Page 65 of Tracking Wolfe

“Not stopping.”

I dragged open-mouthed kisses down his side as I continued to stretch him with my fingers, enjoying every harsh intake of breath or low moan in the air around us.

“That good?” I asked.

“Please,” he whispered in response. Over and over until I felt like I was going to lose my mind from how sweet and desperate he was laid out for me.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.” I stretched up to kiss his red lips again, to feel the sharp scrape of his stubble against my cheek and chin. To feel the tight hold of his hand on the back of my head like he was afraid I was going to leave him again. “Not leaving, baby,” I said, hoping he believed it.

When I finally moved back between his legs, I had to pause for a second. To press a hand flat to his hip and just breathe. Because the sight of Wolfe spread out beneath me—skin flushed, chest rising and falling too fast, cock hard and wet against his belly—was doing things to my self-control I hadn’t anticipated.

I needed to not come the minute I got inside him. I needed to not hurt him by giving in to the part of me that wanted to take him apart as fast and hard as I could.

Three seconds. That was all I allowed myself.

“You okay?” I asked, checking in one last time in case he had any hesitation.

“No! Fuck. Please.”

My heart clenched for a minute before I realized what he meant. “Need something?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled his knees up for me. “You’re not cute. You’re a torturer. Don’t know why I ever fantasized about this.”

I lined myself up and grinned down at him. “Tell me about these fantasies.”

“Well, for one, you actually put your cock inside me. There’s never a two-hour teasing session first.”

His breathing was jagged, and his voice was rough from the moaning he’d been doing.

I pressed in slowly and tried distracting myself from the tight squeeze. “They call it foreplay in some circles.”

His knees were up by his shoulders. I leaned down to press a kiss to his lips while I rocked my hips forward.

“Trace,” he said on a gasp, arching back. “Fuck, more. Please.”

His pleas were going to ruin me forever… if the tight heat of him—bare, with nothing between us—didn’t drive me insane first.

“You were telling me your fantasy,” I reminded him hoarsely, trying to keep myself from coming.

“Wha—? Oh. I-in my favorite one, we’re camping off the Cammeron Trail,” he began, mouth and brain loose from the sensations. “And the campfire dies down. And… and we get naked under the stars… or-or, I sneak into your tent—J-j-jesus fuck!” he gasped as I tagged his prostate and his channel clenched around me.

The hot clasp of his body around me was indescribable. “Which is it? Naked stargazing or slutty tent boy?” I teased breathlessly as I tried not to embarrass myself.

He sucked in a breath. “B-both? I dunno. I had years, Trace. There’s too many incarnations of the fantasy. Now, stop talking and fuck me.”

The fact that he’d fantasized about doing this with me enough times to have incarnations made me realize how much he wanted me, wanted this.

And now I was just as deep in it. Couldn’t deny it any longer.

“Feel s’fucking good,” I slurred, letting myself go finally so I could fully enjoy the sensation of Wolfe beneath me.

Hot and tight.

Smelling like the hundreds of campfires we’d shared.

Sounding like my favorite tenor melody, except now the lyrics were begging me for more, harder. To not stop. To never stop.

I curled my arms under his shoulder blades, holding his entire body as close as I could while I moved inside him. Wolfe’s legs wove around me, and his hands tangled into my hair to hold my head, his wide eyes laser-focused on mine.