Page 60 of Bad Boy
“Move, Preppy. Please,” I moan out. And he does, moving slowly, barely pulling out.
It’s not enough.
“Harder. Fuck me harder, Linc. You won’t hurt me.”
He whimpers. “I won’t last.”
“Me neither. Doesn’t matter.”
He grasps my hips with both hands now, digging his blunt nails into the skin. Linc pulls out until just his head is left and then slams forward, shoving me into the couch.
“Fuck, yes,” I grunt. Needing this more than I realized. The tension wound up inside me is a tight coil ready to snap.
I brace my arms against the couch, meeting him thrust for thrust as he plows into my ass just the way I wanted him to.
His hips move faster, harder. His thrusts become more erratic as he nears the edge of oblivion. It makes my ass throb and my balls tingle, so I reach under and squeeze the base of my dick so I don’t nut too soon. I want us to come together.
He’s ruining me for anyone else. And I can’t find it in me to care at all.
CHAPTERTWENTY
LINC
I’m having sex.
Losing my virginity.
Fucking.
Good grief.
I release his hip to run one hand all over his muscled back, never slowing my pace. He’s so much bigger than me—not taller, but broader—and I’m having trouble wrapping my mind around the fact that this is actually happening right now.
Even though I can see it.
Hear it.
Feel it.
My rhythm stutters as my eyes zero in on the point where we’re connected. The point where my dick is sliding in and out of his tight hole.
Because I’m inside of him.
Oh God. I’m inside Remi Michaels.
The emotions soaring through me go beyond desire, lust, or arousal. And it’s those deeper feelings that finally push me over the edge. Not the vise-like grip choking my cock or the warm heat of his body.
Nope.
It’s the full-circle realization that I don’t want to be friends. Or best friends. I want to be more, so much more. I’m talking life-altering, soul-consuming, the I-can’t-breath-without-you type of more.
Because that’s exactly how it’s been since I met him. Aweekago.
My hands grasp his shoulders, and my hold on him tightens. I pull back, slamming home one last time as my breath leaves me in little airy moans timed with the pulsing of my cock deep inside him.
And then Remi is coming with a grunt, the slick sound of him stroking himself echoing with our heavy breathing as his hole clenches me tightly.
We stay connected, and I collapse on top of him—both of us draped over the back of the couch. And I have the fleeting thought of, “How do you get jizz out of upholstery?”
