Page 67 of Point of Contention

Cabot’s eyes narrowed.

“And pasta?”

His lips quirked up to the side and he nodded, then pulled his phone out of his pocket and worked on ordering our next meal. When he was finished, he set his phone down on the counter and grabbed the wood slab of charcuterie, placing it on the other counter. Then he brought his hands up to finish unbuttoning his shirt.

Oooh, yes, please.I grinned, then bit down on my bottom lip as I watched him move from button to button with painful slowness.

When he stretched the shirt away from his body and pulled it off, I wiggled with excitement.

A smile danced at the edges of his mouth, but he didn’t extend my suffering and moved straight to unfastening his belt. My fingers twitched, anxious to help him speed up the process, but his gaze flicked to my hands and I stretched them out on my thighs, palms up. Cabot gave me a nod of approval, then pulled his belt free of the belt loops and tossed it aside.

I frowned as it hit the tile floor and slid away from us.

Cabot tilted his head, then looked at the belt, considering.

His fingers moved deftly over the button of his pants, then he slid the zipper down and I groaned at the lack of urgency in his slow pace.

“Rylan.”

I lifted my eyes to meet his.

“Tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”

My eyes widened and I grinned. “I want you to hurry up.”

His lips twitched. “And?”

“And…” I looked around the kitchen, then down at the marble island. “Then I want you to join me up here.”

Amusement danced in his eyes as he nodded and settled his hands at his hips.

“And I want the belt.”

“Good girl. Never be afraid to tell me what you want.” He slid his hands into his pants and pushed them down over his hips. His black slacks hit the floor and my jaw hit the counter.

No boxers.

I growled deep at the base of my throat as his cock bounced heavily, then jutted out toward me.Gimme.

Following my thoughts as usual, Cabot chuckled as he retrieved the belt and laid it on the counter beside me, then lifted himself onto the island, climbing over me as I laid back and stretched out beneath him. He tugged my underwear down, stripping me bare, then lowered down upon me.

His cock was a heavy weight between my legs and I sighed at the connection, spreading my legs to cradle him. With his hands wrapped around the top of my head, and most of his weight resting on his elbows, he circled his hips, pulling a gasp from my lips as his erection teased my center.

He moved his hips again, sliding up and down over my folds, and his eyes closed as he enjoyed the feel of our bodies connecting again.

How did three weeks apart feel like ten lifetimes?

I ran my hands up his sides, then over his shoulders and down his back, feeling as much of him as I could reach.

He opened his eyes again and looked down at me, searching my gaze for an answer to a question he hadn’t yet asked.

We had so much to talk about, but this moment wasn’t for words—and I hoped he felt that too. There was an urgency building in my core, a throb of need between my legs. If he didn’t enter me soon, I’d be desperate and begging in no time.

“I wanted to take my time,” he said, his voice tight as he rocked his cock up and down between my thighs.

“Please don’t.”

He chuckled, his breath teasing my cheeks as the sound tightened my groin. Then he rose up and leaned back on his heels, grabbing a foil wrapper from somewhere on the counter and ripping it open. I leaned up on my elbows to watch him stretch the condom over his shaft, then he fisted his hand around it and gave it a firm pump.

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