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Wound Up(90)

By:Kelli Ireland


                Pulling her hair gently, he broke the kiss. His chest heaved. “I don’t have a condom.”

                “I haven’t ever had unprotected sex,” she admitted a little shyly.

                The caveman in him wanted to roar. He could be her first and last, her only, skin to skin in that hot heat of her channel. He nearly lost control right then.

                Swallowing hard, he nodded. “I’ve been tested regularly for eight years now and I’m clean. You on the pill?”

                She nodded. “No secret babies tucked away anywhere?” she asked, half teasing but clearly half serious.

                “No secret babies.” The image of her swollen with his child made his breath catch in his chest. He wanted to see her that way someday.

                “Justin?”

                “It’s...” He started to say “nothing” but that would have been a lie. Instead, he let his mouth curl up on one side. “I want you, Ms. Cooper. I want you in the worst way.” Refocusing, he cupped her face and leaned up to kiss her softly, quickly. “No condom?”

                “No condom.”

                His hands rested on the slight swells of her hips. “Take what you want, Grace. If I have it to give, anything I have to give, it’s yours.”

                She slipped down to his knees and, without warning, bent forward to take him in between her lips. Deep. So deep.

                Justin’s hips surged off the bed as he shouted. He had no idea what he said. All he knew was that one minute he was watching her and the next his eyes had rolled back in his head as he babbled words of love and affection like a virgin schoolboy. Nothing had ever felt so good. Ever. And nothing would feel like this again, this first time she loved him with her lips and teeth and tongue.

                He fought the desire to watch, certain he’d lose control and embarrass himself in spectacular fashion as she took him higher and higher.

                She was economy of motion and languid movement all in one.

                When he couldn’t take it any longer, he leaned forward and cupped one hand under her chin, pulling her up for a swift kiss. “Have to have you now. Don’t want to wait. Can’t wait.” Caveman speak if ever he’d spoken it, but there it was. She reduced him to the most fundamental, basic forms of communication. He was one step short of grabbing her by the shoulders, flipping her over and driving into her like an animal. Fighting that age-old instinct, he forced himself to lie down again. “Take what you want, Grace.”

                Hesitant, moving with care, she lifted his heavy erection off his belly and straddled the wide head. Sinking slowly, her head fell back and she gasped as he breeched her outer folds. She worked herself onto him as he watched, rising and falling and taking more of him every time she lowered her lithe body.

                Lost to the moment, he tore the shirt off her and placed her hands over her breasts. “Take.”

                She began to massage her breasts, tweaking her nipples far harder than he would have imagined was comfortable. But the tiny buds pearled quickly as she made the final thrust home. Wet heat, tight and scalding, wrapped around him, pulling him deep only to release him when she drew herself off his length. Finding her rhythm, she rode him with absolute abandon.

                He slid a hand across her hip to the juncture of her thighs, parting her flesh until he found her clitoris. He flicked it with his thumb, hard.

                She cried out, her rhythm faltering.