Tumble (Dogwood Lane, #1)(56)

Kicking off my flip-flops, I shimmy out of my shorts. “You asked. I was wrong, though. It wasn’t the night in the Bronx.” My shorts end up in a pile next to his pants on the floor. “It was in Manhattan.”

“My goal tonight,” he says, grabbing my ass, “is to make you forget about Manhattan.”

I lick my lips. “You have your work cut out for you, buddy.”

He peels my panties down my legs and then pins me to the door. He lifts me up. My legs lock around his waist. The door scratches at my back, the wood rough against my skin.

His cock presses against my opening. I can feel the heat between our bodies and my wetness coating the inside of my thighs. His hands, rough and gritty from the wood he works with all day, free my breasts from my bra so they sit on top of the underwire.

“Good lord, Neely,” he grumbles.

He takes one nipple in his mouth, sucking it gently between his teeth. The other is rolled between thick fingers. Each sensation is another douse of gasoline on the already flaming inferno in my gut.

My head falls back, my back arching in order to tilt my pelvis. His cock plays with my opening like a tease.

“This is great,” I say. “But this is not making me forget Manhattan.” I shove my opening toward him to drive home the point.

“If Manhattan was that great, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Fair enough.”

He starts to say something else. But as his lips part, the words don’t come. Instead, a softness washes over the greens of his eyes, and I feel my chest tighten in a way it never has with a man in this position.

The air between us shifts, an intimacy that would make me ill with someone else, thick as it lingers around our bodies. But I’m not ill. Not with him. Instead, I find myself falling into the sweet, crooked grin he casts my way.

He lowers his lips slowly, his gaze never breaking mine. He kisses me softly, passionately, with something more than a need for an orgasm. I kiss him back and lose myself in the warmth of him.

All too soon, he drops me to my feet.

“What the heck are you doing?” I ask.

“Condom.” He digs through the pocket of his pants and finds a wrapper. He rips the plastic with his teeth and rolls it over his length, never taking his eyes from mine. “Ready?”

“I’ve been ready for ten freaking minutes.” I lay my palms on his hard biceps, my fingers digging into his skin.

He lifts me again. This time, his cock parts my pussy and sits heavily in my opening. “Feel that?”

My chest heaves. “Yup.”

“Want more?”

“Yup—ah!” He splits me open, filling me with his length. The end of his cock hits the wall of my pussy. The pressure is incredible. “You could’ve warned a girl.”

“A girl that’s run her mouth as much as you should’ve expected it.” He regrips my hips. “I can barely move inside you.”

“Well, Manhattan . . .”

He slides out. There’s a moment of relief as he exits me, but it lasts only a moment. He presses back in hard. My back slams against the wood. The contact stings on both sides.

My head starts to spin.

His head buried in the crook of my neck, he slides in and out in a steady motion. Our bodies become slick with sweat. The door behind me bites into my skin, but it doesn’t actually hurt. It just adds to the pressure building in my stomach.

With each movement, he fills me to completion. There’s no performance anxiety like I have with other men—does my hair look right? Is my stomach pouching? I think of nothing other than the pleasure he’s delivering one thrust at a time.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he groans. Cupping my breasts, he massages the heavy globes. “I just want to get my hands all over you. Touch you everywhere.”

I suck in a breath. “If you keep rubbing my clit like that, I’m going to come all over you.”

He chuckles. “I love when you talk like that.”

“Frankly?” I ask, brushing a lock of sweat-soaked hair off my forehead. “Fine. I’ll be frank. Make me come, Dane.”

His jaw sets. His hands find my hips again. He looks me dead in the eye as he shoves into me. Over and over again, he finds the sweet spot in the deepest part of my body. My breasts vibrate on my chest, my head knocking against the wood. It’s a bedlam of sensation, a cacophony of noise that builds me up so high there’s only one choice: to fall.

And fall I do.

“Dane,” I scream into the night. The world bursts before my eyes as the top of my head threatens to explode. I grip his ass, the muscles flexing under my fingers, as I urge him on.

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. Just milks every last ounce of pleasure from my body as only he can. As the colors slow and the final jolts of orgasm roll through my legs, he pushes into me one final time.

My body tenses around him as his cock swells. He closes his eyes and groans the sweetest, sexiest sound I’ve ever heard.

The muscles in his neck flex as he works out his orgasm. His body trembles against mine. I bury my head in his chest and listen to his heartbeat patter wildly inside.

By the time he pulls out and lowers me back to my feet, I can barely stand. Keeping my eyes open is a challenge.

I lean against the wood, letting my eyes close, as he pulls on his pants. Before I know it, he’s lifting me in his arms and carrying me through the barn. My head rests on his shoulder.