Page 117 of Dancing in the Rain

“No. No, you didn’t.”

“That was a serious oversight. You’re always beautiful, though, Peyton.” He reached for her hands and drew her closer, their bodies brushing together. She gazed at him wide-eyed.

He slid his hands up under her sweater, over her ribs, over silky skin, until his fingers grazed the undersides of her breasts. He bent his head and pressed his mouth to her neck and breathed in her soft fragrance, that lush vanilla-and-flowers scent. She shivered against him.

He pressed his mouth there in an openmouthed kiss, drew her flesh into his mouth in a gentle suckle. She gasped.

He pulled her sweater up and over her head, then smoothed his palms over her shoulders.

She flattened her hands on his chest, let her head fall to the side as he kissed her neck, shoulder, dragged his tongue across her collarbone.

“You taste so good,” he murmured. “And smell good. And feel good…”

“Mmm. Thank you.” She threaded her fingers into his hair and held his head as he kissed her throat. “I think you smell good, too.”

His lips paused over the pulse beating there, a quick, excited flutter. He sucked the flesh gently into his mouth and she gasped. He licked her throat, nipped at her jaw, drew his tongue across her soft bottom lip. A moan vibrated inside her throat. Her fingers scraped across his scalp, sending tingles showering down through his body like sparks. His hands cupped her breasts, her sheer lace bra a fragile barrier between them.

He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her deeply, felt her arms slide around his neck. He wanted to be closer to her, as close as they could be. His fingers went to the button of her jeans and the zipper, and he helped her wriggle out of the snug denim. Then with his hands beneath her ass in a tiny thong, he lifted her against him. She wound her legs around him, clutching his head as he carried her like that to the bed.

“Drew!” She gasped as he tossed her onto the bed and she bounced gently on the duvet. Her mouth was swollen, eyes sparkling, hair mussed.

“Christ, you’re sexy.” His fingers went to the button of his own jeans.

She rose onto her knees, watching him. “I want to undress you. I’ve never done that.”

“Oh.” He smiled. “Okay.”

She scrambled off the bed, brushed her hands over his chest, lingering to rub over each nipple. Sharp sensations moved over his skin at her touch. Urgency rose in him, the need to take her immediately, to be inside her.

Then she undid his pants, lowered the zipper slowly, and gently pushed them to the floor. He stepped out of them, shoving his socks off, too, and her hand cupped him through the soft cotton of his boxer briefs. His erection throbbed and stretched the fabric. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes as she went to her knees in front of him.

“Peyton.”

“Mmm?” She laid her cheek against his hard cock, eyes closed. Fingers stroked, then she kissed him through the cotton.

“I can’t take…much more…we have to make sure…”

She stroked him again, pressed her nose there, and took in a big breath. Fuck! Pressure gathered and built in his spine; his balls drew up tight.

He reached down and hauled her to her feet. He found her little thong underwear and, with two fingers, yanked hard and ripped them on one side.

“Drew!” Her shocked gasp inflamed him even more, his blood surging hot and urgent through his veins and especially into his dick. So close, so close…he threw her down onto the bed, wishing he could be more gentle, take his time, but Christ, his orgasm was building higher and he was dangerously close to coming.

He quickly found a condom then came down over her roughly, pushing into her hot pussy. She was wet, thank Christ, and her cries of surprise, her hands clutching at him, urged him on.

He pushed into her once, twice, three times and then he exploded, heat and light surrounding him, her wet warmth hugging his cock. She lifted her legs, clenched his hips with her thighs, and he felt the sting of her fingernails on his ass as she pressed up to meet his orgasm.

“Peyton. Peyton.” He poured himself into her in hard, hot jets, shuddering through a blinding climax. There wasn’t even time to make her satisfied, and he always tried to make sure she came first. He grunted and gasped through his release, the vague thought flickering through his mind that he’d make it up to her later. But right now he was out of control, lost, buried balls-deep in her, shooting his seed into her—and he loved it.

Moments later, collapsed next to her on the bed, he opened his eyes to see her watching him. She smiled and stretched. “Wow. That was great.”

He didn’t move. “Sorry.”

She stroked his hair. “You’re apologizing? I just said it was great.”

“You didn’t come. I always make you come first.”

“Mmm. That’s true. But I can take care of it…” She slid her hand down over her stomach and between her legs.

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