Page 67 of One Billion Reasons

“I don’t care.” And then I lay down and pull her on top of me.

She runs her hands over my jaw, my shoulders, my abs, until she gets to my groin. Her hand stills, and she traces the muscles there. Her lips are parted and swollen, and I want to drive up into where I know she’s wet for me. But I force myself to let her explore. Take it slow.

“You know I’ve always wanted to touch you right here?” She presses her palm to the side of my groin, right over the ridge of muscle. I still.

“What do you mean?” My voice comes out gravelly.

She runs both hands over my sides, and I shudder. “You used to unzip your wetsuit and sometimes it would hang a little too low, and I couldn’t help but stare. I wanted to do this.” She runs her tongue along my stomach, and my body jerks off the sand.

“Fuck, Lane. A little warning, next time?”

She laughs softly. “So there will be a next time?”

I shut my eyes. Fool. “I had no idea you ever thought about me like that.”

She rises up and wraps a hand around my erection. I can’t help the low noise I make, something between a growl and a groan.

“Oh, yeah. I fantasized about you all the time. Ever since that time we fell in the sand. Kind of like we are now.” She runs her thumb up my cock, and I groan again.

“Enough, Lane.”

I grip her hips, and she rises up on her knees.

“Condom,” I mutter. “Lane, wait. Let me check my pocket.”

“I’m clean. I’m on the pill. Please.”

“If you’re sure,” I murmur. I’m clean and I would never do anything to harm Lane. She shifts down and then I’m pressing at her entrance and holy shit she feels so good and tight and wet and hot. And luckily, she’s moaning that she loves this and please, Miles, more. Because I don’t think I can stop.

“I’m trying not to hurt you, Lane, please. Oh, fuck—”

She takes me fully and throws her head back, and then she starts to ride me in earnest. My hips helplessly chase hers, but she’s in control, sinking down on me and rising up like a goddess in the moonlight. I try to be gentle, but it’s hard, so hard, and then she says, “More, Miles, please,” in a frustrated voice, and the leash snaps.

I lift her off of me in one smooth movement and flip her so she’s on all fours, gasping out my name, surprised at the loss. And then I’m at her entrance again. “Is this what you need? What does more mean?” I need to know because I can’t bear to hurt her, even if gentle and tender isn’t normally my thing.

“I want the real you.”

“What if you can’t handle the real me?”

“I want it all.”

She’s not talking about sex, and I don’t think I am either. I press into her, and her body takes me in, slick and ready. She cries out and presses her face to my jacket. Perfect. I grab both hands and pin them behind her back, hard enough to hurt. And then I thrust, thick, greedy, forceful.

“Is this what you want?”

“It’s so good,” she gasps. “Harder.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t care.” She sounds frustrated and needy, just like me.

Fuck it. I’m a little angry with her for wanting me for all those years and a little mad at myself for never seeing it. And I’m raw from our conversation earlier and irritated that I’m finally giving in. But god, I want her. So I fuck her across my jacket in heavy thrusts until she’s sobbing my name into the sand like a litany.

“More, Miles. Please.”

I pull her up so she’s nearly flush against my chest, and I grip her throat with one hand, just to remind her I’m there. As my fingers close around her jaw, she arches back.

“You like that?” My voice is rough in her ear, and she shudders and nods.

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