Page 127 of Cherry Picking

I take my time with it, setting a pace slow enough to be cruel.

He’s got one hand splayed across my lower back and the other on my breast, thumb working over me. “Fuck, look at you.” His hand slides up my ribs and back down. “Taking me so well. You’ve got no idea what you look like right now.”

“Tell me.”

“You want me to narrate?”

“I want you to keep talking.” I roll my hips, and his eyes start to flutter. I catch his jaw in my hand. “No. Eyes on me.”

“Sorry.” He drags them back open. “God, you’re soaked. I can feel it on my thighs.”

Heat climbs into my face, and I don’t bother trying to hide it.

“Come on, pretty girl. Take what you want.” His thumb drags over my nipple, and my whole body clenches around him. “There you go. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

“You sure about that?”

“You’re squeezing me so tight there’s no doubt left that you’re completely mine.”

“Don’t be so cocky.”

“Can you blame me?”

When his hips start to buck up into me on their own, I press a palm flat on his sternum. “Hold still.”

“Baby—”

“You can wait.”

I roll down onto him harder, and he groans out something that isn’t a word.

His head falls back, lip pinned between his teeth before he gives up on holding it in.

“This is too much.”

“You’re a professional athlete.”

“That has nothing to do with anything,” he grits out. When he gets a hand between us, he puts his thumb exactly where I need it, and my whole plan collapses.

“That’s it.” His thumb keeps working, his other hand coming up to hold the back of my neck, pulling me down until we’re breathing the same air. “You’re going to come on my cock, and you’re going to let me watch you do it.”

“I told you to hold still.”

“You did.” He bucks up into me hard, once, and I lose the argument entirely. “I’m not great at following directions.”

While he fucks into me from below, I give up on being in charge of anything. My hands slide off his chest, and I let him take it, hips snapping up into me hard enough that the headboard starts knocking the wall.

Everything’s gone slick between us. I can feel myself starting to clench around him, tight and fluttering, my eyes pinching closed.

His thumb tips my chin up. “You wanted to run this. Look at me while you fall apart.”

That does it. I come with both hands braced back on his chest, his name coming out of me in pieces. He goes over about a half second behind, hips driving up, arms locking around my back and pulling me flat down against him. He holds me there while it works through him.

Neither of us moves for at least five minutes.

“Okay,” he says eventually, into my hair. “Okay. Yeah.”

“Very articulate.”