Page 63 of Hold on Tight

“What? Tell me.”

“If you keep doing that, I’m gonna come.”

“Is that supposed to be a threat?”

She came then, her body tightening all over, her head thrown back, making small, helpless noises that made him have to wrap a hand around the base of his cock to keep from coming too.

“God,” she said, when she could talk.

“Condoms?”

She pointed to where she’d dropped them on the bed, then said, “You’re probably too stubborn to let me help with that, right?”

“Oh, hell no. Whenever any woman asks if she can touch my dick in any capacity, I always say yes.”

She made a face at him. “Way to make me feel special.”

He tilted his head to one side. “If you’re not convinced yet that you’re special, I’m not sure what I can say to convince you.”

Her expression softened. “You could show me.”

“Happily.”

She tore the packet, then bent her head and licked a drop of pre-cum from the tip of his dick. “Holy—” Whatever he’d been about to say—and he had no idea what it was—got strangled off. He was going to be having blow-job fantasies about her round-the-clock until they got around to her using that talented tongue in other ways. If they did. This was assuming the sex actually happened and wasn’t yet another laughable disaster.

She rolled the condom down.

“Feels so much fucking better when you do it,” he said.

She wrapped her hand around him and squeezed.

“Don’t add premature ejaculation to our list of sex disasters,” he said.

“But you’re big. And hard. And you feel really good.” She jerked her hand up and down his length a few times and he groaned.

She lay down on the bed. “Can we try that again?”

He eased himself down and braced himself beside her.

“What if I just do it?” he said. “No frills.”

“You mean, wham bam thank you ma’am?”

“I meant—yes, I guess that’s sort of what I meant. I guess more that it might not be such a bad thing if I did it instead of—”

“Instead of thinking about it and talking about it so much?”

“Yeah.”

“Go for it.”

He rolled his weight onto her and did exactly that, a rough thrust, a slow satin slide, his groan, her whimper. He kept his focus on her, on the way his thrusts made her breasts bounce, on the way each withdrawal and surge rolled her eyes back in her head. On the wet heat enveloping him, her tightness, her little squeezes, the fact that she seemed to know at least ten different angles at which to hold her hips, each of which contacted some brand-new part of him.

His dick felt bigger and harder and more capable of delivering pleasure straight to his brain than he remembered. Maybe it was lack of use. Heightened sensitivity. Or maybe the difference was her, either the series of throaty little noises she was making or the soft, slick sounds coming from where her body clasped his, or—

“If you do that, you’re going to make me come in about thirty seconds,” he warned.

She’d tipped her hips and squeezed her inner muscles at the same time. Grinned at him. Stared right into his eyes.

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