Wherever It Leads(74)

Dragging his face to mine, our mouths meet in the middle. Our tongues dance together, whispering promises of what’s to come.

He bites down on my lip, his hands finding my ass, and nudging me forward. I straddle him, never letting our contact break, until my feet are planted on either side of him. He guides his cock under me, brushing my panties to the side, and I sit down swiftly on his length.

“Fuck,” I hiss against his lips, needing to move but needing to let my body adjust to his size. His hands dig into my waist, holding me down against him.

“Your body fits me like a glove,” he mutters, his tongue drawing across my bottom lip. I suck it into my mouth and he jerks. As he does, his cock moves and triggers me to move with it.

I slide up and down his length, his solidness making me quiver. His mouth finds my breasts, sucking on one, then the other, and the combination causes an internal explosion.

“You. Are. So. Wet,” he groans, tilting his hips. “Fuck, Brynne.”

“It feels so good.” I put my weight on my feet and control the movement of my body against him. My head tosses back as he slips inside me, his fingers finding my clit and rubbing it in slow, small circles.

My movements quicken, the build-up coming in a frenzied pace that I no longer have control over. He slips his mouth around one of my nipples again. He bites down, rolling it between his teeth.

“Fent!” I yell, with no thought given to the fact that someone below could hear. I just pump my body along his, feeling his shaft slide into me and hitting my G-Spot at the back of my *. It’s an incredible, sensational feeling. “That. That’s going to make me . . .” I say, but the last few words come out as a stutter.

“Open your eyes.” His hands find my hips again and he keeps me moving—up and down. The pressure, the intensity of his cock massaging the back wall of my * becomes more than I can take.

Our gazes link mid-air as my eyes flutter open. The way his grey eyes swirl, heat, peer into the crevices of my soul is almost like another form of penetration. It’s too much.

“I’m going to come, Fent.”

He growls, moving his hips so that he’s slamming into me harder and harder. The force mixed with the sexiness of the timbre of his voice pushes me over the edge.

I sit down hard on his cock, feeling the head of it pulse inside me. My body spasms around him, shivering as wave after wave of pleasure slams into me. Colors burst in my vision and I can feel my temperature spike, heat rising through me and pushing out of the top of my head.

I moan, squeezing my eyes shut even as he tells me to open them. I can’t. I can’t do anything voluntarily. My body has taken over, succumbing to the euphoria.

I can feel him still moving inside me. When he groans, and pushes the farthest he’s been, I grind my clit against his body.

It sends another wave of bliss, a bit softer this time, through me and I feel him emptying himself inside me. After what feels like forever, my body sags with exhaustion. I sink against him, my head to his shoulder. He wipes my wet hair off my shoulder and plants a kiss in its place.

“If that’s a part of getting to know you, I think we should get to know each other multiple times a day,” he chuckles.

I try to laugh but I’m just too tired. It’s a shaking of the shoulders instead, a failed attempt to pretend I’m just fine.

Thinking I should get up and find a bathroom, I make one half-assed attempt to push away. It, too, fails. Part of me knows it’s because it’s too cozy to be lying against him like this and part of me knows it’s because if I do, I’ll be calling Presley to pick me up, because when things are too good to be true they usually are and I don’t want this night to end.

Not yet.





The moonlight shines through the windows above the large soaking tub. It overlooks the beach and I imagine opening them and breathing in the salty air while sitting in a deep basin of bubbles.

I could live in here.

Fenton’s master bathroom is a girl’s dream. Heck, it’s anyone’s dream. Encased in golden marble, it looks like something you’d find in a Fifth Avenue penthouse rather than a beach house in Malibu.

In the corner, there’s a large walk-in shower with more shower heads than necessary or practical. There’s a large television across the room from the tub and I wonder if he sits in this and watches baseball games or the news in the morning. At the other end, a walk-in closet that’s bigger than my bedroom is only half-filled with clothes. I know. I looked.

I slip one of Fenton’s UCLA t-shirts over my head after getting a quick shower with him. He went to make some calls and I type out a quick text to Presley that I’m not coming home and then power my phone down. She’ll blast me with a million texts, most of them inappropriate, and I don’t want to deal with her. Not tonight. Not with Fenton lying in his bed in the next room, waiting on me.

My cheeks ache from the grin that I can’t ease off my face. Thinking of Fent waiting for me, of the things he said to me tonight about wanting to see where things go, is enough to make me feel like a kid waking up on her birthday. Everything is full of promise. There’s the potential for so much fun, so much good, so many surprises to be lurking around the corner that it takes all I have not to jump up and down.

Flipping off the light, I open the door. I see Fenton propped up on a pile of pillows. His eyes are closed, his skin still damp. The bed is hulking, taking up all of the space between the windows on either side of the room. Even so, Fenton looks so broad, so strong.