Page 23 of Out on a Limb

No way is this meant to work.

There’s been some administrative error. Evolution? I’d like a word.

But: “Please, Stig,” I hear myself whisper, despite the panic clanging in my skull, and yep, my traitorous body is still at it: arching and clawing and writhing against the man on top of me, urging him with every passing moment to push inside me already. The voice of reason is just one tiny voice in my head, drowned out by a loud chorus of yes and finally and lick him, you know you want to.

And I do. I really, really do want to. I’ve wanted to lick Stig Hansen since the first night I met him. And he’s been wandering around, toweling his damp hair after a shower, taking his sweet time to button his shirt in the morning, smiling and teasing, generally looking like a sexy popsicle on legs.

So when Stig pushes the first inch of his cock inside me, I don’t freak out and make him stop. No way am I going to ruin this chance with my nerves. Instead, I distract myself from the sting of his intrusion by licking the patch of skin beneath his ear.

A rumble spreads through Stig’s chest, vibrating into my body like a lion’s purr. He mutters something under his breath, something I don’t catch, then turns his head to kiss me long and deep and filthy, his cock still only buried in me by an inch.

I whimper into his kiss. My hips lift and squirm, and somehow, Stig’s lips on mine make me instantly so much wetter. That burning stretch, that uncomfortable sting, it fades so quickly it’s almost like I imagined it.

And now I’m empty. Panting and writhing and desperate to be filled.

Still kissing me, Stig palms my ass with his free hand, squeezing it hard like he owns it.

He does. Oh my god, he does.

So when he lifts me off the bed, scooping one arm beneath my back, and sits me up in his lap to take his cock—I let him. I’m pliant in his arms, slick and needy and ready to be used, damn it, used as a plaything for Stig Hansen’s pleasure. Want him to take out every ounce of his pent-up frustration on my body. Want him to show no mercy, none at all.

Stig’s teeth scrape against my collarbone, then he’s hunched over my boobs, sucking and nipping at the stiff peaks, muscles flexing in his strong, tan back—and all the while he thrusts ever so slightly deeper, deeper, deeper.

I cling to the adventurer like a climber huddling against a rock face in a storm, the sticky evidence of my arousal leaving glossy patches on my inner thighs. When I glance down between our bodies, those patches shine in the lamplight, showing the exact spots where I’ve ground down on Stig and got his thighs messy too. And the more Stig fills me, the more that solid girth stretches me open and claims me for his own, the harder it gets to remember why we weren’t doing this before.

Because this… this is the best thing I’ve ever felt.

Every slight movement sends pleasure crackling down my spine. Every time he licks a new patch of skin, I quiver.

“Doing okay?”

Stig sounds as winded as I feel, and when he raises his head to look at me, his eyes have never been so blue. With those blown-out pupils, he looks wired, drugged out of his senses by what we’re doing, and you know what? The feeling is mutual.

I whimper, grinding down on his cock. He’s wedged way deeper now, but there are still a couple more inches to go, and I want more. Want every part of this man. Every ounce.

Stig huffs out a breath, then palms my ass cheek again, holding my gaze as he spanks it lightly.

Fifty volts shoot through my system, lighting up my nerves like live-wires. I stiffen in Stig’s arms, head tossed back, gasping in surprise—then blink at him, dazed and so freaking turned on.

He grins at me, slow and sinful.

Then spanks me again.

My hips jerk. I push down on his cock, the movement instinctual, taking another inch inside me, my fingernails clawing at Stig’s chest.

He snarls.

Then pushes up as deep as he can go.

After a couple false starts, we find a rhythm together, bodies grinding close, my ass bouncing on top of Stig’s strong thighs, his hands surely leaving bruises where he grips my hips. And it feels so good, so tickly and overwhelming and delicious, and god, I never want to stop. Never want to sleep or eat or walk again—just want to keep doing this.

“Jana.” A bead of sweat trickles down Stig’s temple, and he stares at me as he thrusts up into my body, lip pulled back and teeth bared. So much more intense than he usually looks. “Jana. Fuck.”

My orgasm takes me by surprise. Usually, when I’m—ahem—taking care of my own business, it’s a slow build, something I craft and shape and coax into being, my eyes squeezed shut so I don’t get distracted and let it slip away. But with Stig, it’s like he tilts his hips and strokes my insides with his cock right there, and then I’m blown over by a sudden gale-force wind.

It’s stronger and wilder and more intense than anything I’ve ever felt on my own.

A force of nature. Dangerous and untamed.

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