Mister O(55)

I raise my chest, grip her hips with both hands, and thrust—slow, deep lingering strokes that have her squirming and begging, saying yes and please and more. I take my time, making her want it, rocking in and out of her. She circles her hips against me. Her knuckles are white from gripping the counter. I run a hand up her spine, grab a fistful of hair, and tug. She yelps, and the noise transforms into a low, sexy groan as I take her harder.

“Deeper,” she begs. “I love it when you’re so deep in me.”

Sparks fly down my legs. Lust incinerates me, and desire spreads to every cell. She raises her ass higher, sinks lower, gives me more of her body. Each move she makes fans the flames, and I f*ck her how she wants it. Deep, hard, passionate.

Her breath comes in shudders and reckless pants. Curling my hands tighter around her, I say, “Is this how you wanted it? All those times?”

“Yes. God, yes.”

“Is it like your dirty pictures?”

“It’s better. So much better.”

I know what will make it the best. Her lips. I lower my chest to her back, cup a cheek with one hand, and turn her face to mine. This isn’t the easiest position, but I don’t care. I know what I’m doing, and I f*ck her from behind as I kiss her madly, needing her lips, craving her tongue, wanting this connection. She’s so wild beneath me, all moans and murmurs and thrusts, and her tongue seeks mine, her lips pressing hungrily to me.

Her * is my favorite place in the universe, and she grows even wetter with each kiss, and slicker still with every consuming thrust. We kiss like sloppy, crazed lovers, until she bites down on my lip. She cries out, lets go of my mouth, and utters a throaty, hungry series of oh Gods that are nearly my undoing as she comes hard, calling my name.

Somewhere, tingling in my body, I can feel the start of an orgasm. But I’m not ready to stop. I’m not done f*cking my girl. I slow down, grit my teeth, and fight off my own release.

“I want you to come again,” I tell her, my voice rough.

She just nods, and that’s all I need to know she’s game for multiples.

I pull out, my fingers tight around the condom, keeping it on. “Bed. Now. On your back. Legs spread. Leave the shoes on.”

She’s never been to my bedroom, but it’s not hard to find, and in seconds she’s on the navy blue comforter and open for me. I crawl between her legs, and shove back into her.

“Oh f*ck,” I groan, my cock surrounded by her sweet heat once more. “You’re so f*cking wet.”

“You got me that way,” she says, as I fill her.

“You’re so f*cking sexy. You feel so good.”

“God, so do you. It drives me wild the way you f*ck me,” she says, and every word from her mouth gets me hotter. She wraps her legs around my ass, and loops her hands around my neck. This is how I want her.

“I want to watch your face when you come again. You’re so beautiful beneath me. You’re so goddamn gorgeous when you come,” I say, and she trembles, gripping me tighter, pulling me farther into her.

I don’t want this to ever stop. I don’t want this night to end. I want her over and over. I roll my hips and thrust into her, finding a new rhythm. It’s fast, but not frantic. It’s intense, but not out of control. It’s just f*cking perfect, then more perfect when she raises her knees, sliding them up my sides, opening herself even more.

“You like that, princess?” I growl, as she widens for me, giving me her body in that position.

Her answer is a low, sexy cry of rapture. I drive farther, rolling my hips, hitting her in all the right places.

“I can feel you deeper like this. So deep that . . .” She trails off, her lips near my ear. She draws my earlobe between her teeth and nips. She moans against me, a sexy, beautiful noise as she whispers, “That I’m going to come again.”

My favorite words from her. I’m so f*cking turned on. So f*cking crazy for her. “Do it,” I groan as I pump into her, and she grips my ass, digging in, holding on. Her face is pressed to mine as she rocks up. Her body detonates, and she’s like a Harper bomb under my hands, a beautiful explosion of lust and sensuality, and so much rapture.

That’s it. I’m done. I chase her there, pushing deep inside at a fevered pace, my own climax tearing through my body as she shudders beneath me. Our cheeks touch as I come so f*cking hard that nothing but incoherent noises fall from my lips, nearly as loud as hers. Because, holy f*ck, it’s so good with her. It’s so incredibly good.

Her moans don’t stop for a long time, and nor do mine as I collapse on her. My heart beats furiously. Beads of sweat slick my chest. And I’m so damn happy to have her in my bed, beneath me, with me, next to me.

I roll off her, tie the condom, and toss it in the bathroom trash. I return to her, and she’s the most beautiful sight ever—mostly undressed and f*cked senseless . . . by me.

“Take off the rest of your clothes. I want to feel you naked,” I tell her, and I help her slide off the shoes, stockings, and the bra. She’s in nothing, just like me. I pull her into my arms.

She feels too good to be true.



“So this is your bedroom,” she says, glancing around a few minutes later.

My room is simple—blond hardwood floors, a king-sized bed, and a bureau with a handful of framed family photos, as well as stacks of sketchbooks and pens. On my wall is a drawing of a duck taped to bricks, aptly titled “Duct Tape.”