Page 56 of Scrum Heat

Frankie’s lips part in a gasping moan as my hands slide under her shirt, gripping her waist harder now, guiding without pushing, holding without taking. She rocks harder and faster, her thighs shaking around me as my shorts ride up and her slick spreads—hot and wet andfucking everywhere.

My thigh is soaked. My restraint is soaked. Mysoulis probably soaked.

Her head falls forward, forehead brushing mine, and her breath hits my lips in hot, ruined bursts.

“Frankie,” I whisper, my voice barely there, barely me. “You’re so—fuck, you’reperfect—”

Her hands slide down her own hips, and before I can even fully process it, she’s hooking her thumbs into the side of her shorts and panties, pulling them both away from her skin and bunching them over to one side. The scent of her perfumes the air, and my grip on her hips tightens even further.

“Finn, please—I need it,” she whispers, eyes glassy, voice wrecked. “I need to feel it.Allof it.”

And then she presses down.

Skin to skin.

Raw.

Hot.

And fuckingdrenched.

I choke on a sound that’s not human. It’s part gasp, part growl, part ancient prayer to whatever god thought I was strong enough for this.

Her hips roll with sweet, sinful pressure, dragging the slick heat of her naked pussy over my bare thigh like she’s branding me, marking me without even trying.

And I amgone.

“Frankie,” I gasp, eyes fluttering shut as I try to keep my instincts locked in place with nothing but spit and moral integrity. “You feel—shit, you feelunreal.”

She whimpers again, grinding harder now, dragging her clit against my thigh with maddening precision. Her nails scrape my skin, and it’s all I can do to not rut into her.

My cock is a problem. Anurgentproblem. My shorts are tight enough to cut off circulation, and I’m so hard it hurts, so close I can taste it. Every shift of her hips, every wet slap of skin, every ruined moan is like a fucking countdown.

One of my hands trails up under her shirt, fingers splayed across her back, revelling in the flex of her muscles and the heat of her skin. She smells like a storm; like slick-soaked velvet and lust and sugar andher, and it fills my lungs until I can’t breathe around it, until my teeth ache and my vision threatens to white out from sheer, feralneed.

I kiss hereverywhere. Her lips, her cheek, the underside of her jaw, down her neck where her pulse is thundering. I nose at the space beneath her ear and inhale like it’ll save me before I scent her lightly, brushing my mouth along her skin.

It’s instinct. It’s reverence. It’s everything I’m trying not totakeand somehow stillgive.

“F-Finn,” she stammers, head tucked into my neck now, “it’s—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” I whisper. “You’re doing so good. You’re so perfect. Let go for me, baby. Let me feel it.”

She stutters forward, the rhythm faltering for a second as her whole body trembles, and then, with a cry that rips through me like heat lightning, she comes apart: body locked, back arched, pussy pulsing slick and hot and desperate against my soaked thigh.

She grinds through it, riding every wave, fingers twisted in my shirt like she might fall through the world if she lets go.

And I justhold her. Hands steady, lips at her temple, murmuring nonsense and reverence into her hair as she collapses into me. All the while, my cock is leaking,twitching, painfully trapped in my shorts like it’s protesting my entire moral code, and I am holding on by the barest thread.

Frankie doesn’t move for a long moment. Her head rests on my shoulder, warm and heavy, her thighs still draped across mine and her bare cunt still pressed against my thigh like she’s permanently melted there.

Honestly? I kind of hope shehas. I want to die right here, crushed under the weight of her orgasm and her trust and the scent of her slick in the air.

My brain’s trying to reboot but keeps error messaging.No blood flow available. Try again later.

And then she lifts her head and blinks at me with those dazed, heavy-lidded eyes and thick lashes; flushed and smug andglowing while I’m barely clinging to my last shred of composure. She shifts in my lap, sits up a little straighter, and kisses me.

Her mouth tastes like a secret, like something stolen from a better man’s fantasy, and I justtake it. My hands find her waist, her back, sliding under the hem of her shirt again like I’m trying to ground myself before I float clean off the planet.

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