Page 42 of Head Over Heels

All the foreplay has made her swollen and tight, and I have to fight for control as I line myself up and push into her. As eager as I am to get inside her, I want to make it good so she’ll want to do it again.

Because oh my fucking God if I didn’t know it for sure before this moment, I know it for sure now: I’m going to do this as many times as she lets me, as long as she’s under my roof.

Chapter 21

Liv

All that “it’s not the size of the boat, it’s the motion of the ocean”?

It’s the size of the boatandthe motion of the ocean, andoh my God Chase is good on both counts.

He enters me slow and sweet. Filling me, spreading me, opening me, inch by inch by inch by—

Yeah.

He watches me the whole time he’s easing in, like he’s reading his progress on my face, and when he’s all the way inside me, he presses tight against my pubic bone and thrusts again, then circles his hips against mine. I gasp. It feels so unbelievably good.

I love the self-satisfied expression on his face.

“Hell yes,” I whisper, and his eyes go a fraction darker.

“You feel really good.” His voice is rough. His hips circle again, drawing another gasp out of me. He’s braced over me, muscles tensed with effort. When he pulls back and thrusts again, his abs brush against my belly, and my internal muscles clench, as if in greeting. His lids droop at the sensation, so I squeeze him again deliberately, and he narrows his gaze at me. “Don’t,” he says.

So I do.

“Liv,” he warns.

“What?” I ask innocently, doing it again. He shouldn’t be having all the fun.

“You’re going to make me come.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Not yet,” he grunts. “Don’t. Want. It. To. Be. Over. Yet.”

I feel his words all over my body, tingling across my skin, heating my throat and chest, slicking the place his body fills me. I don’t want it to be over yet, either, but I love this Chase, cocky but breakable.

We’ve caught a rhythm now, his hips riding mine, grinding those taunting circles against me, my clit swollen and sensitive and buzzing with pleasure. Every time he circles me, I squeeze around him, wanting desperately to make him lose his rhythm, his control.

He knows it, too, and our eyes are locked, breath coming faster and faster. His rhythm falters, color rising high in his cheeks, his eyes closing briefly before he opens them and glares at me.

He flips us over so I’m on top, and I’m like,wait!Because Chase always wants to be in charge, so why is he giving up control to me?

Then he starts moving again, and I realize: Chase doesn’t have to be on top to be in control.

He’s thrusting up into me now, but the motion’s the same—slow, controlled, the perfect friction, the perfect twist and grind. It’s building pleasure up in me, steady and fierce.

And his hands are free.

He cups one breast in each hand.

“This,” he says reverently, staring at my breasts overflowing his palms, “is my happy place.”

I can’t help it—I giggle.

A moment later I’m not giggling at all. He finds my nipples with his thumbs and all of my concentration narrows in on the bright sensation of his callused skin moving lightly across the tight tips. A moan breaks out of me, then another, the fire he’s started in my breasts streaking downward through my belly, collecting, fierce, between my legs.

I want, want, want, want, and even though I’m a big girl and I know exactly what I’m chasing, I don’t know what I want, either, it’s that big and everywhere, and I clutch at him. I think I call his name, too.

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