Full Throttle (Black Knights Inc. #7)(62)

Their cries…

Holy cannoli! Just the thought of Carlos throwing his head back, crying out her name as an orgasm burst through him, as he poured his lust inside her, made her blood pop and fizz like it was carbonated.

“I hurt, Abby,” he breathed against her lips. She opened her eyes to find him looming over her, his palms braced on either side of her head, his shoulders bulging with the strain of holding himself aloft. Black hair fell across his forehead and his midnight eyes sparkled in the dim light, imploring her even more than his words. “I hurt so badly from wanting you. Let me have you.”

And in that moment she knew she’d give him anything. She may hate herself later, and he would certainly hate her later. But right here and right now she would let him have, let him take, anything he wanted. Swallowing down the ache at the back of her throat, refusing to let the tears pricking behind her eyes fall, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and pulled his mouth down to hers, whispering against his lips, “Okay, Carlos. Take me…”

*

The celebration that occurred inside Steady’s head was the equivalent of New Year’s Eve, the Fourth of July, and Mardi Gras all rolled into one. Because Abby had just agreed to let him have her. Not forever, mind you. But for right now. And after he made love to her, he figured her agreeing to forever was just around the corner.

Not to blow his own whistle or anything—especially when he was sooo looking forward to having her blow it for him; come on, he was a guy, after all—but he was good at this. He’d spent a lot of years and a lot of time practicing, and it dawned on him that it’d all been in preparation for this moment right here. Those previous women, those one-night stands he’d thought were simply outlets for his nervous energy or ways to pass the time, had really been training for this. When he’d finally take Abby in his arms and make her his own, mind, body, and soul.

And though there were probably some women who wouldn’t appreciate his gratitude, he sent out a silent thanks to every lovely mamacita who’d taken the time to teach him the infinite wonders of the female body. From the dark-eyed girl who pulled him behind the bleachers his sophomore year of high school to the brown-skinned beauty in Marrakesh who showed him how to accurately find a woman’s G-spot. He praised them all for their generous tutelage. Because now he could spend the rest of his life giving pleasure to one woman. The woman of his heart…

And speaking of the woman of his heart, the kiss she pressed on him was wet and sweet. A little bit tentative and so f*cking hot he almost forgot his manners—and all the lessons he’d learned—and stripped that wet skirt from her hips so he could plunge into her, balls deep.

But he managed to rein himself in…just barely. And when he lowered some of his weight atop her, when he wrapped his arm under her head to provide a pillow, he realized how perfectly she fit him. Sí, she was small in comparison, but her hips were womanly, creating a soft cradle for his. Her breasts were supple, providing the ideal cushion for his heavy chest. And her legs…

Sweet Jesús Cristo! Had there ever been a sexier pair of gams than Abby’s? If so, he’d never seen them. Because her calves were slim yet muscular and her ankles impossibly delicate. She bent her knees, squeezing his hips with her thighs and tucking her feet on the insides of his knees to better align their bodies…their sexes.

He could feel her wet heat all the way through both sets of material. And he’d always been a little controlling in the bedroom, but her overt femininity made him want to pound his chest like Tarzan and pound his cock into her soft, giving body over and over and over again! Mierda!

There went those reins again. Slipping…

Okay, okay, deep breaths.

Then again, deep breaths were a bit hard to accomplish with her agile tongue darting hungrily in and out of his mouth. With her industrious hands smoothing over his back to squeeze his ass. With her rubbing herself against him until his eyes crossed and his toes curled inside his jungle boots.

So first things first, he had to slow things down. Manacling her wrists in one hand, he pinned her arms above her head. “Slowly,” he instructed, lessening the frenzied fervor of the kiss, gently nipping at the corners of her delicious lips.

“Carlos,” she panted, and he pulled back to see her cheeks flushed with passion, her eyes half-lidded and pleading. “Please, I—”

“Slowly,” he repeated. “Very slowly, Abby, I want you to open your mouth and offer me your tongue.” There was just something about seeing her do that. Probably because she’d had a habit of licking her lips back in college that’d driven him absolutely wild—and given him a million nut-tightening fantasies of her turning to offer him a taste.

Her eyes widened. She swallowed. And then he could feel her tremble beneath him as her sweet-tasting breath huffed against his chin, tickling him, delighting him. His hardened length thudded heavily, begging to be set free. But he resisted—just barely—the urge to reach down and undo his fly so he could rub himself against the inside of her silky thigh.

He watched avidly as her pupils dilated and her moistened lips parted, revealing the pink enchantment that was her little tongue. A surge of new blood rushed to his groin, taking everything up a notch.

“Good girl,” he said before dipping his chin. He tasted her offering, gently sucking the delicate tip of her tongue into his mouth. She moaned, writhing beneath him, bucking her hips, seeking more pleasure, more stimulation. And he would give it to her. Soon. But first…