Page 22 of The Trouble with Flings

We quickly fall into sync, thrusting and grinding and kissing like we’ll never get another chance. He pushes his hands beneath my ass, lifting and angling me, taking me impossibly deeper. Pleasure sears through me. I cling to him, rocking in time to every thrust as he turns us on our sides without slipping out. He pulls my leg up his thigh, holding it there, holding me open as he pumps his hips deeper. The angle takes us to a new high.

Then his mouth is on mine again. Our kisses are feverish. He grips my hips and rolls onto his back. Neither of us misses a beat. I ride him, and he uses one hand on my breast, the other on my clit, sending me into a bucking frenzy of desire.

“That’s it,” he grits out. “Ride my cock. Good girl. Squeeze me tight.”

I slide along his cock, tightening my inner muscles, and he growls, “Fucking divine.”

His praise soars through me, spurring me on. I ride him faster, squeezing tighter.

“That’s it. Just like that.”

Thrills rush through me at the wickedness staring back at me. Desire coils low in my belly, tight and hot. I want to freeze time, to let the rush of sensations swallow me whole. He sits up all at once and pulls my hair, bringing my mouth to his, and God, I love that, too. As he feasts on my mouth, he wraps his other arm around me, holding me tight on his cock, and thrusts upward. Pleasure radiates outward from my core, and I cry out into our kisses.

“Fuck, Jennifer. You feel so damn good.” When he adds my name like that, my entire body lights up. He grabs my ass, gritting out, “I need more. Get on your hands and knees.”

I scramble off him, eager for everything he has to give. He goes up on his knees behind me, caressing my ass. “You’re so beautiful like this, at my mercy.” He tangles his fingers in my hair, tugging my head back at the same time as he thrusts in deep.

“Yes—”

He pounds into me, tugging my hair to the side, so I’m forced to look at him over my shoulder. His muscles are taut, pleasure gleaming in his eyes. “You like me fucking you hard?”

“Yes. Harder,” I challenge, and the sinful grin that earns nearly sends me over the edge.

This is even better than I remember. The way he knows what I need, the way he draws out my pleasure until I feel it deep in my bones. It’s as if I’ve manifested him, and he was created purely from my desires.

He grabs my hips with both hands, driving into me. “So fucking tight. Just as I remember. Goddamn perfect.”

My heart stumbles again.

“Come for me, wild girl. I want to hear my name echo off the walls.” He wraps an arm around me and uses his hand on those sensitive nerves. The pleasure is instant and overwhelming. I go down on my elbows, my entire body shaking.

“Jesus, this angle,” he grits out, taking me deeper. Every pump of his hips strokes that hidden spot inside me that makes my toes curl under. He thrusts and grinds, working my clit to perfection. The pleasure is so all-consuming, it’s all I can do to remember how to breathe.

It doesn’t take long before the world reels away again, and I cry out his name so loud, I’m sure half of Costa Rica hears me, and I don’t care.

When I finally come down from the peak, he flips me onto my back and says, “I want to see your face when I come.”

The way he says it feels intimate, anchoring me in the moment, but it’s the way he’s looking at me as he laces our fingers together that tugs at some long-ago forgotten part of myself.

A warning whispers in the back of my mind, telling me it’s not intimate. It’s something else. I cling to that, because the former is too terrifying.

Thankfully, I don’t have time to overthink, as he lavishes me with lethal kisses, and our greediness takes over, tongues tangling, hips rocking. “Fuck,” he growls, and unlaces our hands.

He pushes his hands beneath my arms and curls his fingers around my shoulders, holding me still as he thrusts harder. I cling to him, pressure mounting like a wave ready to break. His entire body flexes, and I squeeze my inner muscles, trying to stave off my climax in hopes of meeting his. But he feels too good—we feel too good—and with his next thrust, pleasure explodes inside me. I cry out as he roars my name and a string of curses, surrendering to his own powerful release.

The pleasure goes on and on. When we finally collapse to the mattress, I try to put a sliver of space between us. As if distance might calm the way he left every nerve in my body singing his praises. But the sensation running through me is deeper than that, far more unsettling than aftershocks. Like something warm and dangerous unfurling beneath my ribs.

“Get over here, wild girl.” His arm snakes around my waist, dragging me back to him. “We’re just getting started.”

“God, you’re needy,” I tease, my pulse already racing again.

“Not needy.” His hand slips down between my legs. “Thorough.”

A laugh slips out as he tightens his hold on me. How on earth did I think I’d survive a week of this man?

I don’t have the answer, but I can’t wait to find out.

Chapter Seven