Page 164 of Holding On To Good

“Please, Urban.” She pumped her hips, desperate for more. “Please.”

“Eyes open,” he said gruffly. “Eyes open and on me the entire time.”

She didn’t want to. And it had nothing to do with her pride or with him getting a bit cocky with the demands and her getting too comfortable following them. Had nothing to do with awkwardness or nerves—turned out holding his gaze while he touched her so intimately only made her hotter. Wetter.

It was because this, their gazes connected while her pleasure built and built, was the easy part. Letting him see how he affected her, how he controlled her body with his touch and gruff commands was only giving the man his due for a job well done.

She couldn’t give him more than that.

So when he curled his finger, hitting a particularly sensitive spot, she shut her eyes on a moan.

And he withdrew his hand completely.

Hadn’t she said he was a bastard?

“On me,” he repeated.

The moment her eyes opened and met his again, he pumped two fingers inside her, his thumb circling her clit. But when her orgasm started, she found herself shaking her head. Fighting it and what it would reveal.

Denying him the power he held over her.

But Urban was having none of her denials. None of her trying to hide. He stroked and stretched her with increasing speed and pressure, his free hand going to her breast so he could pinch and tug on her nipple.

Her orgasm ripped through her like a tidal wave, washing away her resistance. Helpless against the onslaught, her body splintered with pleasure. She clung to it for as long as she could, holding on to the sensations pulsing through her, but even though her vision was blurry and her thoughts hazed, Urban’s face was clear. He wasn’t gloating. Was no longer cocky. His expression was hard and primal and possessive.

He was a man staking his claim.

And she realized she’d been wrong. So very, very wrong.

It wasn’t what Urban saw in her eyes that she needed to be afraid of.

It was what she saw in his.

Chapter Thirty

Urban’s entire body was rock hard, tension tightening every muscle as he fought not to join her in release, like some kid getting off on the slightest touch.

As she came down from her orgasm, he gentled his touch on her breast, trailing his fingertips over her silky skin. Slowed the motion of his hand at her center, his touch no longer demanding, but soothing.

She collapsed back to her elbows. She was so fucking gorgeous, especially now, with satisfaction clear on her face, her eyes heavy lidded and slumberous, her mouth parted slightly. The hair at her temples was damp with sweat and her breasts rose and fell with each ragged breath, her entire body flushed, the pink making it seem as if she was glowing.

He pulled his fingers free, unable to stop himself from lifting them to his mouth. She made a sound, a cross between a gasp and a whimper and when he slid his fingers into his mouth, it turned into a moan. Watching her, he sucked his fingers clean, his nostrils flaring at her taste and goddamn if her body didn’t quiver on another of those soft sighs, as if she was coming again.

“Again,” he rasped, nudging her to lift her hips so he could drag her underwear down her legs. He hadn’t missed how her breath had caught when he’d told her to ask him for more. How her eyes had darkened when he’d demanded she hold his gaze, her moisture coating his fingers when she’d obeyed him. “More.”

But when he tossed her panties aside and hooked her thighs over his arms, intent on feasting on her until she screamed, she scrambled upright. Tugged at his arms and shoulders until he looked up.

She was still breathing hard, her body lax and warm beneath his hands. “With you this time,” she said, wiggling free of his hold. But instead of scooting away from him, she edged forward so she could take his cock in her hand. “Together.”

And she squeezed.

Any willpower, any crazy thought or stupid idea that he was somehow in charge of what happened between them, that he was the one in control, disappeared when she stroked him, her thumb rubbing the moisture at his tip over his head. He went wild, jerking her to him so that their bodies slammed together, her hand still on his cock, trapped between them. He didn’t kiss her so much as devour her, his arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her ever closer, his other hand at the nape of her neck, his fingers tangled in her hair, tugging her head back so he could take her mouth over and over again.

Part of him, the tiny piece of his brain still functioning and capable of thought, worried he was being too rough, but Willow was with him, right there with him, her tongue meeting his eagerly.

She slid her hands under his shirt, her fingers leaving a trail of fire where they skimmed his abdomen. Tore her mouth from his with a gasp. “Off.” Her nails scraped his chest as she shoved the material up, the light burn making him hotter. Harder. “Now.”

Reaching behind him, he grabbed a handful of material and wrenched his shirt off, almost taking his own head off in the process.

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