Page 53 of Spell Ya Later

Apparently I have a possessive streak—who knew?

The button on his jeans presses painfully into my bare skin, which is raw from his stubble. I hiss into his mouth at the unwanted friction.

“Shit, yeah, let me take care of this.” In a moment he’s standing at the foot of the bed and he’s pulling his shoes and socks off.

An improvement to be sure, but not what I wanted. My bottom lip sticks out at his reduced speed.

“Something you want?” he asks with a quirked, bushy brow.

Okay, Hazel, you need to turn the tables because this man has way too much damn confidence right now.

I stretch on the bed, wiggling my naked hips a little more than necessary. He catalogs the movement, licking his lips.

“I don’t know, Noah. Is there somethingyouwant?”

Nailed it.

His eyes hold mine as he pulls off his jeans and boxer-briefs in one go.

Every part of Noah is long.

Every. Part.

I make grabby hands until he comes back, enveloping me in his warmth, his scent, his comforting buzz. Every point of contact sends a little electric shock, until I’m practically vibrating with the desire to cement our connection.

To get my brains fucked out.

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like something?” The words leave his mouth in heavy gasps. He’s at the edge of his patience, and frankly so am I.

I nod, sinking my nails into his ass. “Now, please.”

Should I have told him that I’m a virgin before this moment? Probably. Am I going to tell him? Later. Possibly.

“Wait. Shit. Condom?”

“Birth control.”

He lines up and, with a deep breath, pushes in. I whimper at the pinch, biting his lower lip.

My mind expands.

I canfeelwhat he feels. My walls clamped around him, my skin against his, the sting of my fingernails digging into his sides. It’s as if it’s happening to me—at the same time I’m feeling everything that’s actually happening to me.

It’s overwhelming. It’s intense.

It’shot.

My entire body is like an exposed nerve and I need him to move. I want him to move.Move.

The first drag of him as he pulls out punches the air from my lungs. I’m only able to wheeze when he buries himself to the hilt. His pace is slow, controlled, and it only serves to jack the electric current up to an all-encompassing buzz.

“Fuck, you feel good,” he says, grasping one of my hands above my head. He buries his face in my neck, biting and sucking the skin there.

I refrain from telling him I know, becauseI know. I know exactly how I feel and I know how he feels and I just...shit.

“Harder!” I manage to exclaim. I don’t know who wants it—if he wants it, I want it, or both of us do.

The scent of sex fills my nose, the taste of it fills my mouth.