Page 116 of Big Dick Energy

The buckle. The button. The zipper was obscenely loud in the quiet kitchen. She freed me, and her eyes went dark.

Her hand wrapped around me, firm and knowing, one long stroke that made my head fall back.

Then she was sliding down, bare feet on tile, looking up at me with that messy hair and my shirt pooling around her.

She didn't tease. Her breath ghosted over me, and then her mouth.

Warm. Wet. Perfect.

A shudder ran through me. Her tongue circled, her cheeks hollowed. One hand worked the base while the other gripped my hip, possessive. I tangled my fingers in her hair, not guiding, just holding on. Feeling the motion. The slide.

My hips gave a small thrust, and she took it, took me deeper, a muffled sound of pleasure that vibrated through my entire body.

Close. Dangerously close.

But I wanted more.

I pulled back. She made a soft, disappointed sound, lips swollen and wet.

“Not yet,” I managed.

I hauled her up, gripped the hem of the shirt, and pulled it over her head, and then slid her panties down her legs. She stood in the morning sun, bare and flushed, and the breath left my lungs.

I lifted her back onto the counter. She gasped at the cold granite, her legs wrapping around me, pulling me into her heat.

I buried my face in her neck, breathing her in, coffee, sleep, her. My mouth traced down her throat, her collarbone, until I took one peaked nipple between my lips. She cried out, arching into me, pressing herself harder against my tongue. I sucked, grazed with my teeth, while my hand found her other breast.

She writhed beneath me. “Dallas... please...”

I kissed lower. Over her stomach. I hooked my hands under her knees and pushed her legs wider.

She was drenched.

I lowered my mouth.

The first stroke made her jolt. A sharp cry tore from her. I held her hips down and let myself taste her in long, slow licks, circling her clit before drawing it into my mouth. Her thighs trembled against my ears. Her hands fisted in my hair, holding me closer, grinding against me. Her moans filled the kitchen, unfiltered.

“I'm close,” she panted.

I slid two fingers inside her. Curled them. Found the spot that made her scream. Worked them in rhythm while my mouth never left her.

She shattered. Her body bowed off the counter, a raw sound ripping from her throat. She clenched around my fingers, waves crashing through her. I didn't stop, drawing it out until she went limp against the stone.

I rose, positioned, and buried myself in her with one thrust.

Her eyes flew open. A choked gasp.

I held still, feeling her, watching the aftershocks ripple through. Then I withdrew and drove back in. Her nails scraped down my back.

She met every thrust, her hips rising to mine, her legs pulling me deeper. The sound of skin against skin mixed with our ragged breaths.

Her eyes, heavy-lidded, found mine.

“This is what you do to me.”

I could feel her building again, her walls beginning to flutter. Her breath hitched.

I reached between us, found her clit, and pressed down.