Ripped (Real, #5)(42)
No, no, no. We shouldn’t be doing this.
But he spreads my legs wider by wedging his shoulders in between them, reaching up to let his fingers caress a path up the inside of my thighs. My naked legs tremble as his tongue rushes over my skin.
I reach between my legs and cup the back of his head, arching my back so he can eat me up harder, faster, deeper.
His hunger is palpable in every flash of his tongue, every groan he buries inside me. I writhe. I moan. He lifts his head to look at me, and his eyes are molten, his jaw clamped as though he’s holding something back with brutal force.
“Look at you,” he hisses, taking me in with a sweep of his fevered silver eyes. His lips glisten with my juices. His closely shaven head is still perfect, not rumpled by my hands. I hear a scraping sound as he drags a hand across the back of his head. “Son of a bitch, Pink.” He says something that sounds like me being this vulnerable right now undoes him. But there’s something odd here. Instead of feeling vulnerable, when he drinks me up with his eyes I feel powerful, like I’m all the air on this earth, and all the water, too.
Back on his feet, he pulls me against his body. Every hot, hard, unyielding muscle against me, his body fevered and damp against my bare skin. And he comes at me like an animal—his mouth, teeth, tongue, lips, working up my body. His groans coming from deep inside him like my own, jerked from the very pit of me.
Our hands are all over, mouths all over.
I can feel his thighs against mine, the line of his cock digging into my pelvis. I’m unstoppable. Rabid. I want him closer, I want him in me.
“Hang on tight, babe,” he whispers in that low, after-the-concert gruff voice of his, understanding me, understanding what I need.
I wiggle into position, panting hard.
He reaches between our bodies to peel off his tight, black rocker leathers completely down his thick, muscular legs. I hurry to push my undies down my hips, struggling to kick them off as he sheathes his cock with a condom.
He lifts me and my body twitches and quivers as he lowers me down on him, penetrating me, inch by inch. I groan again, shoving my hands under his shirt and pulling it up over his head so that he’s naked. He inhales deeply when he can’t go any farther. He feels so thick that all of a sudden, I’m ready to burst.
I suck on his nipple as he fondles my breasts in the most delightful ways. His teeth sink into my earlobe and tug as he starts thrusting, the delicious drag of his cock stimulating all my nerve endings.
Our mouths become voracious, and his sudden rhythmical thrusts tell me he means business and I’m open. The way he grabs my hips and moves me on him, setting the exact rhythm he wants, is like I was made just for him to f*ck and god, he’s so . . .
So much stronger than before. Bigger than before. Thicker than before.
I can’t think . . . can’t breathe . . . he’s hot, hard . . . ooh, god, I need this. I never knew how much until his arms are tight like clamps around me. And he’s inside my body. His tongue flashing into my mouth.
Nothing else matters but this—his breathing, my breathing, his grunts and my groans, my body wrapped around his. I’m wrapped to his body, my arms, legs, even my neck, curled into his, my whole body clinging to him. He knows just what to do, with his mouth, his lips dampening the skin on my neck, my jaw, my ear, then meshing with my mouth.
“You feel so . . .” I bite back the word “right” and instead push my lips hard to his. Our teeth gnash, then he pulls free and stares into my face with burning eyes as if he’s high on me, plowing me fast and faster, watching me gasp as my breasts bounce.
He rasps, “Come,” and comes hard and fast as it starts for me. His cock jerks inside me three times, and the breath hisses out of him as his muscles clench and tighten against me. He grasps me to his body and continues pumping as we shudder together.
It takes us minutes to recover, neither of us moving. I’m still clutching him, but when I realize how clingy I must appear, I lift my head from the crook of his neck and open my mouth to speak. Mackenna presses his finger to my lips. “No, babe,” he says, his voice both tender and chastising.
My brain is still buzzing. Feeling lusty and strangely playful, I open my lips again, and I bite down on his finger with a smile. He clenches his jaw and his eyes flash, almost like he’s remembering the other times I did that. Then without warning, he leans over and bites down on one of my fingers too. Like old times . . .
Ouch! I playfully protested. You’re going to snack on my finger? Really?
Oh, stop complaining. Here, take mine . . .
A strange emotion tightens my chest, and it hurts. Gently, he rubs his finger against my tongue, and I do the same.
“You taste like sweat,” I say, with a mock grimace.
“You taste like sugar,” he husks out, his lids heavy.
I pull my hand free and he continues gazing at me, waiting for me to say something. I’m trying to pull up my walls, but I’m failing miserably. “I . . . ,” I begin.
“Don’t ruin it,” he says, setting his forehead on mine and sighing, “but you’d be surprised to know what I’d give to hear this mouth tell me how it really feels about me.” He rubs the mouth he’s speaking of with his thumb ring and my nipples harden again.
“I expressed it with vegetables, remember?” I say, unable to rein back the lust in my voice.
“Hmm, yes, a memorable experience.” He gives one last nibble to the tip of my finger, holding it by the base and kissing the pad before letting me go.