Page 40 of Stolen By the Hit Man
“Hold on tight, sweetheart,” he says, hooking my arms around his neck.
“What? Oh!” I yelp in surprise at the strength it takes for Joaquin to rise from the floor to standing with my legs wrapped around him. I may be short, but I’m not petite by a long shot, yet he doesn’t seem to strain at all as he lumbers across the room and through the dark hallway to his bedroom.
The frame creaks as he sits down with me still on his lap. We tear and tug at each other’s clothes until we’re both in a mostly-undressed state. The hoodie is hiked up. His jeans are pushed down to mid-thigh. The oversized basketball shorts are on the floor. His tee-shirt is up hastily enough that I can feel the ripples of muscle along his upper back.
He leans away awkwardly for a brief moment. A drawer opens, and I hear the crinkle of a wrapper.
I use the moment to wriggle out of the hoodie and toss it aside.
Okay. I’m totally naked now.
Don’t think about it.
I bite down on my lip, feeling crazed and ready to scratch something if he doesn’t get a move on.
And just as I’m about to whine and cry about it, there he is.
Joaquin has me by the hips, moving me how he wants me.
I may be on top, but he’s in control.
I let out a sharp gasp as Joaquin fits us together. Filling me. Moving inside me. Stretching me.
What I must look like right now. Surprised and slightly pained and unsure about taking so much all at once. I imagine not very sexy. I must look like a sweaty, pink, drooling freak. Not the porn star I envision in my head sometimes.
And then all that negativity burns away as Joaquin stares up at me. “There you are,” he murmurs.
“There you are,” I answer. God, what a man this is. Hard and tight everywhere. His brow furrowed in concentration. His dark eyes boring into my soul, deeper with every thrust. And god, what a feeling. His cock is so thick, my body feels like it’s quickly rearranging things just to fit him in. The slight twinge of pain rapidly dissolves into sparks of pleasure as we find our rhythm.
Every touch, every move, hits me somewhere so deeply, so perfectly, I never want him to stop. A certain possessiveness starts to take over. He guides me on his dick, but I’m also noticing everything else. The way he looks at me like it’s the first time we met. Like he’s been struck by my skill, my beauty. The way he talks through it is scrambling my brain completely.
“Is this what that wet pussy wants? Is this it?”
“Yes!”
“You take that dick so good. You’re gonna take it in until I’m done.”
“Yes!”
This is my man.
There he is…oh god, yes…there he is, indeed.
Chapter Nineteen
Joaquin
Jasmyn is my match.
My mate.
My everything.
“Yes, Joaquin…” Her moans are like a song as she takes me over and over. The way she squeezes has me grunting and groaning. Growling and nearly spitting.
I need her just like this every day.
It’s not just the sex. It’s not just the feel of her wrapped around me, taking me in, owning me with her mouth, her lips, her gaze. Not even the way her core surrounds me and weeps all over my cock.
