Cade shoots one hand up to my chin, pressing a quick kiss next to my lips. “If you want me to fuck your ass, all you have to do is ask.”
I prop my hands against his chest, fingers curling in at his crude words. “You’d probably make me beg for it.”
He laughs, deep and raspy, and I feel the vibration of it under my palms. For a man who avoided laughing around me for so long, I can actually feel him laughing.
His smile is a shot straight to the heart. “Probably,” he replies easily, before kissing me again. “Now take my cock and put it in. I want to watch you.”
“Jesus Christ, Eaton. I’m going to be stuck in a permanent state of blushing after getting naked with you.” I reach behind myself, running my hand over his length, feeling how wet I am seated across his abdomen, legs spread wide.
He huffs out a breath, thumbs brushing the silver studs on my nipples. I can tell by the way he groans he likes them. A lot. “Works for me, Red. You should see how pretty you look with your cheeks all pink. These perfect tits out. If you don’t get to work, I’m going to blow on your back rather than inside you.”
“Fuck.” My tongue darts out over my bottom lip, followed by a graze of my teeth. I push up onto my knees.
With one hand propped on his round shoulder, I reach down between us, wrapping my fingers around his throbbing length. When I notch the head of him against my entrance, we groan in unison.
It’s this moment where everything feels inevitable. It’s the anticipation that’s almost as good as the real thing. I can feel the dome of his head, just slightly inside of me. It’s going to be a tight fit, so before I let go, I run him against my wetness, swiping up and down, pressing him against my aching clit.
“Jesus Christ, Red. Are you trying to kill me?”
“No. I’m trying to make sure it will fit.” My eyes are still down, watching the way his cock comes away glistening.
“Baby, it’s going to fit. You were made for me.”
My eyes shoot up to his, but that’s right when his hips thrust up and he’s sinking into me right as I’m sliding down on him. I grip his forearms desperately. The feeling of fullness and not knowing how to respond to that comment draw my eyes back down, and we watch as my body stretches to take him.
“Look at you, Willa. You take me so well,” he grits out, voice sounding strained and gravelly.
I moan, feeling the way our bodies throb together. Skin on skin. My hands slide up to his shoulders as I push down the last couple of inches, taking his full length inside of me.
Cade sits up taller to press a kiss to the center of my chest, hands moving around my body to grip the globes of my ass. “Fuck, you feel like heaven. So hot and tight. Just for me.”
Just for me. My heart aches, and my arms wrap around his neck. I kiss the top of his head. This strong, stoic, honest, hardworking man—one whose hurt runs so deep that he’s lived several years questioning his worth. His value.
I hate it. I hate it for him. So, I rock my hips on him, hug him to my chest and say, “Just for you.” My nails graze over his shoulders and down his strong back. I bite on his ear again and nuzzle my cheek against his stubble. I love the feel of it rasping over my skin in perfect tandem with the rough pads of his fingers.
I lift and drop down, taking his full length in one go and hissing against his cheek at the slight burn. “Just for you,” I whisper again.
And I think I mean it.
Who the fuck knows what I’m doing? I’m positive that I don’t. Or I don’t most days. I go with the flow. I take my opportunities.
And God, an opportunity has never felt this right, so I don’t question it. I don’t overthink it. I give myself over to it.
To him.
I pull his head up to me and kiss him like it’s our last moment on earth. The energy in the small bedroom changes. What started off as rough and turned playful, has morphed into something more sensitive. But now we’re more frantic.
Our hands roam. He grips my ass, lifting me and pushing me back down. My legs shake and my head tips back. His beard scrapes across my chest. His lips work my nipples. My hands tug his hair.
We don’t talk.
But we don’t need to. Our bodies do the talking. Our kisses are wet, and messy, and perfectly imperfect.
“Cade,” I whimper, as wet slapping noises fill the room, followed by his animalistic grunts. My tits are bouncing. His eyes are glassy. “I think I’m going to . . .” I trail off, hot and breathless and totally out of control. Utterly consumed. But he knows what I’m trying to say. He knows what I need. What I want.