Chapter 8
MARSHALL
Hope locks the door to her art studio, and I follow her back to the bedroom. I don’t know what I expected to see behind that door, but it wasn’t a room with built-in counters along three of the walls, artwork pinned up all over the walls, and an island in the middle filled with prints.
“What do you do with all that art?” I ask, shrugging out of my boxers.
“They’re coloring pages.”
“People buy them to color?” I guess, watching her tear the foil wrapper and nearly nutting on the spot.
“Yeah. It started as a hobby, but now it’s how I make my living. Just…don’t tell Hillary, okay? I don’t want her to ruin it.”
She scoots her bottom to the edge of the bed and reaches for my cock. She holds the rubber at the tip, but before she slides it on, she drops her hand.
“Something wrong?”
Her gaze flicks up to mine, and she licks her lip. “Nothing wrong at all.” She traces the tip of her tongue around my swollen head, and I nearly go blind. “Just thought it might be a shame if I didn’t get to taste you like you tasted me. Your boxers did say this wasn’t going to lick itself.”
“Fuck me.”
“Oh, I will. After I suck on your cock.” She sets the rubber on the nightstand and reaches a hand around my shaft.
I groan as she slowly enjoys my cock with her mouth, her tongue, and her hand. It’s taking everything in me not to come in her mouth. But I’m desperate to drain my cock inside her, even if there’s a condom between us.
One day, I hope she’ll trust me enough to forego one. But that’s her call.
“Hope,” I groan, stepping back so my cock’s out of reach.
“You didn’t like that?”
“I liked it so fucking much it’s all I’m going to be thinking about for days.” I lean forward, gently nudging her shoulder until she falls onto her back. “But I want to finish inside that sweet pussy of yours.”
I retrieve the rubber from the nightstand and roll it on, loving the way her amber eyes turn to liquid heat as she watches me.
I grab her by the ankles, dragging her down the bed until her ass is nearly hanging off. I line up her hips to mine until the tip of my cock pushes against her opening. She locks her ankles around my back, and I sink into her.
We moan together as I slide home.
I try to go slow, oh how I fucking try.
But I’ve wanted this for so damn long, and now that I’m here, I can’t seem to hold back. I pull out once, until only the tip of my cock is seated inside her. I kiss her hard and say, “Hold on, babe. Things are about to get a little rough.”
“I trust you.”
That’s it.
I’m a fucking goner.
Hope wraps her limbs around me tight as I pummel her pussy into next year.
It’s a savage pace born of months of yearning and desperation to just get the attention of the woman I’ve known I was destined to love for the rest of time.
The bed creaks beneath our violent rhythm.
Hope comes apart first—as she always will—and I explode right after her.
Her nails dig into my skin, and I cry out her name.
Never in my thirty-nine years have I ever felt this way when I came. If I needed any more evidence that Hope is the one, this is it.
And tomorrow night, at midnight at the New Year’s Eve party, I’m going to lay it all on the line.