Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(113)

“Then fuck me until I’m too sore to move.”

“Hell,” he mutters right before he nips at my neck, pulling the skin between his teeth and making his mark.

I let him because I wear his markings with pride.

It might look trashy from an outsider looking in, but to me, they’re reminders of who I’m with and why I’m with him.

As his mouth works around my neck, he plays with my breasts, one of his favorite things to do. He plucks at my nipples, pulls and squeezes them, and creates such a wave of arousal that I start to move my ass along his erection.

“That’s it, baby. Let me feel that ass against my cock.”

I push harder into him and rotate as he drags his mouth up my neck. He slides his hand up my throat and then turns my head so my lips meet his. It’s a short but passionate kiss, enough to make me want more. He reaches behind him and switches on the handheld showerhead. He rinses off our soap and then brings it to the front of me, right in front of my pussy, and says, “Spread.”

I do as I’m told, and the water blasts right against my aching clit.

“Silas,” I moan.

“Hold this here.”

I grip the showerhead and place it exactly where I want it against my clit as he bends me forward. With the hand not holding the showerhead, I brace against the tile and hold my breath as I feel him position his cock against my entrance.

“Don’t take your time, Silas. I need your dick now.”

Hands gripping my ass, he pushes inside me in one large thrust that nearly has me crumbling against the wall.

“Goddamn,” he shouts. “This tight pussy will be the death of me.”

He works his erection in and out of me at a demanding pace, and all I can do is brace myself as he builds both of our orgasms to the precipice.

The vibration of the water bouncing off my clit combined with his wet strokes has me clawing to hold on longer.

“Jesus, I’m already there,” he says, pumping faster.

Thank God.

“Me too,” I squeak out as the first tingle of an orgasm zings down my legs. “Fuck, Silas . . . I’m . . . I’m . . .” I can’t get out the words because together, we both groan, our orgasms making us incoherent.

I push against him, he tugs, and together, we slowly ride down the high.

On a deep breath, I stand and lean against his chest, where he holds me tightly.

“Shit, Ollie. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” I ask.

“Because I wanted that to last longer, but the minute I was inside you, there was no chance.”

I turn toward him and use the showerhead to rinse his chest. “I was right there with you.”

He pinches my chin. “How can I still come that fast with you? It’s fucking embarrassing.”

I chuckle. “I think it’s all the spanking, pinching, tools, and dirty talk,” I answer. “We don’t give each other a chance.”

“You’re right about that.” He takes the showerhead from me. “How did this feel?”

“Phenomenal, but your dick felt better.”

“Good answer.” He presses a kiss to my lips, and then we get lost in each other’s mouth once again. This time, we turn off the water.





“Did Silas get you that sweatshirt?” Ross asks as he examines the black hoodie I’m wearing that says Property of the Vancouver Agitators.

“He did,” I answer as we wait at our favorite coffee kiosk on campus for our drinks to be made. Thanks to post-shower sex on the bathroom floor, I was almost late for my first class. Silas was insatiable this morning, and no matter what I did, he wanted more.

Not that I didn’t want it, either.

But I barely made it out the door with clothes on. He gave me this sweatshirt this morning, one that fits better, and then sprayed me with a touch of his cologne before kissing me goodbye.

The entire drive to campus, I wore a huge smile on my face.

Throughout my first class, I kept thinking about him and everything we’ve done in the past twenty-four hours.

Even now, when getting coffee, all I can think about is how Silas would hate my order and cringe at it.

“I like it,” Ross says. “I’d ask Ian to get me one, but he’s pretty much opened his entire closet to me. So I can take what I want.”

“And what did you take?”

Ross smirks. “A few things.”

“Ollie,” the barista says, setting two drinks down on the counter. I grab them and hand Ross his order, and together, we head toward our class.

“So, hear anything from Roberts?” Ross asks.

“No, and I’m sort of getting nervous about it. Don’t you think he would have said something by now?”

“I don’t know,” Ross answers as the fall wind whips around us. It’s getting to that point in the year when a hoodie just isn’t going to do it anymore. “Roberts is a weird guy. He doesn’t praise very often. I turned in my paper and heard nothing. It published and all was good. So I think it’s better not to hear something.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but—”

“Hey, hot stuff.”

I pause and turn to the side just in time to see a large mass of a man wrap his arms around me and scoop me into a hug. I’m about to start kicking when I smell a very familiar cologne.