Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(84)
“Oh, yes,” she assured him, wiggling slightly, rubbing his head deep inside her. The smell of sex filled the room, the decadent scent of hot skin and needy bodies. And mixing through it all was the sweet aroma of rosewater. It would always, for the rest of his life, remind him of her. “Yes. More, please.”
“With pleasure,” he assured her, pulling out and setting a rhythm that was meant to slowly drive her to the edge of ecstasy again—and drive him to insanity. Over and over he thrust, the friction more delectable with each pass. The desire building with each hot, wet glide.
He could feel her building beneath him. Feel her body sucking at him in greedier and greedier pulls. His orgasm was a living thing now, roaring and growling and begging for release. He held it at bay. Pushed it back and down because he wanted them to come together. He wanted them to jump together. He wanted to see the pleasure on her face at the same time he felt its prurient pull inside his own body.
“Oh God. Dan!” She had one hand braced on the counter as he pumped into her. The other hand was on his hip, egging him on, encouraging him harder, faster. He obliged, reaching around her and sliding his middle finger between her folds. When he found the swollen nub, he rubbed it in circles. Thrusting and rubbing. Thrusting and rubbing. Taking them higher and higher until he could feel her body coiling, her muscles tensing. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the room, competed with their harsh breathing.
“I’m going to c-come,” she warned.
“Good,” he groaned, feeling his own pleasure building, building, building. It burned deep inside his testicles, raced along his shaft. “Yes, Brooklyn! Let’s come together!”
“Oh God!” she cried again, her head falling to hang between her shoulders and little pulses, like the flutter of butterfly wings, started gripping his shaft.
“Lift your head!” he commanded. “I wanna see your face!”
But it was too late. She jumped. Flinging herself from the cliff of physical ecstasy, flying with gleeful abandon into the abyss. She screamed his name, shuddering, her body clamping down on his. Hard. And then she was dragging him with her. The pleasure, the sweet temptation of release too much. He was coming. In hot, heavy spurts that obliterated thought. That squashed all reason. That took him to a place of such ecstasy he wondered if it could possibly be real.
The world turned. Minutes passed. But he was unaware of any of it. Lost. Lost in her. In sensation. Sweet, decadent, glorious sensation that seemed to go on and on. He didn’t know how long they stayed there, joined and shaking as their simultaneous orgasms washed over them, through them. But when he finally had the strength to open his eyes, when his mind reasserted itself, making rational thought possible, his first thought was, Damnit! I wanted to watch her go over!
He’d been waiting, dreaming, fantasizing for months about seeing her face when he took her to the ultimate heights of pleasure, and he’d missed it. With a growl, he pulled from her body, yanked off the used condom—he hissed when the ring raked over his still painfully sensitive skin—and tossed it in the trash can. Grabbing a fresh one from the drawer, he snatched her off her feet, lifted her into his arms, and stalked out of the bathroom.
“Dan? Uh, what are—”
She squeaked when he tossed her on the bed. But before she could scramble away, he grabbed her ankles and dragged her until her ass was at the edge of the mattress. “We’re gonna do this again,” he said, tossing the empty foil wrapper over his shoulder and sliding the new condom onto his still-erect penis. “And this time”—he positioned her ankles on the edge of the mattress so that her long legs were spread wide, her sex open and ready to receive him—“I’m gonna see your face when you come.”
*
Big. That was the first thought to tumble through Penni’s passion-hazy brain when Dan stepped between her legs and angled himself down to enter her. His shaft looked huge, roped with veins and straining the latex of the condom.
Male. That was the second thought she had, her breath catching when he pushed himself partway inside her. With his mile-wide shoulders, heavy pectoral muscles, and that smattering of hair over his chest that arrowed down his corrugated belly until it joined his pubic hair, he was unabashedly male.
And she was small and female. That much was made obvious when he gritted his teeth and slid in further, stretching her, filling her to capacity. She pushed up onto her elbows so she could watch her own impalement. Sweet Christ. She wouldn’t have thought it was possible to feel needy, to feel achy again so soon. She’d just experienced two of the most earth-shaking orgasms of her life, and one look at him entering her, one peek at his hardened jaw and the glow in his eyes as he watched his heavy shaft part her folds, one glance at the tattoo on his lower belly as his stomach muscles contracted—No Guts, No Glory—was enough to have clawing her way toward that peak once again.
Her blood was on fire. Her skin slick with sweat. Her heart thundering and her lungs heaving. “Dan…” She whispered his name because…just because. A verbal connection to go with the physical connection they were making.
“Don’t hide from me this time, Brooklyn,” he warned, his eyes boring into hers. “Don’t close your eyes or duck your chin.” And why having him want to watch her, want to see her face while she shattered apart should be the ultimate flattery, the ultimate turn-on was anybody’s guess. But it was. Maybe because it was just so…intimate.