Page 52 of Tennessee Trouble

Another blink and the underwear is gone. Brandt faces me, sheathed cock in hand, stroking himself as he looks at me.

Ohhhhh…fuck…

Climbing back onto the bed, he looms over me like a villain, covering my whole body with his and slowly lowering himself down to kiss me. He tastes like whiskey, mixed in a sweet tang I don’t recognize. Oh, wait…that’s me. He tastes like whiskey and me. I shudder, the realization sparking a new zing of lust to rush through me.

I’m needy, desperate, and about ready to start begging.

So I try to take matters into my own hands.

Reaching between us, I wrap my hand around his dick and lead him to my entrance. Brandt laughs into our kiss, not bothering to fight my movements, but not giving in to them either.

“Not yet, Luna…”

The way he says that fake name, like it’s real, makes my heart squeeze. As if this could be our always, and that sweet little moniker be what he—and only he—calls me.

“I need you,” I hiss, bucking my hips to get his attention.

He groans, his own hips reacting, dragging his dick through my wetness. The tip hits my clit and I bite down on my cheek, feeling the want crawl along my skin.

“And you’ll have me…” He kisses me again, repeating the move. Fuck, he’s teasing me, and he knows just what to do. “As soon as you admit this is a date.”

“What?”

“Say it, baby.” He lines his dick up, notching it into my entrance, playing with me. I moan, that little bit of him messing with my mind. “Say this is a date.”

I don’t know why that’s so important to him. But he’s right—this is a date. Best one I’ve ever had. Doesn’t matter what I said earlier, trying to play it off like there isn’t something between us. There is. Something deep. Something powerful. A connection that I can’t deny.

That I don’t want to deny.

Pulling back just enough, he moves away from my core. That’s my cue.

“It’s a date.” I huff out a sigh, looking for him to return to me. To give me what I want.

Oh and fuck, does he.

Brandt slams into me, hard, fast, not waiting for me to even finish my admission. The move steals my breath, right along with his slow withdrawal. He does it again, this time not waiting for me to adjust to him.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he mutters, picking up the pace.

I squeeze my insides, wrapping my legs around his waist, getting lost in the feel of him. I’m so full I could burst, my body still screaming for more. For him to go harder. To give me all he’s got.

“More…” I whisper into his ear, tilting my hips upward. I nip at his earlobe, the soft skin barely grazing my teeth.

“Oh, I’ll give you more…” he moans.

The fire returns to his eyes, releasing something inside him. His picks up his pace even more, his hips bucking wildly. I meet him thrust for thrust, and soon enough we’re a mess of limbs as we find our rhythm. The one that only we know.

No, it’s not just a rhythm. It’s a formula. One that combines every element of the two of us, making this work. Our own personal chemistry—steady, vulnerable, fierce, and explosive. That’s what we are.

That’s what he makes me feel.

A feeling I don’t want to abandon.

One that’s starting to melt my heart. Opening it up and letting him in. All feelings I shouldn’t be having. Not for this man. I need to focus on the physical. About what he’s doing to my body, and the pleasure building in my gut.

The pleasure that is simmering like a kettle on an open flame, steam rising as the temperature rises. At any second, I’m going to boil over.

“You feel so good. All hot, tight, and wet…” Brandt says, slamming into me. “But you know what’s gonna feel better?”