Crashed(book three)(77)

Within a heartbeat Colton has flipped me on my back and hovers over me, weight resting on one elbow, and his other hand cuffing my wrists above my head. His face is inches from mine, smirk locked in place, and eyebrows raised in challenge. “I believe my words the other day were a long, f*cking time,” he says, pressing his erection at my apex. “There’s the long, sweetheart, now we just need to fulfill the f*cking time part of it.”

I start to belt out a laugh but it ends in a pleasurable moan as he sinks into my willing body. I’m not fully ready for his entrance, and although this would normally hurt, it doesn’t. Instead it adds the perfect amount of friction to awaken every nerve possible, including any he might have missed last night.

“Sweet f*cking Jesus, you feel like Heaven woman,” he murmurs into my ear as his hips pull out and slide back forward, his one hand still pinning my hands above me. In an oddly intimate action, he lowers his face and rests it just beneath the curve of my neck so each time he withdraws and sinks back into me, the scrape of his stubble and the warmth of his breath teases my skin. And maybe it’s because of his face being so closely positioned by my ear or just that we are so in tune with one another again, but there’s something about the sounds he makes that are such a turn on. Grunts turn into moaning sighs, audible satisfaction.

I try to move my arms but his grip holds me still. “Colton,” I pant as my body starts to quicken, warmth spreading, the desire coiling so tight I’m waiting for it to spring free. “Let me touch you.”

“Hmm?” he murmurs, the vibration of his mouth against my neck rolling through me. He moves again, grinding his hips in a circular motion, cock hitting hidden nerves, before he pulls back out and angles up so he rubs against my clit adding a pleasurable friction that has me forgetting all thoughts about needing my hands to be released. He chuckles, knowing exactly what he’s just done. “That feel good?”

“God yes!” I moan as he does it again, my thighs starting to tense and my skin becoming flushed as the tidal wave of sensation surges in preparation for its final assault on my body.

“I know I’m good, baby, but God might get a little jealous if you start comparing us.”

The playful tone, the lazy lovemaking, because this is making love for us—he may call it racing, but this … murmured words, utter acceptance, complete knowledge of the other’s body, comfort—is most definitely him showing me how he loves me.

I can’t help the carefree laugh that falls from my mouth any more than I can help the arch of my back and the angling of my hips on his next thrust in his slow, skillful rhythm. “Well … be prepared to get jealous in turn,” I taunt, causing him to lift his head from his position on my neck and scrape his whiskers purposefully across my bare nipple causing unfettered need to mainline straight to where he is manipulating so expertly between my thighs. He raises his eyebrows at me in amusement, trying to figure out what exactly I mean as his hips rotate again within me, and I’m lost.

To the moment.

To him.

To the orgasm singlehandedly ripping through my body and drowning me in its overwhelming sensations.

To the, “Oh God, oh God, oh God!” that falls from my lips as wave after wave surges through me.

And I succumb to the haze of my desire but I hear him chuckle when he realizes just why I thought he might be jealous. My body is still pulsing around him, still coming, when he leans down into my ear, his morning rasp adding a soft tickle to the violent sensations reverberating through me. “You may be calling his name now, sweetheart, but in a minute you’re going to be thanking me,” he says as he nips my shoulder with his teeth before my hands are released and the warmth of his body leaves mine.