothing more than this moment, on this sofa with this woman. In this woman. He wanted, needed, nothing more.
“Yes. Oh yes. Please.” She tried to stop his retreat, clenching around him, closing in as though she could not bear to lose the delicious contact.
But he wasn’t going anywhere.
Before he fell free, he reversed direction and sank into her again. Slowly. Carefully. It nearly killed him.
“Yes!” she huffed, sinking her nails into the fleshy globes of his ass.
She probably was not aware how tightly she was gripping his ass. He didn’t care. Didn’t care about anything. Not his scars, not the past, not the future. Buried deep within her, he dipped his head and suckled her breasts again. Excruciating ripples massaged his cock. He loved her reaction, so he did it again.
He could have done that all day, enjoying the fiendish pleasure, but a stronger urge rode him.
The irresistible urge to fuck. To fuck her.
Hard and hot and fast.
Slowly he eased out again, shivering at her resistance. And then he plunged deep. And again. And again. Picking up the pace, going faster, wilder, and deeper with each manic thrust. Her body tightened, quivered, peaked. He knew when she came. Knew the look, the feel, the tenor of her cries. But he didn’t stop. He drove her higher and higher still. Ruthlessly, he pummeled her with pleasure.
But he tormented himself as well. He wanted to come. Wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted. Wanted to empty in her.
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