Page 9 of Make Me Yours

I shake my head, marveling at the power in him as I skim my fingertips over his chest and up around his firm shoulders. “No.” I lift my hips, relishing the way he sucks in a breath as my bare pussy rubs against his erection through his boxer briefs.

He’s big there, too, but I’m not worried. I’m too turned on to be worried. I just want him, every inch—now.

“I just want you,” I say, rubbing against him again, moaning as he captures my nipple between his fingers. “I’m dying to know what it feels like.”

“And you’re sure you won’t regret having your first time be with a stranger?” he asks, a gentler note in his voice than I’ve heard before.

It’s my first hint that Mr. Pompous isn’t all bad, which is nice, I guess, but it doesn’t really matter. No matter what he wants, this is only going to be a one-night thing. I can’t risk anything more.

I have one night to figure out what all the sex fuss is about and I’ve never been this turned on. I couldn’t stop now if I tried, not even if he were the worst man in the world.

“No regrets,” I say, squirming beneath him as he lowers his head, sucking my nipple into his mouth. I cradle his head, my breath coming faster. “But please, fuck me. I need more than fingers. I need it so bad.”

Those must have been the magic words because he reaches for the bedside table, grabbing a wallet I didn’t notice there before. A beat later, he’s out of his boxer briefs, kneeling between my legs as he rolls a condom down his long, thick length.

His cock is gorgeous. For a moment, I’m sad that I didn’t get the chance to touch it before he was covered in latex, to feel his burning hot skin against my fingers, or to lick the salt from the tip of him with my tongue. I’ve never received oral before tonight, but I’ve given it a few times, and I’m not too shabby at it. At least my high school boyfriend, Keith, never had any complaints.

But before I can dwell too much on my lost opportunity, my stranger is fitting his thick, hard length to where I’m already so sensitive and wet. He goes slow, gliding into me centimeter by centimeter, holding my gaze as he moves. When I wince a few inches in, he pauses, whispering, “Let me know when the pain is better, and I’ll keep going.”

“Don’t stop,” I say, digging my nails into his shoulders. “It doesn’t hurt, it just feels…”

“Feels…?” he prompts as he sinks deeper, deeper, until he’s fully inside and I’m fighting to pull in a breath.

He’s big enough to fill every inch of me, pressing against my inner walls, but aside from a slight bruised feeling, there’s no pain. There’s only pressure and sensation and the curious need to move, to feelhimmove, to create a kind of friction I’ve never felt before but instinctively crave.

“Full,” I supply, though that isn’t the exact word.

Idofeel full, but I also feel electrified, aware of every centimeter of my skin in a way I never have been before. The feel of his hand squeezing my hip as he pulls back and sinks inside me again sends electricity shooting through me from head to toe.

When he bends to lick my nipple again, I nearly have an out-of-body experience.

“Oh God,” I breathe, clawing at the back of his neck as he continues to suck my breast into the warm heat of his mouth and rocks into me with slow, shallow thrusts that make the tension building between my hips spiral higher.

“Your nipples are so sensitive,” he says, transferring his attention to my other breast as he lifts my hips into the air, adjusting the angle of penetration until he grinds against my clit at the end of every shift of his hips. “One night I’m going to make you come like this, just from touching you, sucking you, biting you.”

“Oh God,” I mumble again, panting now as the wave of pleasure bearing down on me threatens to break. “Oh God. Oh God.”

“Not God, beautiful,” he murmurs as he moves faster, deeper. “Weaver. Call me Weaver when you come on my cock. Fuck, yes, come for me. Come for me like a good girl.”

His words penetrate the lust haze but it’s too late, I’m already coming so hard it feels like I’m being turned inside out. I’m spiraling and pulsing and throbbing with bliss. I’m clinging to him as he comes, soaking up every word he murmurs about how perfect I feel on his cock, even as my brain is having a meltdown of unparalleled proportions.

Because this man?

This stranger?

He isn’t an older cousin. He’s Weaver Tripp—WeaverfuckingTripp, the man who destroyed my parents’ marriage and sent my father on his final downward spiral, the one from which he’s never recovered.

Weaver is a bad, bad man and I’m even worse for sleeping with him.

But before I can shove him off me and make a run for it—or beg him to fuck me again because I am a weak, spineless waste of a human who’s pretty sure she just became an instant sex addict—a voice from above deck calls Weaver’s name.

We’re not alone, and I might be about to get caught naked with the one man I never should have so much as said “hello” to as we passed on the street.

chapter 4

WEAVER

CursingSea Breeze and my abundance of intrusive relatives, I swing out of bed, murmuring a soft warning for Sully to, “Stay put and stay quiet.”

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