Getting Real (Getting Some #3)(34)

My back arches and our moans echo through the room. I lie back and watch his face above me.

He runs a thumb across my parted, panting lips.

“Are you okay?”

I clench my muscles, clamping down and squeezing all around him—pulling a filthy groan from his throat. Because he feels so good. So big and hard and hot—every inch of him stretches me, fills me in the most delicious way.

“I’m perfect.”

Connor braces his weight on his hands beside my head.

“You are, Violet. You’re so perfect.”

He leans down and kisses my breasts, my neck, before taking my mouth in a tongue twining, lips sucking, head spinning kiss that never ends.

And then he rides me—rocking his hips forward and back, surging in and out in a practiced, steady rhythm. He fucks me deep, his cock rubbing against my clitoris with every perfect stroke.

It’s constant and miraculous and catches me off-guard with how quickly an orgasm begins to build. I’m not a fast comer—I don’t really know how I compare to other women—but it usually takes me enough time to get there that I start to worry if it’s taking too long.

But not now, not here, not with him.

The cresting pleasure swells higher and higher with every thrust. The room fills with the sounds of our moans and heavy breaths. And then, when Connor’s deepest inside me and his pelvis presses up against me, he drags his hips in a tight, slow circle.

Over and over, round and round.

And boom.

I go off like a rocket to Mars. Soaring, shooting, bliss sends me flying fast and high, making my muscles go tight and lights swirl behind my closed eyelids.

And I want to tell Connor how good it is. That it’s never been like this. I want to tell him he’s amazing, and a god, and, yes, maybe even that I love him.

But it’s so intense, the sensations wrack through me so hard, words aren’t possible. Breath-catching gasps and high-pitched whimpers are the only sounds I’m capable of as I shudder in his arms.

But even without the words, Connor seems to know that too.

He stays buried inside me, not moving, making love to my lips with his mouth as I come back down to earth. Then he pulls out and turns me on my side—settling in behind me—his chest warm against my back and his wet cock sliding between the cleft of my ass.

He nuzzles my nape with his lips, peppering my skin with kisses. And then he’s touching me everywhere—and from this position there’s nowhere he can’t reach.

He palms my breasts and pinches my nipples, he sucks at my earlobe and licks my neck. His hand slides down my stomach, between my thighs, and his fingers spread my outer lips so he can rub my clit slow and soft.

And the bliss starts building all over again.

There’s a distinct possibility I won’t make it out of this alive. Death by orgasm . . . what a way to go.

Connor lifts my top leg, bringing my knee to my chest—and he nudges my opening with the head of his cock, before pushing back in.

His groan is gorgeous gravel in my ear. And I’m clenching him again, loving the feel of him inside, wanting him to stay right there forever.

The heat of his chest leaves my back as he leans away behind me—gaining the leverage to thrust deeper, harder—faster—his big hands holding me still as his hips snap up against me.

My awareness fades—all of my focus settling on where Connor moves in and out of me. Frantic words seep from my throat—yes, and God, and please, please, please.

Then he’s back against me again, his arms a tight band around me, his thrusts losing their rhythm—turning uneven and wild. He takes my hand and presses it between my legs, rubbing myself with my fingers.

“Fuck, fuck . . . ” he grinds out behind me. “Violet . . . ”

I cross the orgasm point of no return and push back against him, coming and moaning and reaching back to dig my nails into the hard bulge of his thigh.

The grip of his fingers bite into my hips and the hiss of his breath heats my shoulder as a low growl rumbles through his chest. I feel Connor’s cock twitch inside me, jerking in time with his groans.

I’ve never really been into semen. Swallowing it or rubbing it in various places—it’s always just been one of the messy parts of sex.

But I want to taste him on my tongue. Swallow him. I want to feel his come on me, in me, trickling out of me—anything he wants. Everything he wants.

I go boneless on the bed, my nose pressing into the sheet, breathing in the scent of sex and cotton. Connor kisses my shoulder softly and withdraws. The bed jostles as he climbs out of it and I force my eyes open to watch as he walks across the room to the bathroom. His ass is a firm, perfect work of art in the silver light shining from the window.

He’s wonderfully still semi-hard when he walks back in, wearing a grin on his lips that’s both savage and satiated. I roll to my back and he glides on top of me, cradling my head in his hands, kissing and nibbling my mouth languidly.

And we stay just like that, for I don’t know how long. There are no words or conversation—only kisses and touches, deep gazes and twining together.

Eventually, things heat up again—what with him naked between my spread legs and all. Connor has a second condom in his wallet that we put to excellent use.

It’s slower the second time, gentler and longer—and somehow even more intense.