Page 335 of Branded
His fingers flexed again.
My pussy convulsed around them.
And Cas groaned again, clearly having felt that, but thankfully, he didn’t stop all that glorious suction and finger action. He kept going, kept taking me closer to that edge.
And then I was there.
Then I was there.
Sparks exploding through my mind, my body going taut, taut…and then limp, my hands relaxing on the headboard, my body slumping as the world’s best orgasm burned through me, pleasure flowing and filling me and making it so I couldn’t think or see or…keep myself upright.
Thankfully, Cas had me, wrapping his arms around me, shifting and rolling us so my back was on the mattress and he was on top of me again.
That was nice.
That was nice enough that as the pleasure ebbed, I was able to feel him.
All of him.
And he was hot and hard and?—
I wanted him inside.
“Honey,” I whispered, hand lifting and cupping his jaw. “Now.”
A shudder through his body, his eyes blazing hot—a forest fire amongst all those pine trees—but he didn’t shove down his sweats and plunge home. Instead, he paused. “You sure, gorgeous? Because I don’t need this. I can wait until?—”
Now I was moving, pushing him to his back, crawling over him. A few precise tugs had his sweats and underwear down his thighs and—holy hell, that was a glorious cock. One that I wrapped my fingers around.
“Fuck,” he gritted out.
Hearing that, in that tone, and yeah, I might finally understand the power of femininity, the power of my body, the power of giving myself to a man who cared for me, who was kind to me, who meant more to me than any man had meant.
Ever.
And I understood how good it felt to give him something.
I wanted to watch his muscles tighten as I sucked his cock, to see sweat break out on his skin, for it glisten in the overhead light. Wanted to feel his thighs, the big and strong muscles there, flex against me as I rode him. Wanted to feel his dick, rock-hard and thick, sliding into my mouth, hitting the back of my throat.
I leaned in.
“You don’t have?—”
His words cut off when I wrapped my lips around the rigid length of his erection.
And then I was giving him something, reveling in the taut muscles, but getting lost in the other things—in his touch and words, his tone and the gentle way he’d weaved his fingers into my hair. Hot and hard was incredible. Hot and hard had my pussy aching and moisture pooling.
But gentle and sweet was better.
Because it was beautiful and told me exactly what I meant to him.
Cas didn’t play games—he had made his feelings clear from the beginning, had told me he liked me and then had showed it with every word and action and?—
The truth slammed into me.
I’d been the one who’d been playing, who’d been messing around, who’d been wishy-washy.
I needed to do better.
