Move the Sun (Signal Bend #1)(37)
She could feel the muscles around him and around her clit pulsing, and she moaned.
“Fuck, baby, f*ck. This is so good it might well kill me.” He was still moving slowly, and she could feel a tremor in his hands where they held her hips. She pushed back toward him, bringing him into her, to the hilt. They both cried out at that. And then he started to move, rocking in and out, slowly at first, but speeding up with every firm thrust. She could feel his whole body shaking.
God, it felt good. She moved with him, moaning, feeling the tight, slick slide everywhere, in her joints, in her core, in her head. She could hear the high-pitched sounds she was making, like a whine, and she grabbed handfuls of his comforter and buried her face in it.
He stopped and pulled out, and she gasped as the head of his cock left her. Looking over her shoulder at him, she asked, “Why’d you stop? That was great.”
“I love your ass, baby, but I can’t get to enough of you.” He turned and lay on his back, then guided her over to straddle him. “Legs forward, feet on the bed.” Once she figured out what he meant, she did it. And then he guided her down, holding his cock. He pressed against her anus and filled her the way she wanted again, and she dropped her head back and moaned.
“You set the pace, Sport. And I can get to all your excellent parts.” As if to demonstrate, he grabbed her nipples and gave them just the right pinch. Her whole body clenched as she cried out.
He arched back as she clamped hard around him. “Fuck! Easy, easy. To be in you bare, Jesus.”
She set the pace, moving on him just right to feel full and stretched but not torn. He worked her breasts, her clit, and her core, taking his time as he moved from one to the other to the other until she was in a frenzy, bouncing on him, no longer caring if he made her too full. Then he slid his fingers into her, pressing his thumb to her clit, his other hand tweaking her nipple, and she thought she’d die. He was everywhere, exciting every part of her.
Her climax was on her, she came forward, shifting to her knees and bucking on him, her hands on his pecs. Isaac grabbed her hips in a death grip; she could feel the bruises happening, and she could not have cared any less. He was sweating and grimacing as if in pain. “Baby, come on come on,” he chanted.
Another minute or so, and it was there. She somehow felt the need to announce it, “Oh, God, I’m coming. I’m coming, I’m coming. Oh, f*ck. Fuck, it’s big.”
He grabbed her ass in his hands and rolled, putting her on her back. The shift of his cock in her tight shaft made her scream. His hands on the backs of her thighs, he pushed her legs to her chest and slammed into her until she screamed again, coming so hard she saw stars. He shouted, “Oh, f*ck, oh, f*ck, oh, God!” and then he held, twitching, for a long moment, his neck corded with effort.
He pulled gently out of her as soon as he was done and flopped to the bed at her side. They lay together, panting.
Lilli felt sated and dizzy. She was also quite sore. She needed a bathroom. As she started to scoot off the bed in search of one, she felt Isaac’s hand clamp around her wrist. “Don’t go.”
She turned and regarded him. There was something in the way he said that, in his choice of words, that seemed important. She couldn’t figure out what, though. She also needed water; she could feel the hangover on its way. Fucking tequila.
“Just need the bathroom.”
He smiled and released her wrist. “First door on the left.” She stood, swayed, found her feet and moved gingerly to the bathroom.
Yep. Quite sore. She peed, carefully cleaned herself, and then looked for a glass so that she could get a drink. Nothing. So she put her mouth to the stream from the faucet and drank that way.
When she came back to his bedroom, he was sitting up in bed, his legs under the covers. His bed was gorgeous. A dark, reddish wood, polished to a high gleam, it was a four-poster bed with heavy, elaborate posts. He’d neatened the linens and turned the other side down for her. A bit suspicious of what was going on, she eased her sore self into the bed and looked at him, waiting for . . . something.
He handed her a tall glass of ice water. “Thought you might need some hydration.” Smiling, she took the glass and nodded her thanks.
His expression was concerned. “You okay, Sport?”
She drank the water in long, loud gulps, draining the large glass. “Yeah. Just . . . sobering up.
“Should I be sorry about what we just did? Did I take advantage?” He handed her his half-full glass of water, and she drank that, too.
“No. Just—I usually know a guy better before I do that.” She was feeling really guarded as the giddy tequila haze ebbed away. Jesus Christ. She was in his house. She had no idea where he lived. She was naked and had no idea where her clothes were—oh, wait. By his front door. He’d ruined her top. She had no weapon. She was completely vulnerable to him. She’d let him—no, she’d begged him to—go up her ass. Without a condom. This was a ton of trust she’d inadvertently given him, this man at whom she’d been aiming a kill shot not much more than a day ago.
He took the second empty glass from her and set it on the nightstand before he scooted closer, picking up her hand in his. “I think we’re getting to know each other in the important ways first.” He lifted her hand to his mouth for a kiss. His lips still brushing the back of her hand, he said. “You amaze me, Lilli. I’m not afraid to say I’m gettin’ caught up here.”