Guilty Needs(33)
“Colby…” she whispered, her voice a soft, broken moan.
Working his hand between their bodies, he stroked his thumb around her clit and her hoarse whisper erupted into a harsh sob as he stroked her.
“Fuck, Bree…” he groaned as she climaxed around him, the silken walls of her sheath clenching his cock. He gritted his teeth against the urge to follow her as she whimpered and shuddered her way through orgasm.
Even as her climax passed, she continued to move against him. She was so damn perfect, her * gloving him, tight and sweet, clutching at his cock as he withdrew—greedy, demanding. All he wanted to do was give her every last thing she desired…and more.
He needed more—had to have it—but the buoyancy of the water kept him from taking her as deep, as hard as he needed. Growling against her mouth, he pulled away from her only long enough to climb from the pool and then snag her wrist, pulling her along behind him. Water dripped from their bodies as he tumbled her to the wooden chaise by the pool and mounted her, spreading her legs wide and pushing deep. Bracing his elbows next to her, he hooked his arms under her shoulders, twined his hands in her hair and kissed her.
Bree cried out, the sound smothered against his lips. Her short, neatly trimmed nails raked down his back, leaving fiery trails of sensation along the path her hands had taken.
The cool night air danced along his damp body, but for all he knew, they could have been surrounded by a lake of flame, he was so damn hot.
Hotter than hell, and burning even hotter as she moved underneath him, her snug * clenching down around him, milking him, drawing him deeper, deeper.
Warning chills danced along his spine. Between his legs, his balls drew tight against him. Tearing his mouth away from hers, he buried his face against her neck. Not yet…
Self-preservation had him slowing down the rhythm of his thrusts. Bree cupped her hands over his hips and tried to draw him closer but he held back. Slow, easy thrust in—slow, easy withdrawal—still, her silk-drenched * was fist-tight around him, her scent flooded his head and her soft, hoarse moans were the most erotic sounds he’d ever heard in his life. Control was hard-won, bit by bit, degree by degree and every time she wiggled against him, every time her nails dug into his hips in demand, that hard-won control threatened to shatter.
Six f*cking months of dreams weren’t going to end in under two minutes, though. Shoving upward, he balanced on his haunches while he hooked his elbows under her knees. Then he covered her again, using his weight to keep her from moving under him as he f*cked her.
That sweet, snug * convulsed around him as Bree snarled in frustration. Her body tensed as she fought to set the rhythm.
“Be still,” Colby muttered, nipping her ear.
“Damn it, Colby—”
He nuzzled her neck. “I haven’t spent the last six months dreaming about this just so you can have me coming before I barely even have a chance to start. Be still.”
“Six months…” She stretched her arms overhead, her hands scrambling for something to hold on to. All she could find was the wooden chaise they lay on. Gripping it in her hands, she managed, just barely, to get enough leverage to grind her pelvis against his.
She moaned even as he swore, her lashes fluttering low over her eyes. He felt it coming on her, as easy as that, just the friction of his body rubbing against her clit.
She gloved him so tightly, but as she started to come, her * squeezed down around his dick in excruciating pleasure-pain.
He wasn’t going to be able to hold out this time. He tried, gritting his teeth, dropping his body down on hers and using his weight to pin her in place, but nothing he did could stop the rhythmic, milking caresses rippling along his cock.
Nothing could cool the fire building in his balls, racing up his spine and exploding through him. “Witch,” he growled, groaning low in his throat as climax slammed into them. It danced and sizzled through his veins—liquid electricity that started in his fingers, his toes, hurtling inward until it converged in his balls before exploding outward.
He had to see her—needed to see her eyes. “Look at me,” he rasped, letting go of her legs. “Look at me…” he laid a hand on her neck, rested his thumb against her lips. Her lashes lifted slowly. She opened her mouth, circled his thumb with her tongue before drawing it inside. She sucked on him as he rode her and the feel of it—her hot mouth drawing on his flesh—had another climax rise up and slam into him before the first one had even ended.
With a hoarse cry, he arched against her, lost in her. Dimly, he felt her body shuddering, shaking, moving in rhythm with his as she came.
And his name.
As he collapsed, to rest with his head pillowed between her breasts, she whispered his name.
Bree had no idea how long they lay there.
It could have been minutes.
It could have been hours.
She might have drifted off for a few minutes, she didn’t know. Nothing seemed real, yet it had that vivid, surreal quality of dreams, the kind that lingered with you for hours after waking. It wasn’t until he stirred in her arms that her brain actually kicked in and she realized what was going on.
It had all really happened. This wasn’t just some midnight fantasy that would shatter around her the minute she opened her eyes. Her body cried out at the loss of his heat as he braced his elbows on the ground and pushed up, staring at her face with unreadable eyes.