Page 98 of The Boyfriend Goal

I smack her, and she yells an oh god but clenches around my cock at the same time. She’s so tight and wet and eager, and now she’s fucking back onto me with ruthless abandon as she chases her pleasure. I thrust deep inside, then ease out, making her wait till I slap that cheek with my hand, leaving a beautiful red mark.

She’s panting, moaning, and seemingly lost to the moment. It’s perfect. So perfect, how my wild girl gives herself to me. As I fuck her, my hand travels up the smooth flesh of her back then into her hair. I curl a fist around her chestnut strands as I cover her with my body. “You like it like this, baby?”

“I do,” she says, then my other hand slips between her thighs and finds her eager clit, and I pinch it.

Her scream is the stuff of my filthy dreams. It’s erotic and carnal and all mine.

I pinch again, then caress her clit. Josie’s back is arching, her tits are swinging, and her face is twisted. “I want to come,” she whispers in a needy plea.

“I know you do, baby,” I say, then I repeat the motions—fuck, pinch, soothe. I rinse, lather, repeat till she’s bowing her back and chanting yes, yes, yes.

Only thing left for me to do is not break her rhythm. I fuck her hard as she curls her fingers into the sheets, clawing at them. Her whole body tenses beautifully, gripping my cock as she comes with a groan that lasts forever and not nearly long enough.

Her arms slide out from under her. She lets her face fall to the mattress, but her ass is still high up in the air. So hot it’s almost all I need. It occurs to me that I could finish like this. It’d be so damn easy to fuck her for thirty more seconds till I tense and spill. But I want more.

I want to look at her. I want to see her. I want to experience her. All at once, it hits me—I don’t just want hard, rough, dirty sex with her.

I pull out. “Josie. I gotta see your face,” I say, desperation coloring my tone.

“Yeah?”

“I do,” I say urgently, then I loop an arm around her waist and shift her to her back. She lifts her arms above her head, stretching out languidly, an invitation to take her tenderly. The shirt is open. She pulls up her knees, giving me room. Beautiful and aroused.

My heart catches in my chest, stops, then speeds up again. “You’re stunning in my shirt,” I tell her as I slide in.

“Does it make you feel possessive?”

“Yes. You look so fucking hot in my clothes,” I say, filling her all the way, then pulling back. “Want to see you in my jersey.”

“That so, Number Sixteen?”

The image is too much. I shudder, lust shooting down my back in punishing waves.

“Want it so badly,” I say, then I slow the pace, take my time easing in, out. Pushing up, bracing myself, watching those blue eyes sparkle beneath me. “Want you so much. Want you more every day. More than the night I met you.”

“Same,” she whispers, the playfulness slinking off.

We turn quiet, the sex slower, the mood more tender.

She wraps her arms around my neck, then loops her ankles around my ass. I follow her lead, slow-fucking her for a few mind-bending minutes. It feels like the room is spinning, or maybe it’s my heart in my chest that’s spinning out.

“You’re fucking me like you respect me now,” she says, her throat catching. The sound goes straight to my chest, squeezing it.

“Is that a problem?” Say no. Say fucking no.

She shakes her head. “I like this too.”

“Good. Same here, baby.”

I move in her till she’s panting again, then I rise up to my knees, grab her hips, and drive in deep, rubbing her clit with my fingers till she’s shuddering and grasping at the sheets.

But she doesn’t seem to want to hold on to the covers. Instead, she reaches for me—grabbing at my hair as she comes again.

It’s so sexy I can’t stand it, and pleasure barrels into me, blurring out the night, the city, the whole damn world.

My thighs shake and my body tenses.

I come so hard, my mind blanks out for a long minute or more.

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