Page 113 of The Backup Plan

I spear my tongue into her and feel her tighten around me. Her hands twist in my hair as I watch her lips fall lax and her head fall back.

“Lucas,” she moans as her taste owns my tongue. “Please. Oh God, please.”

I replace my tongue with my fingers and lick my way up and focus on her tender clit at the top. I suck on the spot as my fingers curl up and over inside her.

She jerks and then gasps a pure, needy plea that vibrates through the room.

She’s trembling against my mouth. Her thighs flex tight against my shoulders, and her hands tighten in my hair, holding me in place with a desperation that matches my own.

Every flick of my tongue, every swirl, draws a ragged mewl from her that owns every part of me.

Her body draws taut as a shudder rolls through her and around my fingers. Her hips buck and thighs tense.

“Lucas . . . please. Right there.” And then her broken cry fills the room as her body absorbs the orgasm.

I keep my mouth right where it is, licking at her slickness until the contractions fade.

Her hands ease in my hair, but all I can think about is burying my cock in that tight heat of hers and losing myself.

“Emery.” My voice is hoarse as I stand, body primed for release. I pull her legs down off the counter. I don’t trust that she can stand, and I don’t trust that I can wait so I guide her to turn around, chest on the counter and ass in the air for me.

Fucking hell.

Her pussy is swollen from my lips, and her thighs are glistening with evidence of an orgasm well had. As soon as I’m finished jacketing up, I run my hands over the globes of her ass, lining up my cock at her entrance.

I press in an inch and then pull it back out. It’s a goddamn rush to hear her whimper and see her try and back up on it, knowing that I just made her come and she’s still desperate for more of me.

I sink into her, slow at first to feel every inch, relishing the heat and the way her pussy stretches to fit me, begging me to go deeper with the first rock of my hips. I want her with a desperation I’ve rarely felt before.

All I see is her.

All I want is her.

All I need is her.

I grip her hips, pull back out agonizingly slowly, and then slam back in with a grunt.

She arches her back, bracing herself on the counter. “Harder.”

I don’t think there’s much choice because I’m blinded by sensations.

Hot.

Wet.

Tight.

She clenches down as if to taunt me and I’m fucking gone. I slam into her again, my hips grinding, and the pleasure owning me.

I lean forward, my palm pressing to her lower back, pinning her to the counter while I drive into her over and over. Sweat breaks on my forehead as she reaches to her sides and holds on to the edge of the counter for leverage.

The sounds—her whimpers, my grunts, the slap of our bodies colliding—fill my ears and urge me on.

The pace is relentless. The pleasure is so good it’s unbearable.

The desperation in her moans, the way she pushes back to meet my every thrust, fuck if it doesn’t undo something in me.

I want to fill every inch of her.