The way his fingers move, his intense stare while he plays with my pretty pussy—his words, not mine—causes everything to build. The sensations. The way the shadows play across his handsome face and chiseled shoulders. The way they flex when he moves his arm. The feel of his fingertips pushing into the soft flesh of my leg.
The sudden way he’s sucking at my clit while lazily pushing his fingers into me. He’s got the whole movement down pat. The curling and pressing rhythm. He plays my body like it’s an instrument he knows inside and out.
And when the pressure winds through my hip, wrapping around the base of my spine, I grip his head and pull his face tight against my pussy, grinding against him as I topple.
“Cade!” I call out, just like I promised him I would, as I come apart. Legs shaking. Toes curling. The arches of my feet cramp, and his movements just continue. He doesn’t stop too soon, like so many men do. He’s not eager to be done with the foreplay. This isn’t a chore for him, and I think that might be the sexiest thing about it.
I smile up at the smooth white ceiling, cast in a golden tone from the glow of the lamp, and feel my limbs go soft. And with that rush of pleasure comes a rush of protectiveness. A rush of rage that someone could wound him so profoundly. That someone could stray the way his ex did.
The resistance. The jealousy. The longing looks. The solitary way he lives his life. It all makes so much more sense now.
And I have every intention of showing him how badly I want him.
Pushing myself up, I rake my fingers through his hair, feeling his heavy breathing against my damp skin as I cup my hands around the base of his skull and pull his head up to mine. I link my eyes with his, staring hard into them as my thumbs stroke through the stubble along his chiseled cheeks.
“Thank you,” I say simply.
And then I kiss him. I can taste myself on him, but I don’t care. All I care about is that he knows I appreciate him. Our tongues tangle and his calloused palms dance over my ribs, somehow making me shiver and my core stir, even though I just finished.
Correction: even though he just finished me.
“That was the best orgasm of my life,” I murmur against his wet lips, drawing a chuckle from his chest. “Now lose the pants and lie back on the bed. I want to repay the favor.”
His lips trail against my cheek. “You think you’re in charge now, Willa? That’s adorable.”
“Lose the pants, mister.” I use a fake authoritative voice and return his kisses all the way over his stubbled cheek to his ear, where I nip playfully at the lobe.
He huffs out a breath but pushes to stand, fingers working expertly at his jeans, corded forearms rippling. I absently wonder why I was so hung up on his grumpy face when he has a body like this and a sweet, authoritative, doting personality. What the hell was I even on about? I can’t remember.
“What are you thinking about right now?” he asks as he shucks his jeans down, impressive cock tenting his underwear. I almost forgot how big it is and that I choked like an amateur when he thrusted hard into my mouth.
“How hot you are. How insane your body is. How sweet you are.” When I rip my eyes away from his cock, his eyebrow arches at me as I add, “I think the words you’re searching for are, Thank you, baby.”
He pulls his boxers down with a smirk, clearly not self-conscious about his body. “You like it when I call you baby?”
I roll my lips together as I regard him. I fucking love it. It sounds so lame and cheesy to me most of the time, but when he growls it and tacks something filthy on to it? “Yes. I love it.”
He moves around me, and I turn to check out his round muscled ass—Wranglers hold nothing to the real thing. Every part of his body is bound with strength, and not the type you get from too many hours in the gym. His muscles are real, thick and hard but not overly defined.
His body, his skin, the crinkles around his eyes . . . it’s all just proof of long hours spent hard at work. And I’m not sure I’ve ever found anything more attractive than a man who works hard.
He sits on the bed and turns, back pressed up against the headboard, chest puffed, long legs stretched out before him like a king.
His fist wraps around his thick cock, and he jerks it a few times. I lick my lips as I watch him, entranced. I think I could happily watch him come just like this.
His gaze heats on mine when he catches me staring. “Get over here and ride my cock, baby.”
He doesn’t need to ask me twice. I turn and crawl up the bed, trailing my hands over the smattering of hair on his chest as I hike one leg over his waist, straddling him while his hands settle on my hips. I feel the steely length of his cock resting against my bare ass, and I give a little wiggle, moving my hips and feeling his hardness slide over me.