Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92095 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 307(@300wpm)
“Jack me. Please, Deck. I’m begging you,” I say.
“God, you make me so fucking hard. I’ve never been this aroused,” he says.
Every grasp of his fist, every thrust of his cock, every brush of his lips ignites another fire inside me, and I am nothing but flames, nothing but lava as Declan shows me all my fantasies, as he acts them out with me, as he gives me everything I’ve longed for.
Passionate sex.
I close my eyes, sinking into the otherworldly sensations, into the full-body ecstasy of this moment.
The intimacy too.
Wave after wave of lust crashes over me. My hold on reality spirals away and I’m on the verge of coming. “Yes . . .”
“Give it to me,” he moans, sounding lost in me once again, but somehow found too.
The exquisite agony coils into a vibrating knot of ecstasy, one he undoes in one more stroke.
I am devastated by an orgasm that rockets through me.
“Yes, fucking yes,” he groans as I come and come and come into his hand, while Declan fucks me into the mattress, then stills, tenses and groans for days. “You feel so good.”
And I do feel good.
I feel spectacular as a man comes inside me for the first time in my life.
Not just any man though.
The man I’m pretty sure I’ve inconveniently, stupidly fallen in love with.
The man I desperately want to sleep with again, be with again, see over and over.
But you can’t always get what you want.
32
Declan
I had no idea sex could be like that.
That good. That close. That connected.
After I pull out, I wrap an arm around Grant, nuzzle my face against him. His skin is shiny, a post-sex sheen that I want to savor, selfish bastard that I am right now. “You smell well fucked,” I murmur against his neck, inhaling the sweaty smell of him, the musky scent of our bodies having come together.
“I feel well fucked,” he says, all hoarse and gravelly.
“Good. You should.” I draw another lungful of him, loving his scent. But while I want to stay here, my nose buried in his neck, I’m not that selfish. I need to ditch the condom, and we both should shower. “Let’s clean up,” I tell him.
“Yes, boss,” he deadpans.
We’re in and out in less than four minutes, then we return to bed. I strip the messy cover, grab a new one, and flop down next to my lover.
My guy.
I’m still basking in endorphins, bathing in the afterglow, and I just want to lie here and fall asleep, drift off into dreams.
But I don’t want to end this night too soon.
Plus, there’s the matter of this man who probably can’t walk straight for a couple hours.
“So, how do you feel?”
“Besides well fucked?”
“Yes. Are you sore?”
Grant shakes his head. “Just a little. A good sore, like after a workout.” His brow knits. “But tomorrow? Will it be worse?”
“Probably just sore,” I say, honestly. “Don’t worry—you can still catch the game.”
“Damn well better be able to,” he says, then his expression goes thoughtful again. “Will I always feel like this?”
“Practice makes perfect,” I tease.
“I like the sound of practice. And hey, I’m a competitive athlete, so I’m willing to train and train hard,” he says, showing me that playful side I dig.
“So, I take it that means you like sex?” I crook a grin. I mean, I am pretty sure he had a fan-fucking-tastic time. But I don’t want to assume.
He sighs contentedly, his voice tired. “Just a little.”
God, he looks good like this. All stretched out and satisfied, his features relaxed, his smile soft. But when he turns his gaze to me again, his blue eyes flicker with a hint of concern.
Oh, hell.
I know why.
I’m in my own head, but I need to be thinking of him.
He’s got to be wondering how it stacked up for me.
I run my hand over his pecs, my fingers playing with the fine dusting of chest hair, remembering how I felt a few nights ago after The Lazy Hammock when we stopped on the side of the road. I use those same words. “Wow. You are just wow,” I say.
“Yeah?” His voice pitches up, like he needs confirmation. “Was I? Okay?”
His words are breathy, nervous.
But I’ll have none of his worry.
I can’t let him think he was anything but everything I wanted.
“You’re out of this world,” I say, running a finger down his chest. “You’re a moonshot. You’re a grand slam over the fences. That’s you, rookie. You’re my walk-off home run.”
His smile grows wider, more relaxed. “You sure?”
I tilt my head, trying to figure him out, to understand why he would doubt me. “You didn’t think I enjoyed it? Did you not like fucking me?”
“I loved it. It was amazing. I just want to know . . . if . . . I mean . . . you’re so much more experienced than I am. I have no idea if I’m . . .” He nibbles on the corner of his lips.