Page 176 of The Fake Date Agreement

His fingers grip my ass, and he hisses, then groans. “Fuck, you are squeezing every inch of me, baby. Taking me so damn well.”

I bite my lip, fighting to hold back more loud moans.

As he pumps, he pushes my thighs closer together so I squeeze even tighter around him. I feel every ridge he works into me.

“How is that?” he groans, voice strained.

“Like I’ll never have enough.”

“You need it harder?”

“Don’t care. Just need you.”

“I think I hear something,” he whispers.

“What?”

“Someone coming.”

I freeze.

He thrusts and says into my ear, “What will they think when they walk in and see the way I have you splayed out on the Coach’s table with my cock in your pussy?”

I tighten around him, whimpering as my excitement builds. “We should stop.”

“Should we?” he whispers.

We totally should.

I know that.

So why am I getting wetter at the thought of someone finding us like this? Why am I pushing back in a silent plea for him to move?

“I hear you,” he whispers into my ear. “I know what you want.”

His next thrust seats him so deep, he’s buried to the hilt. “Maybe they could watch. They can see how wet my cock is when I pull myself out of you.”

“Caleb,” I moan as I wiggle, pushing back as he throbs inside me.

He moves, groaning as he thrusts deep.

It strikes me that whoever it is should have walked in by now. I keep thinking that someoneisright there, watching us from the doorway as Caleb rocks the table each time he pounds into me.

Gripping the edge of the table, I choke back the scream while the crescendo builds inside me.

Caleb angles my hips and drags me back onto him. That last meaty slap, that last perfect slide of him tunneling so deep he touches the end of me, explodes my brain.

I shatter.

I’m trembling, muscles weak, so lost to my climax I barely feel his. He slumps over me, and I feel him jerking as he holds me against him and kisses my throat.

We stay like that for seconds, then minutes.

“Shit, I need to pull out and deal with this condom,” he breathes out, arms tightening around me. “But you feel so perfect.”

So he doesn’t move. He blankets me with his body, careful not to crush me. How we’ve not broken this table is a mystery to me. Someone must have reinforced the heck out of it, expecting rough and tumble from hockey players because a guy Caleb’s size should absolutely have flattened it by now.

And he’s still inside me, slowly softening, a warm and comforting presence now rather than arousing. I don’t want to move either, even if someone could walk in at any moment.

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