Fire Inside(47)

Mom and Dad had murmured that they needed a sit-down with a cup of coffee so they were in a coffee shop down the main drag of Lionshead Village.

This meant Hop and I were alone.

He turned his head and looked at me with warm curiosity. “You good?”

“I will be,” I told him. His head cocked in question and I moved, walking away from the slope to the side of a building where there were public restrooms.

One of them was a single for handicapped people.

I had to admit, I felt some guilt about occupying a handicap bathroom as I walked to it, but when I looked back at Hop, I liked the curiosity I saw in his features.

But the need was on me.

I slid through, holding the door open for him.

He slid in behind me.

I let the door close and locked it.

“Lady, what the fuck?” he asked and I turned to him.

Then I walked right to him, pressing my chest against his and cupping his crotch in my hand.

His head instantly bent to mine, his hand driving into the back of my hair and fisting as he growled unintelligibly against my mouth.

Then he asked, his voice rough, “You seriously down with this?”

“Absolutely,” I whispered. “Hurry.”

“Fuck,” he groaned, slanted his head and kissed me, backing me up until I hit wall.

That was all I needed. Hop’s mouth. Hop’s body.

Hop.

I was ready.

Then again, I was ready before I walked in just knowing Hop was following me.

His hand in my hair, his other one tugged forcefully at my belt buckle, undoing it, then the button of my jeans, then the zip went down and his hand went in.

God, that felt good.

I moaned into his mouth.

“Get these off,” he ordered. “Now.”

Heretofore unknown illicit excitement bolting through me, I moved immediately to do what I was told. It wasn’t easy because Hop didn’t move, his chest pressing into mine, which pressed me into the wall. His hand went to the back of his jeans to get his wallet.

I yanked down my jeans as best I could then shifted my legs to tug them off over my boots, kicking them aside, repeat with my panties.

Hop was free, hard and gloved by the time I did this and he growled, “Hop up.”

I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and hopped up.

He caught me at my ass, pressed me into the wall. My legs curved around his hips and he thrust in, hard and deep.

I shoved my face in his neck, held on tight with arms and legs and whimpered.

“Fuck me, goddamn hot,” he grunted into my neck, pounding between my legs.

“Harder, baby,” I urged breathlessly.

He thrust harder.

“Tip for me, Lanie,” he rumbled into my neck and I tipped my hips toward him. He drove deeper and my breath hitched loudly.

“Love that,” I panted.

“Me too, honey.”

“Love it, Hop,” I gasped, suddenly close and it was going to be mammoth.

“Hold on, lady.”

I held on harder than I already was holding, and he moved a hand from my ass to the back of my head half a second before I came, my head shooting back, slamming his hand into the wall.

“Look at me,” he ordered roughly.

I trembled in his arms, holding tight, unable to do anything but feel the beauty of the high.

His hand fisted in my hair. “Lanie, fuckin’ look at me.”

With effort, I struggled through the haze, dipped my chin and looked at him.

He kept pounding, stopped, ground in, and I whimpered.

“All soft, every inch. Got my dick buried in beauty,” he grunted.

I loved that too.

A lot.

I put my lips to his. “Keep fucking me, honey.”

He began thrusting again, harder, faster, pounding me into the wall.

“Yes, beauty,” I breathed. His hand twisted in my hair, crushed my mouth down on his, and he groaned his orgasm down my throat.

I took it in. Happily.

Coming down from his climax, he started kissing me then broke the kiss to slide his lips and mustache down my cheek to my neck where his mouth stopped to work.

I pressed my lips to his neck, took a taste then moved them to his ear.

Closing my eyes tight, smelling him, feeling him holding me, filling me, I knew it was time.

He’d given so much, I could no longer stop myself from giving back.

“I’m thinking I like my shield,” I whispered and his body went solid in my limbs.

But I wasn’t done.

“Thank you, Hopper Kincaid. Suitcases. Sandwiches. Chinese. God’s country. Sweet kids. I didn’t go to sleep last night buried under emotional exhaustion. I went to sleep looking forward to seeing you. That’s a miracle, honey, and you have to know I appreciate you making that miracle happen for me.”

He didn’t move, didn’t speak; his mouth stayed at my neck but it didn’t glide, taste, lick. His cock stayed planted but his hips didn’t so much as twitch.