Chapter 43 Maya #2
I laughed breathlessly and he swallowed the sound with a kiss that turned my knees to liquid. His jeans were gone and mine were halfway down. I was trying to kick off my boots at the same time, and would have fallen, until his strong arm locked around my waist.
“Smooth,” he murmured against my neck.
“Shut up and take my pants off.”
He dropped to his knees and did exactly that.
Boots, jeans, underwear, all of it stripped away with a focus and efficiency that made my stomach clench.
Then he was eye level with my hips and his hands were sliding up the backs of my knees.
He pressed his mouth against my inner thigh and looked up at me.
“Bed,” I managed. “I want you in a bed.”
He rose to his feet, scooped me up so fast the room blurred, and dropped me onto the mattress. I bounced once, laughing, and then he was over me, naked and hard and gorgeous, and the laughter died in my throat.
“Hi,” I whispered.
“Hi.” He kissed me, slow this time, deep and thorough, his body settling over mine. My legs wrapped around his hips and the press of him against me, hot and heavy, made me moan.
He leaned back just enough to meet my eyes. “What do you want?”
“Everything. All of it.”
“Be specific.”
“You. Hard. Loud. No holding back.”
His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower, then back to my eyes, and when he spoke, his voice was a low scrape that I felt in my bones.
“Done.”
He thrust into me in one long, deep stroke and my back arched off the mattress. The cry that left me was sharp and raw and filled the room.
He set a relentless pace. Deep, hard strokes that drove the headboard against the wall, his hands gripping my thighs, spreading me wider, pushing deeper. Every thrust punched a sound out of me that got louder and more desperate.
“Fuck, Maya.” His voice was rough and strained. “You have no idea what you sound like right now.”
“Then make me louder.”
His grip tightened and he drove into me harder, the angle shifting so that every stroke hit the spot that made my vision white out at the edges. My hands fisted in the sheets, then found his shoulders, nails digging into muscle as the pressure built and built and built.
He flipped me. One arm around my waist, the other bracing against the mattress, and suddenly I was on top, straddling him, his hands on my hips guiding me down onto him. The depth of it in this position tore a groan from both of us.
“Move,” he said, his jaw tight, his eyes blazing up at me. “Take what you want.”
I planted my hands on his chest and rode him.
Slow at first, finding the rhythm, the angle that made sparks scatter behind my eyes, and then faster.
Harder. His hands gripped my hips and helped me move, lifting me and guiding me down, and the sounds filling the room were obscene.
Skin against skin, the creak of the bed frame, his groans and my gasps layering over each other until I couldn’t tell where mine ended and his began.
His thumb found my clit and I shattered.
The orgasm ripped through me so hard my whole body seized, my head thrown back, his name torn from my throat at a volume that probably carried to the lobby.
He sat up beneath me, his arm locking around my back, and buried his face in my neck while I rode it out, my hips still grinding against his, aftershocks rolling through me in long, shuddering waves.
I was still trembling when he rolled us, pinning me beneath him, and drove into me again. It was punishing now, raw and unrestrained. Every nerve ending lit up, every stroke almost too much, verging on overwhelming.
“Again,” he said against my mouth. “I want you to come again.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.” His hand slid between us, his thumb pressing against my clit, and my whole body jolted. “Let me feel you.”
My legs locked around his waist. The pressure built impossibly fast, layering on top of the aftershocks that were still rolling through me. I cupped his face with both hands and kissed him because I needed something to anchor me to the Earth.
“Let go,” I whispered. “I want to hear you.”
He drove deeper. His thumb circled harder. The second orgasm hit me with a force that bowed my spine off the mattress.
He followed seconds later with a groan that shook through his entire body, his hips stuttering, his forehead dropping to mine.
The sound of it was low and broken and so uninhibited that one last aftershock rippled through me.
I held him through it, my arms tight around his back, both of us gasping for air in a room that smelled like sweat and sex and freedom.
He collapsed beside me. I curled into him immediately, my cheek against his chest, my leg thrown over his, and his arms wrapped around me. His heart hammered beneath my ear, gradually slowing as his breathing steadied.
“So,” I said, when my brain came back online. “Iceland’s great.”
His laugh was low and rumbly, vibrating through my whole body. His lips pressed against my hair.
The exhaustion hit all at once. Twenty-something hours of no sleep, a transatlantic flight, a brand-new country, a volcano, and the best sex of my life, all catching up with me in one heavy, golden wave.
My eyelids drooped. My muscles turned to liquid.
Nate’s thumb traced a slow path up and down my back and the warmth of him pulled me under like a current.
“Don’t let me sleep too long,” I murmured. “We’ve got a whole country to see.”
“Go to sleep, Maya.”
I was gone before he finished the sentence.