Page 21 of Ridin’ Dirty

Hard.

So hard, I was sure I’d feel him into next week.

And then he was bent over me, his breath warm against my ear as he muttered dirty things to me, remarkably—confoundingly—turning me on that much more.

But even as I mewled and gasped, my slick center amplifying the soundtrack of my pleasure, he didn’t relent.

Fast.

Hard.

Hot.

So fucking hot, I thought I might come again.

Three orgasms.

Not one of them fake.

“Oh, yes!” I whimpered. “Fuck, yes—fuck me, fuck me,” I begged, my grip around the sheets so tight I’d bet all the stars in the sky my knuckles were white.

“You like it rough and wild,” he grunted in my ear. “You gonna come again for me, baby?”

The noise I made in response was unintelligible, but I knew he didn’t mind.

I knew because he shoved an arm underneath me, felt his way between my legs, instantly made contact with my clit and muttered, “Hell, yeah, you’re comin’ again for me. Bring it home, babe.”

And then I was coming.

Hard.

Long.

Wet.

But what made it even better were the sounds he hummed when he lost his rhythm, ramming into me balls deep as he stilled, filling the condom.

When he was finished, he rocked his hips lazily.

Once.

Twice.

He then slid out of me slowly, grabbed hold of my hips, and flipped me until I was on my back. His hands planted on either side of my head, he lowered himself, bringing the tip of his nose down to graze mine; and with his eyes staring straight at me he muttered, “Give me a few. We’re doin’ that again. And next time, I want you in your birthday suit. Hear me?”

I could hardly move as I worked to catch my breath.

But I conjured up the energy to offer him a nod.

I did this smiling.

Because I heard him.

Loud and clear.

Then, finally, he kissed me.

Wet.