Page 90 of The Temporary Bride

His mouth follows his hands, lips and tongue hot against my skin. He moves from one side to the other, his stubble rasping against the soft skin of my breasts, sucking lightly at my nipple before moving to press his lips to my sternum, my collarbone, the curve of my shoulder. I ride him a little harder in response, a soft sound escaping me that I make no effort to hold back.

“Touch yourself,” he murmurs against my breast. “Play with your clit while you ride me. I want to watch.”

I reach down between us and press my fingers against my clit, starting to move them in slow circles, and the combination of that and his cock filling me with every stroke is almost too much all at once. A moan spills out of me, and his hands tighten on my hips in response.

“That’s it.” He nods, watching my hand. “Just like that. Show me how good it feels.”

He kisses his way up to my neck, my shoulder, nipping lightly at my skin, his hands moving restlessly over my body like he wants to be everywhere at once.

I ride him faster, working my fingers more firmly against my clit, and the pleasure builds with every stroke, winding tighter and tighter. My thighs are starting to shake and my breathing has gone ragged, and I’m aware of nothing except the feel of him inside me and the sound of his voice and the way the morning light falls across his face when he looks at me.

“You feel so deep like this,” I breathe, my hips rolling forward on a stroke that makes my eyes fall shut for a second. “Holy fuck, Tristan, you’re so deep.”

“Take all of me,” he demands roughly, his hands pulling my hips down harder. “Every inch. I want you to feel all of me.”

He watches my face the whole time, reading every response, adjusting to everything I give him. When I get close, when my movements have gotten a little desperate and my head has dropped back slightly, he reaches up and fists his hand in my hair, pulling my gaze back to his.

“I want to see it,” he rasps. “I want to see your face when you come. Keep your eyes on me, dimples.”

I fall apart. My body clenches and then releases in a long, rolling wave, pleasure crashing through me from my core outward, and I keep my eyes on his even as they blur at the edges.

He watches me come with an expression that makes everything feel twice as intense, hungry and focused and possessive. His hands grip my hips, holding me, working me through every wave until I’m gasping and spent.

When the climax finally passes, I sag against him, catching my breath, my hair falling around both our faces. His arms come around me and he holds me there for a long moment, his lips pressing against my temple.

“I’m never going to get over how fucking beautiful you are,” he murmurs into my hair. “Every time, you wreck me.”

Before I’ve fully recovered, before my breathing has settled back to anything close to normal, he starts moving again, his hands urging my hips, driving up into me with short, deep strokes that pull a helpless whimper out of me.

“Give me another one,” he whispers. His lips move against my jaw as he speaks, his breath hot on my skin. “Please. Come on my cock again.” He pulls back just enough to look at me, and his expression is raw, stripped of its usual composure. “I need it. I need you so much. You have no idea.”

The desperation in his voice lights something up inside me, and I start moving again, rocking my hips against him, riding him with whatever my body has left to give.

He moves with me, his hands pulling me down to meet every upward thrust, the force of it pushing the air out of my lungs on every stroke. I feel the pleasure building again faster than I expect, climbing higher with every pass, my fingers finding my clit again.

“That’s it.” He swallows, watching my face. “You feel so fucking good when you ride me. Don’t stop. Give me everything.”

My thighs are burning and my body is working toward it, and I can’t think about anything except how he feels and how he’s looking at me and how badly I want to get there again.

“Tristan,” I gasp. “Tristan!”

The second orgasm crests and breaks and tears through me harder than the first. I fall forward against him, my face pressing into his shoulder, gripping his arms hard. He fucks me through it, deep and relentless, his cock driving into me over and over until I’ve shaken through every last wave of it and gone limp against him.

He gives me about three seconds to recover, but he’s clearly not done with me yet.

“Lean back,” he orders.

I do, arching my upper body backward, and he wraps his arms around me to hold me there, his hands braced against the arch of my back.

The angle shifts everything, and when he drives up into me from below the force of it shakes my body, my breasts bouncing with every thrust. I grip his forearms with both hands and hold on, my head falling back, the pale blue sky above me the only thing in my field of vision.

“God, you feel so tight around me,” he grits out through clenched teeth. “I can feel you squeezing my cock. You feel so fucking good like this.” He drives harder, deeper, his grip on me tightening to the point where I know I’ll have marks tomorrow. “I could stay inside you forever. You know that?”

“I want to feel you come inside me,” I beg breathlessly. I’m desperate for it, for the feel of him finally losing that last thread of control. “Please. I need to feel it.”

He makes a rough sound at that, something between a groan and a curse, and takes several more hard, plunging thrusts that rattle through me from my hips to my chest. His breathing has gone completely ragged, his grip on me bruising, and I hold on as he drives into me two, three, four more times and then pulls me forward hard against his chest and buries himself as deep as he can go as he comes.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Oh fuck, dimples. God, I’m right there, I’m—fuck!”