Page 100 of Across the Boards

“Brody,” she manages, voice breaking on my name. “Please.”

I redouble my efforts, adding fingers to my tongue, curving them just right to find the spot that makes her shatter. She comes with a cry that I immediately commit to memory, her body shaking beneath me as I work her through it.

Before she’s fully recovered, I’m moving up her body, positioning myself between her thighs. Her eyes open, dark and dazed with pleasure, to meet mine.

And then there’s nothing between us, nothing holding us back. I notch myself against her entrance, watching her face as I push forward slowly, giving her time to adjust. The feel of her—hot and tight and perfect—nearly undoes me then and there.

“Okay?” I manage, fighting for control as I seat myself fully inside her.

Her answer is to wrap her legs around my waist, pulling me deeper. “More than okay,” she breathes. “Move, Brody.”

I do, setting a rhythm that has us both gasping. Her nails score my back, her lips find my neck, my jaw, anywhere she can reach. When I shift the angle slightly, she cries out, the sound spurring me on.

“Like that?” I ask, repeating the movement.

“Yes,” she gasps. “Don’t stop.”

I have no intention of stopping, not when she’s looking at me like that, not when she feels this good around me. I drive into her harder, faster, the slick heat of her body gripping me with each thrust. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixing with our ragged breathing and half-formed words.

“Fuck, Elliot,” I groan, my control slipping as the pressure builds at the base of my spine. My fingers dig into her hips, pulling her against me as I bury myself deeper. “You feel too good.”

Her legs tighten around my waist, urging me on, and that’s all it takes. The tension snaps. My hips stutter against hers as I come hard, vision blurring at the edges, as the world narrows to nothing but this—her body beneath mine, around mine, pleasure tearing through me.

When I can think again, I realize my weight has collapsed onto her. I shift to the side, still breathing hard, and look at her face. Her lips are parted, her hair a wild tangle against the pillow, her skin flushed as she leans forward and kisses me deep, her tongue sliding across mine.

“I haven’t felt like that in forever,” she whispers against my lips.

“That wasn’t good for you,” I mutter, recognition dawning. “It was over way too fast.”

She presses her face into the curve of my neck, but not before I catch the deepening flush on her cheeks. “It was perfect,” she says, too quickly. “I got mine earlier, remember?”

I prop myself up on an elbow, cupping her chin to turn her face back to me. “Bullshit,” I say, my voice rough. “That’s not how this works.”

Before she can protest, I’m moving down her body, hands spreading her thighs wider. I can see how close she was—swollen and slick with both of us. The sight stops me for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty passing through me.

I’ve never done this before—gone down on a woman after finishing inside her. It’s messy, intimate in a way that crosses boundaries I didn’t even know I had. For a heartbeat, I hesitate, wondering if this is too much, too raw.

Then Elliot shifts beneath me, a small, unconscious movement seeking contact, and something primal awakens in my chest. The sight of her spread out before me, dripping with me, sends a shocking wave of possessive desire through my entire body. My cock twitches with renewed interest, despite having just come minutes ago.

There’s something unexpectedly erotic about this—about tasting myself on her, about cleaning up the mess I made, about showing her that her pleasure matters more than any arbitrary line of propriety. The hesitation vanishes, replaced by hunger so intense it nearly chokes me.

“Brody,” she says, half protest, half plea as she tries to close her legs. “You don’t have to do that. It’s?—”

“Shut up,” I tell her, not unkindly. I press a bite to the inside of her thigh that makes her gasp. “I want to taste you again. I want to feel you come against my tongue again. I am starving for you.”

The truth of the words surprises even me. I am starving—desperate to taste her again. It should be off-putting, but instead, it’s the hottest thing I’ve ever imagined.

Her resistance evaporates at that and she lets her legs fall open, one hand fisting in the sheets while the other finds its way to my hair.

I don’t tease this time. I go straight for where she needs me most, my tongue flat against her, swiping up and sucking directly over her clit. The taste hits me immediately—saltier, muskier, undeniably us. I groan against her, the vibration makes her gasp. The knowledge that I’m tasting both of us together, that I’m cleaning up what I spilled inside her, makes my head swim.

Her hips buck up involuntarily, and I hold her in place with my forearm across her stomach. I work her with purpose, reading every twitch and gasp, every tightening of her fingers in my hair. When I slide two fingers inside her, curling them forward, she lets out a broken moan that sends heat rushing back to my groin.

I feel my own release coating my fingers, mixing with her wetness, and instead of being turned off, I’m dizzy with arousal. There’s something profoundly intimate about this, something that marks us as belonging to each other in the closest way. As if I would ever let her go now.

“That’s it,” I murmur against her, never stopping the movement of my fingers or tongue. “Let me hear you.”

Her thighs begin to shake, her breathing turning into short, desperate pants. I can feel her tightening around my fingers, so close to the edge.

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