Big Shot(37)
She whimpered anxiously. “Anywhere. Just do it. Now. Please.”
And that’s exactly what he did. He hooked one of her thighs as high as it could go on his hip, and wanting as much leverage as he could get to fill her up so she’d never be able to tell where he ended and she began, he issued his next order. “Wrap your legs tight around my waist and lock your ankles behind my back,” he said gruffly, and she obeyed, climbing him like a proverbial tree. The grip of her thighs was strong and tight, as was the way she locked her hands around his neck.
Holding her bottom in his hands, he angled her hips, lined up his cock to her entrance, and with one hard thrust, he was balls deep inside her slick heat and had her shoulders pinned to the wall. If he’d had his choice, he would have made this a slow, hard f*ck. But she was already struggling to move on his dick, trying to rock his shaft into her deeper, if that was even possible.
The wet heat of her *, the unrelenting friction of her body clenching around his dissolved any semblance of control he had left and gave him no choice but to move, to instinctively pump into her, again and again. She sank her teeth into the side of his neck, sending a jolt of lust straight down to his cock, and f*ck, he knew he was only a few short strokes away from exploding inside her.
“So . . . damn . . . close.” His lips parted on a quick intake of breath as she started to claw at his back with her nails, the stinging sensation adding to the fire in his belly, the rhythmic pulsing in his dick. “I want to feel you come all over my cock. Need it so f*cking bad.” The words came out of his mouth, uncensored, revealing more than he’d ever intended.
“Yes . . . I want that, too,” she panted frantically. “So much.”
And then she chanted in his ear, “Harder, faster, deeper,” and he fulfilled her demands, shoving her tight against the wall and pinning her there as he surged against her, burying himself to the hilt over and over and making her feel everything. The intense heat. The infinite desire. The overwhelming need.
She moaned his name as he felt the fluttering of her muscles squeeze around his dick, the rippling sensation of her impending orgasm pulling at him like an undertow. He lifted his head, watching as she gave herself over to her climax, to him, so wild and gorgeous, so strong and confident and passionate, and holding nothing back as she rode his cock straight into ecstasy.
Her open, uninhibited response was the most stunning, beautiful sight he’d ever seen.
Another hard, deep thrust and he was right behind her, the pleasure so intense, so intimate and pure it forced him to acknowledge the truth. That no one had ever made him feel like this . . . this completeness, this connection, this reality.
No one . . . until Natalie.
*
A few weeks ago, if someone would have told Natalie that she’d have hot, mind-altering, out-of-this-world sex with Wes Sinclair, her archenemy since childhood, then would be sitting on her living room sofa eating a grilled cheese sandwich with him afterward, she would have died laughing at the absurdity of such a suggestion.
Yet here they were, sitting side by side—him sprawled out wearing just his jeans and her cross-legged in a tank top and pajama shorts—the two of them indulging in a late-night snack together after an amazing round of up-against-the-wall sex and an orgasm that had nearly left her comatose. Not that she was complaining, she thought, as a warm flush suffused her cheeks.
“Are you blushing?” Wes asked playfully, his gaze fixed on her face.
“No,” she denied much too quickly, and returned her attention to the second half of her grilled cheese sandwich.
“I think you are,” he persisted as he finished off the last of his own sandwich before adding insult to injury. “Who knew that little Natalie Prescott could talk so dirty?”
Clearly, she wasn’t a prude, but there was something about Wes that tapped into a part of her she’d never known existed, until sex with him had unleashed a floodgate of indecent behavior. Spankings, sucking him off in his car on the drive home, begging him to f*ck her . . .
She felt her skin heat even more when she realized the things that had come out of her mouth less than a half an hour ago. “You’re a horrible influence. You seem to bring out the bad girl in me.”
“I like it,” he said, his low, husky voice equivalent to an intimate caress. “Am I the only one who’s gotten to play with your inner bad girl?”
She ate her last bite of grilled cheese, which gave her a few extra seconds to consider her answer. “Yes, but don’t let it go to your big, fat head.”
He laughed and looked way too smug anyway. No big shock there.
“Mitch wasn’t the dirty-talking type?” he asked curiously as he relaxed more fully into the corner of the couch.
She couldn’t believe they were having this conversation about her ex, but Wes looked genuinely interested, and honestly, what did it matter if she discussed the less-than-exciting sex life she’d had with Mitch now that they were no longer together?
“No, he was strictly vanilla. I’m sure if I ever asked him to f*ck me, he would have been scandalized and would have kicked me out of his bed.” When she realized what she’d just said, she gave Wes a wry smile. “Oh, wait, he did do that.”
Wes didn’t even crack a smile at her attempt at a joke. Instead, his gaze was serious and compassionate as it held hers. “You were obviously way too much for him to handle.”