Page 34 of Broken-Hearted

He was not wrong.

I part my legs, tighten my hands in his hair, and sink into potent kisses and delicious pleasure.

Wanting more touch, needing to hear another of those growls, I run my hands down his back, smiling at his groan as I slide my hand under his briefs and close my palm around him.

He breaks the kiss, breathing hard as he stares down at me.

“Peach?” His voice is nothing less than a hungry growl.

I form a fist around him, marveling at his thick girth as I stroke him, wanting to know how much he would stretch me. I’m thinking a lot. “Yeah?”

His eyes slam closed, and he tilts his head back, the muscles in his neck straining as he groans. “Probably not a good idea to keep doing that.”

I stroke him again, from base to tip, and he rolls his hips as if he wants more. “Why not?”

His eyes are burning as he slides his index finger inside me.

“Oh.” I briefly forget what I was supposed to be doing as I part my legs for more.

He holds my gaze. “We can keep going like this until we both come.” He thrusts his finger into me again, timing his action to mine.

“Or?” I breathe, my heart racing.

“We stop playing.”

“What does serious look like?”

He pulls his hand from between my thighs and grips my panties. One hard tear, I’m bare from the waist down, and I swear I just felt feminism leave my body. I have one pair of panties to my name, and you know what? I’m not even pissed at Nathan for ripping them.

I take my hands off him, grab his brief and shove them down.

They’re thick cotton, not so easy to rip as the thin lace panties I was wearing.

From the way his nostrils flare, he must be smelling my arousal as he shoves them the rest of the way off.

We never look away.

“Your shirt,” he says as he dips his head and touches his lips to mine.

“What about it?” I wind my arms around him.

“Off.”

“Sure.” I mutter between kisses. “Why not?”

He rolls us so I’m on top, and makes quick work of yanking my shirt off me, then I’m back under him, his knees nudging my thighs wide as he braces himself over me.

The tip of him touches me and liquid pools within me.

“Still serious?” he asks.

I wrap my legs around his hips. “Definitely.”

And I gasp when he grips my wrists and lifts them, pinning them to the bed over my head.

There’s no silencing my moan as he rolls his hips and works himself into me, one perfect inch at a time.

“Blackshaw,” I moan, my head falling back as my body ripples around him. “Never stop what you’re doing.”

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