Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(66)

The second a cool, lubricated finger slides up my crease, my senses go into hyperdrive. Every ounce of anxiety is gone, only need and desire left in its wake as he prepares me.

He massages my rim with deft fingers, ones far more skilled than with just holding a stick, dragging out moan after tortured moan while he does. I gasp when the first one breaches me, the long digit sinking inside me. The way he touches me and fucks me with his hand has my heart ricocheting against my ribs so hard, I think they might crack.

When another finger slips past the puckered ring of muscle, my need intensifies with the burn. I welcome it. Crave it, even.

My lips part on a gasp as he continues to stretch me, and when he curls his fingers against my prostate, I see every star in the galaxy.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit,” I hiss, my ass bearing down on his hand.

It’s a feeling I can’t describe. Of being so full, I might burst at the seams, but also the desperate need for even more. And God, I want more.

I don’t want to stop until I know what it’s like to be shattered by him. Dismantled piece by piece until I’m just a messy heap on the floor only he can put back together.

His mouth descends over my aching length then, the dual sensation of it and his fingers setting all my senses on high alert. Every nerve ending in my body is hyperaware of where he’s touching me, fucking me, owning me.

I lose myself in him, my head falling back against the pillow as he takes from me as much as he gives. But it’s not long before even that’s not enough, and I’m pushing him off my cock, desperate and ready to come.

And I refuse to let it happen until he’s buried deep inside me.

Like he can read my mind, he adjusts his positioning and slathers his dick with lube. The ache in my balls intensifies at the sight, and only gets worse when he lines himself up against me, the red, angry crown of his cock nudging up against my ass.

And just like that, the nerves and anxiety come barreling back at break-neck speeds. Oakley must read it all over my face too, because his expression softens as he looks from where we’re almost joined back to my face.

“Quinn…we don’t have to.”

“Yes, we do,” I tell him. Because there’s no other option. There’s no other person I want to do this with. Who I want to give this part of me to.

He nods, as if reading my thoughts. Seeing what I so desperately need.

“If you tell me to stop, I will.”

I know he will, just like I know he’ll do everything in his power to make sure that doesn’t have to happen. Even if it means sliding in one millimeter at a time.

His hips press forward in a gentle thrust, allowing the head of his cock to slip past the rim. And similar to when his fingers entered me, every nerve ending might as well be on fire. My ass throbs where he’s penetrating me, barely lodged inside my body. Pulsing with an aching need only he can feed.

“Oh, Jesus fucking fuck,” I mutter, my teeth sinking into my bottom lip.

“Can you take more?” he asks after a second.

I can tell he’s doing his best to keep his own shit together right now. If the pinch of his brow and set of his jaw are anything to go off, he’s barely hanging on from thrusting all the way in.

“Mhmm,” I groan between gritted teeth, not trusting myself to form complete words. And for good reason, because all I can do is gasp when he flexes his hips forward, tunneling in another inch.

“Fuck, Quinn. Are you okay? I need you to say something.”

I know he needs an answer, but I can’t fucking breathe, let alone speak, so I just nod and dig my fingertips into his hips hard enough to bruise. A signal to keep going.

The look on his face is wary at best, but he continues his assault on my body by taking me another inch. Another excruciating but blissful inch.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, brushing his lips against my jaw. “Relax for me, babe.”

I do my best to listen, but damn, it’s difficult. I feel like there’s a damn hockey stick shoved up there, and he’s not even completely inside me yet. Nowhere near close.

His hand wraps around my cock, the lube left on his fingers making it easy for it to glide up and down my length. The smooth strokes momentarily take hold of me, allowing my mind to focus on the pleasure shooting through me rather than the burning ache from where he’s lodged inside me.

Oakley rains kiss after kiss down my neck, jacking me in long, languid strokes until I relax for real.

“I got you,” he whispers against my ear, smooth as silk. “I got you, Quinn.”

My brain immediately wants to read into his words and the unchecked emotion in them as he says my name, maybe find some double meaning. But that’s just about the stupidest thing I could do, so instead, I wrap my legs around his ass and pull him toward me.

The movement causes him to tunnel in deeper, and I let out another tortured groan. One laced with both pleasure and pain.

“You’re gonna fucking kill me with those noises,” he pants, his voice more strained again.

“And you’ll kill me if you don’t start moving.”

All talking ceases after that, Oakley’s focus kept solely on sliding inside me deeper and deeper until he’s completely seated inside.

And I’m delightfully surprised that once he is, the stinging burn has almost disappeared entirely. In its place is an aching, desperate need for—