Page 85 of The Game Plan

“Dumplings and deep-dicking.”

She laughs at that. “Deep-dick—Oh!”

I thrust without warning.

“Oh!” Fi gasps again, her back arching, as I push my way deeper inside. Her tits lift like an offering. Well, then... Iswoop forward and capture one rosy tip with my mouth.

“Oh, shit,” she whispers, her brows furrowed tight and her mouth open on a hot pant. “Oh, shit, Ethan.”

I don’t stop but pull her farther onto my dick, loving how she whimpers and wiggles as she struggles to accommodate me butclearly wants every inch I can give her.

It’s a snug fit, the warm, wet clasp of her squeezing me so hard I feel it in my balls and down my thighs.

When I bottom out, I pause because it’s just too good. But Fi is grasping my hair, shoving her tit in my mouth like she’lldie if I don’t suck harder, and writhing as if she needs more.

And I can’t hold back. We both groan as I work her in an easy, undulating rhythm that has no pause, because it’s heaven fuckingFi. Pure, perfect heaven. Every thrust I take grows a little harder, goes a little deeper, my piercing sliding over that spotwithin her that has her gasping a reedy “Ah!” each time.

I mouth her nipple, my tongue sliding over it. Heat licks up my thighs and down my spine. I groan, slamming into her, again and again. And she loves it, her hands gripping my shoulders, her legs wrapping tight around my waist as she slumps against the marble countertop.

“Ethan. Ethan.” It’s a weak, needy cry.

I bend over her, practically crawling onto the counter with her, pumping with blind lust now. She’s utterly beautiful spreadout before me, her expression slack with pleasure.

“Don’t stop,” she says.

I won’t. I can’t.

This.This is what I want, what I need, this connection with Fiona in whatever variation I can get for as long as I can.

She comes on a sob, and it breaks me. How am I going to let her go again? My orgasm takes my breath, my voice. I empty myselfinto her, giving her everything I have, and it won’t be enough to keep her here.

It’s never enough.

Twenty-Nine

Fiona

Airport again. Why do they all smell the same? Dex walks me to the TSA line, and I feel like I’m going to my execution. Myentire body wants to resist moving forward.

Maybe Dex does too, because he doesn’t try to hurry me along, even though my sluggish pace causes him to take unnaturallyshort steps.

When we get within sight of the line, his fingertips press my lower back, as if he’s entertaining ideas of grabbing hold andpulling me away. I wouldn’t object.

With a soft sort of grunt, he turns me into his embrace. I get a glimpse of his eyes, serious and pained. His warm hands cradlemy cheeks, and then he’s kissing me.

It’s deep, desperate and savoring, as if he’s putting his entire heart into each touch and taste; as if he’s trying to memorizeevery second. And I’m lost. Utterly lost.

Sounds fade. There is only Ethan and how good he feels, how good he makesmefeel. I’m on my toes, my arms wrapped around his neck, as I kiss him back, consumed by my needfor him. I don’t know how long we stand there, but when he moves his mouth from mine to explore my jaw, taking soft nibbles, my lips feel tender and swollen.

Big hands caress my back, my sides, sliding down to the crest of my butt and up to just under my breasts. Keeping it decentbut driving me wild all the same.

“Be sure to drink water,” he murmurs against my skin, kissing my neck, my chin, mouth, cheek.

“’Kay.” My hands roam too, finding the hard rounds of his massive shoulders, sliding over his firm pecs.

He tugs me closer, his breath warm on my skin. “Some strange guy tries to talk to you, tell him to fuck off.”

I laugh at that.

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