Page 116 of Sterling Stone

“Fuck,” he mutters, cupping the side of my head with one hand. “Easy, baby.”

I don’t know how to go easy with him. He’s so hard, and I want him too much.

I draw up his length, then slip back as far as I can take him, until he stops me.

He cups my chin. “Inside of you again.”

Our eyes lock, mine scanning up the span of his body. Slowly, I drag my lips up him and pop off the end.

Our minds are on the same scene. Him behind me, buried inside me, filling me up.

Everything happened so fast, and yet I wouldn’t change a thing. We need to get that moment out of the way in order to prolong this one.

I shrug off my leather jacket.

“Panties off,” he demands, watching me with lust-drunk eyes, brightened by the flickering light around us.

I toss away the jacket and reach to push my panty to the side.

“Take them off,” he demands, watching me with lusty eyes, lit by the numerous candles surrounding us.

Scrambling to my feet, I stand, straddling his body with spread legs. I lift my dress, as if I can discreetly remove them, slipping my hand beneath the material and shoving my underwear to my knees before I need to step aside to fully remove them.

I reach for my dress next.

“Keep it on. Unbutton the rest.” Delicate buttons dip lower than my breast line, and I fold to my knees, straddling him, settling where I’m warm and wet directly over his solid length.

Stone hisses.

I continue to tease him, taking my time to undo each button, opening the bodice of the dress farther, exposing the strapless bra underneath.

With my dress open to my ribs, my soft heat against his hard length, Stone sits upright, digs his hand into the back of my ponytail, and cups my head, pulling me to him, kissing me firm and deep.

Hunger fills the kiss. Desperation to let go of that control he’s mastered. A fight within him to remain slow and patient when the tension between us is so thick, so tight. So hot.

Stone tugs my ponytail holder, snapping it, and releasing my hair to tumble over my shoulders. He slips his hands inside the dress, wrapping around my body to fumble with the clasp of my bra. Removing it in a few snaps, he tugs it forward, releasing me from the confines.

With my dress open, braless and breasts free, he rolls down to the truck bed again, staring up at me as I straddle him.

“Breathless,” he whispers, before placing his hand on my belly and sliding it up between the swells that ache for his touch. He cups one, and I gasp. Squeezing at the weight, I arch into his touch. His fingers firm, his thumb flicking over the hard, sensitive nub.

“Stone,” I whimper, wanting more of him. More of this.

I rock over him, his length still nestled beneath me, where I’m slick and easily glide against him.

Stone watches me. His hand on my breast. Mine on his chest. Slipping along the thickness of him.

He tucks his other hand behind his head again, like he has all night to watch the show. Me gliding over him. Him squeezing me.

“Stone,” I whimper again.

He smiles slowly, teasingly, removing his hand from my breast and walking it down my body. His other hand releases his head and works the skirt of my dress up my thighs. Both hands eventually land on my hips, lifting me the slightest bit over him.

My brows cinch, my eyes questioning him, until his hand slips beneath my dress, fingers disappearing but knowing their way to where I want him.

Two fingers enter me at once, and I suck in a breath.

“Too much?” he questions, stilling them.