Breakaway (Beyond the Play, #2)(98)
“Just you.” I roll my hips against him. He’s halfway to hard, which I can feel. It sends another pleasant shiver through my body. Soon, I’ll feel him deep in my core. I’ve loved everything we’ve done together, but this is what I’ve been craving since the very first time he dropped to his knees and spread my legs for a taste of me.
He sits us up, which is harder than it sounds because I refuse to stop kissing him, and pulls my bralette over my head too. He runs his hand down my front, fondling my breasts before settling it on the waistband of my panties. His touch might be gentle, but the fierceness in his eyes makes my breath stick in my throat.
“This is just as important to me,” he says as he strokes his fingertips over the scrap of fabric. “I want to hear every moan, every whimper, and every time you say my name. You’re mine, and I’m yours, and I want to fucking hear it.”
He drags the panties down my legs and tosses them aside, then does the same for his boxer-briefs. He tugs on my leg until I fall against the pillows. He stares right at my tits for a long moment before taking one into his mouth, sucking on it practically whole; he plays with the other one with his callus-rough fingertips.
I buck my hips, seeking contact, and he rewards me by putting his thigh between my leg and grinding it slowly against my already-wet folds. I moan like he wants, and he rewards me by giving my other breast the same treatment, all while his leg moves with slow, delicious friction. It’s nowhere near enough, but he knows that. When he finally finishes his torment, he replaces his leg with his hands, spreading me even wider. I’m exposed for him, every inch of my bare body, but under his heated gaze, I don’t feel anything but desire. No worry, no panic. I feel fucking sexy thanks to Cooper’s low groan and the way he licks his lips. A woman who knows exactly what she wants and is going to get it.
“Want to make sure you’re nice and wet,” he says as he kisses down my belly. He pays extra attention to my birthmark, which gets me blinking back tears again. Good tears. I fist my hand in his hair and tug his head lower.
The first touch of his tongue to my pussy has him moaning. He presses his tongue flat against me, simply breathing in without moving. Then he swirls the tip around my clit, getting close enough my stomach clenches, but easing back at the last moment. I pull on his hair. He huffs out a laugh before he finally sucks on the little bud.
“Brat,” he says, his voice muffled. “Fuck, I’ll never get over how you taste.”
He works a finger into me as he sucks on my clit, and then another, scissoring them. He rubs the tips of his fingers against my g-spot, and I tilt my head back as stars dance at the edges of my vision. He takes pity on me, continuing to work that spot until I come with his name on my lips. He doesn’t give me a breather, even when I tremble with oversensitivity; a third finger works me from the inside as he keeps playing with my clit.
“Cooper,” I whine. “More.”
“What, my fingers aren’t thick enough for you?”
I dig my heel into his back. “Please, babe. I don’t want to wait anymore.”
He finally pulls away, his lips shiny with my slick and his pupils blown wide. He pulls out his fingers, and I feel the ache of the loss immediately. Usually, at this point, he’d grab a toy to fuck me with, but not now. Instead, he grabs a condom from the nightstand and rips it open with his teeth.
I sit up, reaching for his cock. He’s all the way hard now—I’ll never get over how turned on he gets when he eats me out—and groans the moment my hand wraps around his cock. A toy is nice, sure, but his cock is warm and stiff, and his skin is like velvet. He’s so thick and long that he’ll fill me better than any toy, even the expensive one he bought me, ever could. I’m well-practiced, but I’ll feel the stretch, the same way I do when he’s fucking my ass and thrusts in all the way. I rub my thumb over the tip, spreading pre-come around, and use my other hand to fondle his balls. They’re hanging heavy, no doubt aching.
I help him roll the condom on. The moment we’re finished, he pulls me into a deep kiss, licking into my mouth. I can still taste the remnants of hot chocolate on his tongue. His scent, thank God, is clean and cool and nothing like Tropic Blue. He strokes the side of my face tenderly as he pulls away. He blinks his beautiful blue eyes, made darker with desire, and runs his thumb over my bottom lip.
“You still good?” he asks. “Still with me?”
I just nod, arrested by the intensity in his voice. He kisses me one more time, like he can’t help it, and then pushes me against the bed. I spread my legs as he settles between them. He takes his cock in hand, giving it one last stroke—and then, while looking at me, pushes in, inch by inexorable inch.
He’s trembling from the effort not to go too fast. I grip his arm, arching my back as I take him. It’s a tight fit, but that just makes it even more delicious; I can feel him so deep, I swear he’s filling me completely.
“Fuck,” he gasps. “Fuck, baby girl, it’s like you were made just for me.”
I hook my leg around his hip and urge him closer. I want to feel his chest against mine; I want to kiss while he fucks into me with deep thrusts. I want to have been made for him—him and no one else. He gets the hint, pressing his forehead to mine as he thrusts. We breathe into each other’s mouths, temple to temple, as he pushes in deeper than before. He presses a bruising kiss to my lips as he thrusts again, faster this time. I clench around him, and he practically chokes out a moan, his hips stuttering before he regains his rhythm.