He straightened, still kneeling between her spread thighs, looking as fiercely beautiful as a demigod. She didn’t know how it had happened, but she noticed that the fly of his jeans was unsnapped, revealing that hard, gorgeous column of flesh straining between his thighs. She reached for it, and he gently pushed her hand away.
“Not now, darling,” he denied her, and she cried out in frustration.
“I want to touch you.”
“I know. I want you to. But that thing has a hair trigger right now. One touch from you and it’s going off.”
She huffed impatiently and he smiled at her, the strain evident on his face. He gently pushed her hair out of her face and kissed her again.
“Beautiful Daff, you mean the world to me,” he said, and the words caused a lump to form in her throat. Did she? How could she? She wasn’t sweet like Lia, or clever and witty like Daisy, she didn’t have a kind heart like Spencer. She was just Daff. Mouthy, sarcastic, and confused.
“Stop thinking about it,” he instructed firmly. “And stay right here in this moment with me.”
“Spencer,” she whispered helplessly.
“Right here, with me,” he maintained. “Daff. Look at me. I’ll make it worth your while.”
She lifted her eyes to his, and he grinned.
“Keep looking,” he coaxed and then rewarded her by unfastening the top button of his shirt and dragging it over his head. He tossed the shirt aside and she nearly sighed at the familiar sight of his gorgeous chest. She reached up to touch all that smooth, firm flesh and was delighted when his muscles bunched and jumped beneath her fluttering touch.
“Oh God, Spencer. You’re magnificent,” she said in awe, and his grin widened. She lifted her head and started trailing her lips over his warm, smooth, and slightly salty skin. Her mouth found his taut nipples and began to voraciously lick and suck the sensitive flesh.
“You’re just so—” The rest of whatever he was saying was muffled against her neck, which he kissed and sucked before he found his way back to the lure of her mouth.
He dragged his head up to peer down to her pouting breasts in unabashed hunger. They were both topless now, Daff in her panties and Spencer in his jeans. He reached down reverently to cup her breasts with both hands, testing their weight in his palms, his thumbs finding and teasing her nipples again. He stalled there, spending so much time on her nipples, Daff found herself uncomfortably overstimulated, dizzy and disoriented. He had to stop—he was literally driving her insane with pleasure.
“Spencer,” she pleaded. “I can’t stand it anymore. Please.”
“Hmm.” His mouth clamped over a nipple, the suction bordering on painful, and his hand burrowed beneath her panties, where his thumb stroked her clit while his middle and index fingers buried themselves inside her tight, wet sheath. She shuddered and screamed as she came almost immediately. He continued suckling on her nipple while his free hand stroked the other, prolonging and intensifying her powerful orgasm. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and fought for breath. Her complete focus was on the pleasure he was giving her.
When she finally stopped clenching around his fingers, she melted onto the bed in a boneless, exhausted, sweaty heap of satisfaction. She was still trembling from her release and feeling more than a little shattered by the sheer magnitude of her orgasm. Spencer dragged her panties off, tearing them a little and leaving the ruined and soaked garment tangled around one of her ankles.
“Okay, darling?” he asked gently, and Daff barely found the energy to shake her head.
“No. Damn you. I’m not.” It took everything in her not to cry like a baby again. What was it about the orgasms this man gave her that made her dissolve into an emotional heap every single freaking time? He kissed her again, and she was vaguely aware of him tugging something from the back pocket of his jeans. He got off the bed to very carefully drag off the offending denim garment. Good thing, too. Those damned jeans had overstayed their welcome.
God, he had superlative thighs. Heavy, well defined, and gorgeously muscled. A sportsman’s thighs. Her mouth went dry as she watched him climb back onto the bed. Brandishing that massive erection like a club, he clambered between her thighs, and she gawked at that huge thing so comfortably resting on top of her naked mound. It throbbed in time with his heartbeat, and the red, plum-size glans shone with moisture. She unthinkingly reached down to pet it.
“Uh-uh,” he rasped, intercepting her hand. “Hair trigger, remember?”
Daff stared mutely up into his beautiful, savage face.
She couldn’t believe they were finally going to do this. It felt so right. There was no overthinking it, and she was happy in this moment to trust Spencer not to abuse the power she was ceding to him.
She watched him open the little foil package and drag the latex up over his hardness. Afterward he sawed that sheathed column up and down against her cleft and she groaned, more than ready to go again.
“Spencer,” she whispered, thrusting up against him, wanting so much more. She felt open and exposed, but she didn’t care if he could see right into her soul. Not anymore.
“Darling Daff,” he growled, intensifying the sawing against her clit. He never quite allowed her to come down from her previous climax, and it was driving her crazy because while she felt sated, she didn’t feel finished. Finally, he reached between them and took hold of his shaft, placing himself at her entrance. Very slowly and very gently he eased himself inside. Daff whimpered at his impossible size, bigger than anything she’d ever felt before. She craved more and moved impatiently against him, even while his largeness felt uncomfortable. He refused to rush, doing this in Spencer time. And Spencer time crept along at a snail’s pace.
“You’re so tiny, tell me if it hurts.” Everybody was tiny next to him, but Daff appreciated his concern and, considering the size of him, was grateful now for the slow pace he had set. She sobbed slightly at the stretching fullness. He really was uncomfortably big. Sensing her uneasiness, he reached down and found her clit with his thumb. All thoughts of discomfort fled as her body blindly followed instinct and moved restlessly beneath his. He hissed in reaction when she thrust her hips against him.
“No, darling, don’t move. I don’t think I can—” She ignored him and pushed up even farther, grinding herself against his hand as she sheathed him almost completely. Spencer groaned, sounding almost pained, and swore shakily when she slid down, guiding the rhythm for now, before pushing back up to gain another inch.
Sweat beaded his brow and his eyes shut in concentration as he remained completely still, allowing her to set the pace. Daff widened her thighs even more and planted her feet flat on the mattress as she slowly slid down his hard length again. He moved his knees under her butt, giving her more control, while her shoulders remained flat on the bed. Her bum was on his lap and angled just enough to give her complete and unrestricted access to his penis. Using only her feet for leverage, she slid slowly up and down his shaft. His hands moved to her straining breasts, strumming her nipples, while his eyes slid back and forth between her face and the sight of his hardness sliding in and out of her softness.
“Spencer,” she whispered, one hand reaching up toward his face, and he lowered himself just enough for her to hook her palm around his neck and drag herself up until she was straddling his lap and her breasts were flattened against his chest.
“You feel so good,” she sobbed, loving this so much. Her other arm flung around his neck, and he buried his face in her neck. She felt him huffing for breath against her skin while his arms wrapped around her waist.
She wasn’t sure who was directing the pace anymore, and she didn’t really care. It was all give and take in this moment, and she felt his breath quickening against her.
“I can’t much longer, Daff,” he groaned. “Going to fucking come.”
“Good,” she huffed as she continued to rock against him. He felt wonderful inside her. Filled her completely. He belonged right there for all eternity. The thought scared her, but she shoved it aside as she focused on her building orgasm.
“Spencer,” she entreated, not sure why she was pleading with him when he was doing everything right. He yanked her closer with one strong arm while bracing his other hand on the mattress behind her. He maneuvered her until she was flat on her back and he was propped above her, and this time there was no mistaking who was in charge as he slammed into her. His face hovered above hers, his eyes entangled with hers. He was dripping with sweat, his biceps and shoulders bulging as he held his weight off her.
She grunted with each thrust, the sound guttural and in no way, shape, or form ladylike. There was nothing ladylike about her at all in this moment, and she didn’t care. This was primal, it was fierce, it was perfect.
Her legs drew up and wrapped around his taut, thrusting butt, and she felt everything inside her draw tight. His green eyes shone into hers, bright with emotion and gleaming with moisture.
“Come for me, Daff,” he whispered. His voice—the quietest thing in the room—was barely audible against the wet, slapping sounds of their lovemaking. And because he asked, she did. With a single high-pitched cry, she came. Hard. Endlessly and agonizingly. It was the most amazing thing that had ever happened to her, and she was glad, fiercely glad, that she was sharing it with Spencer.