Page 17 of The Hotshot's Prize
“You’re staring,” he murmurs, voice low and gravelly from sleep.
“I’m not.” I definitely am.
“You are,” he says, his lips spreading in a devil-may-care grin. “Not that I mind.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but before I can fire back with something halfway clever, he shifts, tightening his hold and pulling me flush against him.
Oh.
There’s no mistaking what’s pressed against me now, thick and hard and unmistakably ready. A shaky breath escapes me as my body goes still with awareness.
He leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Keep looking at me like that, baby,” he rasps, “and I’m not gonna be able to behave.”
I turn toward him, breath coming faster, pulse thudding in my throat. “Maybe I don’t want you to behave.”
His gaze darkens instantly.
Then he’s kissing me, hot and possessive. Like something’s cracked wide open in him. Like he’s done holding back.
And God, yes.
I kiss him back with everything I have, my fingers gripping his shirt, desperate to feel him closer. To feel him inside me again. He groans into my mouth, rolling over to cover my body with his. I moan as his hips settle between mine, the solid weight of him anchoring me to the cave floor.
I feel tiny under him. Trapped in the best way.
My hand finds the hem of his shirt, and I push it up, fingers trailing over his firm, sculpted stomach, up to his chest. He watches me, eyes burning, as I explore him with tentative, hungry hands.
“I want to…” I swallow. “I want to touch you. The way you touched me yesterday.”
His jaw flexes. He nods, once. “Anything you want.”
I push him back gently and he lets me, lying on his side so I can straddle one of his legs and move over him. I feel bolder now,running my hands over his skin, tracing every line of muscle, every dip and scar. I lift his shirt and finally peel it off, revealing the full glory of his chest.
Damn.
He’s unreal.
My fingers dance over his ribs, then lower, skimming the waistband of his pants. He hisses a breath between his teeth.
I glance up at him, uncertain for a second. “Is this okay?”
“Fuck, Ella,” he groans. “You have no idea how okay this is.”
I let my hand drift lower, bolder now, curious…and I pull down the waistband of his pants, exposing his hard length. My confidence builds with every deep groan that emits from deep down his throat. He’s so responsive to me, his face tightening, lips parting, hips shifting up slightly as I wrap my palm around him. He’s thick and heavy beneath my hand, and my eyes widen slightly.
I saw him yesterday, of course, but I’m still not sure how he fit all of this inside of me.
He watches my reaction with a small, amused smile.
“Is this…good?” I ask, breathless.
His grin deepens, wolfish and full of heat. “It’s amazing. Just like that, baby.”
I’m making this up as I go, moving my hand gently up and down his length, occasionally tracing my thumb over the leaking tip, paying attention to what makes him groan.
I shiver, suddenly desperate to feel him again. I pull back quickly to remove my clothes, his eyes locked on mine the entire time. And then I swing one leg over him so I’m straddling him again.
He groans, his hands moving to my hips as I lean down to kiss him, long and deep. I can feel him twitch beneath me, feel the tension thrumming in his muscles as I rub against him.
