Fight to the Finish (First to Fight #3)(32)

“Take . . . you can take . . . take them off,” she said around swallows. She arched her hips up to give him a chance to slide the pants off.

He didn’t.

“Graham?” she said, questioning.

“Easy. Just let me do things my way for a while. If you don’t like it, we can change it up later.” He played more, through the soft hair below, grazing her clit, down to the slick, plump folds that were growing more wet by the minute. “Sometimes, I think we skip past foreplay too quickly.”

“We haven’t done anything but foreplay,” she insisted.

“I mean in general. Adults. We spend our teenage years figuring out all the different ways to get off, or simply have fun, without actually having sex. And then we finally have sex”—he grinned when he rubbed the bundle of nerves between two fingers and she cried out—“and we forget all the fun ways we played before we knew what the end result was.”

“I like the end result.” She gasped. “We could . . . oh my God.”

She came then, and he could see it shocked her. Watching her face contort with the pleasure was one of the hottest things he’d ever watched. As she came back down from the high, he stripped her jeans off. She helped, sort of, with languid, heavy-limbed motions. It was like undressing a drunk.

“You’re no help,” he teased, pulling the final way to get her jeans off the ankle they stubbornly clung to.

“If you wanted help, you should have undressed me before you made me come,” she retorted, sort of sing-songy.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he muttered as he realized she was slipping away. “Come here.” He rolled with her, pulling her under, then over, then under him again as he made his way to the other side of the bed where he could grab a condom. “Please, God, tell me you’re still awake.”

“Let me check.” She reached down and cupped him through his own jeans. “Yup, still awake.”

He croaked out something, then stood and shucked his jeans as fast as possible. Which, with fumbling fingers and Kara in his line of vision to distract him, took about two minutes longer than it should have.

“Okay, so you’re struggling a little.” Kara sat up and plucked the condom from his fingers as he finally managed to undo the button to his fly. “I think I should handle this one.”

She palmed his ass and urged him to step toward the bed, putting his erection almost at her eye level. With one hand, she wrapped her fingers around the base, squeezing a little.

“Kara,” he said, voice hoarse. “You . . . I . . .”

“Shh,” she said, licking the head a little before using her teeth to tear the wrapper open and pull out the protection. She rolled it on slowly, so slowly. The sight of her pale, slender fingers working the latex over his penis almost undid him. Then she laid back down, and he couldn’t resist anymore. He angled himself, pushing in, sinking deep, sighing with relief.

Her own sigh echoed his.

He needed to go slow. Wanted to go slow. Savor, taste, experience every nuance of being with her, inside her, in her. But she wrapped her legs around his hips, dug her heels into the backs of his thighs and urged him faster.

He couldn’t seem to dig up the reserves to resist. He pumped, doing his best to keep to a steady rhythm, until his body was no longer under his own control. He looked down at her, at her face so flushed with pleasure, her eyes filled with it, that he couldn’t hold back his release any longer.

And thanked God she climaxed with him, because he was hopeless to do anything more.


*

KARA’S fingers ruffled through the dark, springy hair on Graham’s chest, playing and twirling locks around a fingertip before letting go. When his hand covered hers and flattened it, she smiled and nuzzled closer to him. “That was wonderful.”

“‘Wonderful’ is one word for it.” He kissed the top of her head and pulled her in tighter, until she was halfway over him. Her knee slipped in between his thighs and he clamped them tight around so there was no escaping. “I might go a little more bold and say spectacular. That word doesn’t get used often enough.”

“Spectacular,” she mused, grinning in the dark. This part of intimacy had been missing from her life most of all. Yes, the physical portion had been . . . well . . . spectacular. There was no point in discounting the fact that she’d been thoroughly and intensely made love to . . . and wouldn’t say no to going back for seconds. But the soft, post-sex whispers, the little touches, the sleepy sounds and heavy-eyed glances . . . this is what she’d truly wanted out of a man. Someone to spend those quiet evenings with, to hold her and make her feel like she wasn’t in this life for the long haul alone.

He made a little sound of pure laziness, rolling more toward her to cup her bottom in his hand. The man was going to go for round two, she could tell. She lightly bit down on his pectoral, and had a laugh when he yelped.

“Woman! What was that for?”

He rolled on his back and rubbed at the red mark. “You get punched in the face daily, and you cry about a love bite?” She tsked and sat up, looking for her jeans. “I might have to tell Coach Willis about that.”

“I might have to tell Coach Willis what all that yoga bending actually equates to,” he growled and pulled her back into bed just as she’d gotten her jeans up over her butt. “What’s with the clothes? Denim and snuggling do not mix.”