24 #2
“Goddamn, Conor.” He buries himself to the root, his body iron hard and shaking against me. “You’re so fucking tight. Do you feel that? You’re clamping down on me.”
“I feel everything.”
I don’t know if it’s the position or the fact that he’s riding me bareback, but my God, I feel his hardness, his heat, every ridge and twitching pulse of him.
Neither of us have ever had sex without a condom. Willing sex, that is. When we had a conversation about it last week, he learned that I’m still on the pill.
“Nothing between us.” He thrusts slowly, spiraling electric sparks through my body. “Never again. Fuck, you feel incredible.”
He pulls out and moves me onto my side, facing away from him. Then he kneels against the backs of my thighs and drives into me from behind.
“Ahhh.” His head falls back. “Feels so fucking good.” He surges into me, panting as he tweaks my nipple and plays with my clit. “God, you’re so wet and snug. Fucking perfect.”
The position gives him full access to my body, and his hands roam everywhere, rubbing and pinching my heated flesh.
I rock against his thrusts and reach up to scrape my fingers along his sculpted torso, delighting in the flex of masculine strength as he bends over my hip and drives harder inside me.
Ravenous desire mounts between us. His pelvis collides with my backside, his cock stabbing in and out, demanding more, needing release. We’re famine and drought, starving and wanton, fucking like our lives depend on it.
“I need your mouth.” He rolls me to my back.
Crawling between my legs, he plants his lips over mine and grinds his way back inside me.
With a groan, he grips the back of my head and pulls me closer to his hungry mouth. His other arm hooks around my lower back, crushing our bodies together.
Then he fucks me into a languid rhythm, his hips rolling against mine with delicious friction.
He holds me buoyant, drifting through a lofty, dreamlike state, with none of the frenzied desperation that reunited us.
We’re just as impassioned, more so, but in a dazed, spellbound way that drugs the senses and intensifies the fever.
I’m lost in him, in the fusion of our heart beats, in the hooded sensuality of his eyes as he watches me.
He moves in and out of my body and kisses me achingly. Then he watches me again. Back and forth. Kissing, watching, both connections are possessive and inescapable as he digs his cock deeper inside me.
I slide my hands down his back and palm his ass, gripping the rigid muscle.
He’s a stallion between my legs, possessing me with his touch, all brawn and power and huffing breaths, a steady and bucking rush of animalistic hunger and watchful eyes.
It’s his unwavering eye contact that sends me over. I grind against him, moaning and gasping as every pleasure zone inside me bursts into full-body shock waves.
His mouth swallows my screams as he joins me with spasmodic jerks of his hips. We climax together with our entire bodies, every inch of him sliding against every inch of me in a rhapsody of prickling skin and electric ripples.
He continues to thrust, kissing me languorously as his cock strokes in and out, throbbing against my walls. I wrap my arms and legs around him, inhaling his gasps and locking our souls together.
“That was… Jesus, Conor.” He half-groans, half-laughs against my neck. “And we’re only getting started. I fucking love you.”
For the next few hours, I relearn his rough edges, the intoxication of his breath, the scar on his calf from the rattlesnake bite, and the sounds his throat makes when he’s turned on.
I rediscover all my favorite things—the dimples above his ass, the way his hair falls around my scraping fingers, the twitches in his legs when he comes, and the elation in his eyes when I scream his name.
When we aren’t lost in the throes of orgasm, I curl up against his chest and fall into an enchanted coma as he strokes my hair with reverent fingers.
We talk about everything from school work to cattle ranching and the mischief we stirred up as kids.
He hates snakes and wants children. I love all animals, and I’m terrified to get pregnant.
He thinks I smell like wildflowers and sweet cream frosting.
I accuse him of taking Viagra and injecting steroids.
We both wish we knew our mothers before they died.
I snuggle against his hard body, chest to chest, and hook a leg over his hip. “Why do you think my mom created those hoops for Lorne and me to jump through?”
“It’s an incentive trust, which isn’t uncommon. My guess is she thought if you cared about the land, you would live here and work for it. College was the exception, as long as the ranch was your permanent address.”
“Makes sense, I guess.” I nuzzle my nose against his neck, breathing in his spicy male scent. “What’s the state of the ranch? Did it go into bankruptcy?”
“I retained some of the profit from the drilling and kept the business out of the red. Jarret streamlined the entire operation and hired better workers. Now I’m focused on the accounting and making better investment decisions.”
As he launches into a long-winded explanation on business models and money stuff, my eyes start to glaze over.
“By next year, we’ll be profitable again.” He pushes me onto my back and slides over my body, licking and kissing my breasts.
“What are you doing?” I shiver beneath his diabolical tongue.
“Clearly, you need to be stimulated by something other than my intelligence.”
“Hey, now…” I laugh. “Don’t judge me because I have a thing for naked cowboys with killer abs and endless stamina.”
“Well, this naked cowboy has a thing for you.”
The thing in question jabs against my thigh, buzzing a throb between my legs.
“The best course of action on this investment,” he says, biting my nipple, “is to go all in .”
He does just that, loving me hard into the mattress until we both pass out. Then he wakes me a few hours later and takes me again. By the time morning rolls around, I know Jake in every way—fast and brutal, slow and sensual, front and back, over and under, and side to side.
I fell in love with him when we were kids, before I understood the language of love.
Tonight, I fall harder than ever before. With every kiss, glance, smile, and evocative word, he doesn’t just stitch my heart back together. He welds it to his own.