In Rides Trouble (Black Knights Inc. #2)(64)

Sweet Lord, she was so unbelievably delicious, so completely perfect.

“Oh Frank, I’m going to…”

“Yeah, honey,” he growled, working his fingers faster, “come for me.”

“No.” She shook her head and a heartbeat later—less really because he sure as hell hadn’t seen it coming—she was straddling him. Angling him toward her entrance and sinking down.

His whole world exploded.

With a burst of pleasure so intense he thought maybe he’d come, she impaled herself on him, surrounding him with her wet heat, taking every inch of him in one long, steady glide.

He didn’t know if it was minutes or hours that passed as the two of them remained motionless, reveling in the sweet sensation of two bodies joining so elementally it seemed impossible they’d ever part. But then she leaned forward, kissing him, swinging her hips up only to drive them back, and two things occurred to him. One, he hadn’t come—thank God. And two, he wasn’t wearing a condom.

He tried to tell her this very important fact as her short nails bit into his chest. She was clinging to him as if she was afraid they both might just blow apart.

He wasn’t so sure she wasn’t right. Which was why he needed to open his goddamned mouth and—

“Becky,” he managed to grind out, even though his eyes were crossed, his toes curled, and his brain focused, completely focused on one very specific part of his anatomy.

It’d never felt this good. Never. Not even the first time when he was fifteen and so horny he actually thought he’d die from it.

“Becky,” he tried again as her hair hung on either side of his face, smelling fresh and clean. For days he could have waxed poetic with descriptions of her hungry mouth and darting tongue, written sonnets about the sweet grip of her smooth thighs around his hips as she once more angled her pelvis back only to drive forward, composed symphonies about the soft smoothness of her breasts pressed against his chest, about the firm roundness of her ass gripped in his hand.

But he didn’t have days. Because he was seconds away from coming, and that would be bad on so many levels, the worst being he wasn’t wearing a condom!

She pulled her mouth from his. “Oh, Frank, I’m going to—”

Yeah, he knew exactly what she was going to do, because her muscles tightened around him and if he let her…Well, he’d follow right behind her, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

With superhuman effort, he gripped her hips and lifted her from him, ignoring her cry of anguish and biting down on his own tongue to stop the same when he slid from the hot heaven of her body.

“Condom,” he managed to growl.

They stared at each other for a few ticks of the clock, then Becky scrambled over to her bedside table and pulled out a blue rubber dildo—hello!—which she hastily tossed over her shoulder before heaving out a box of condoms.

He didn’t know why he felt so goddamned gratified when he noticed the box was unopened.

“New box?” he asked, just so he could hear her affirmative.

“Not really,” she said, and he frowned. “I bought it three years ago.”

Something wonderful and terrible exploded inside him. It was possessiveness and something more…something he refused to name.

She ripped open one foil package and looked over at him. “I’m not sure I got the right size.”

“It’ll fit,” he assured her.

With stunning speed, she rolled the condom onto him, once more straddled his hips, and drove herself down his length.

His neck arched, and he knew he should never have doubted what she wanted. Never have worried about giving her what she wanted. Rebecca Reichert wasn’t the kind of woman to wait around for a man to make the moves. She took what she wanted, damn the torpedoes and full speed ahead!

He was pressed so deeply inside her, as far as he could possibly go, and she was hanging above him, her arms braced on either side of his shoulders, her face mere inches from his.

“If I move,” she whispered, gazing down at him, the heat in her eyes enough to make him come on the spot, “I’m gonna lose it.”

He wished he could tell her it didn’t matter, wished he could promise he’d make her lose it a hundred times more. But that would be a lie.

“I wish I could tell you something different, honey.” He laughed regretfully. “But you’re not even going to have to move because I’m going to come in about two seconds.”

She groaned and then she moved and—

“Becky,” he gasped, heaving beneath her when her inner muscles clamped down on him, pulsing and sucking and—

Holy hell! He exploded. Lights flashed behind his eyes, his spine snapped back, his world became a kaleidoscope of sharp sensations that burst through him like electrical charges.

He finally understood why some people referred to an orgasm as a shattering experience, because he was blown to pieces, rocketed apart and reduced to his elements, every part of him a shimmering molecule of ecstasy.

When his body put itself back together sometime later, he opened his eyes to find Becky laying on top of him, a satisfied little smile playing at her lips.

The wanton minx, he chuckled, gently lifting her off him, tucking her next to his side so that her cheek pillowed on his chest and he could run his fingers through her hair.

“So, uh, what’s with the toy?” he asked.