Page 13 of Grateful for You
Christ, she was so sexy. Everything from her little whimpers, to her delicious curves, to the spread of her thighs that revealed the broad stalk of my shaft buried between her split folds.
I gently pressed my palm into her chest to lay her back onto the counter. She rested on her elbows, her back arching and hair fanning behind her.
I gripped her hips and withdrew my dick until I was almost entirely out of her before I slammed back in, hard. She cried out, her knees widening, as I did that again. And again. My hips slapped her inner thighs with each thrust, tight, wet flesh colliding. I found my rhythm, pumping myself in and out of her slick pussy, and dug my heels into the floor.
I couldn’t come. Not yet. Not until this picture of perfection unraveled around me. I circled my thumb over her swollen clit and the small of her back lurched off the counter. “Oh, God,” she moaned. I fluttered my thumb faster, adding more pressure, and her hips churned against the motion, matching me thrust for thrust.
“Yes, yes!” A fierce shudder took hold of Piper, and I released what I’d been holding back, my entire body shaking. Like a rubber band stretched too tight, we both snapped, and came together. She cried out, her pussy pulsing around my spurting dick, but she didn’t stop her frantic thrusts, pulsing and throbbing for every last drop I gave. A final, satisfied sigh released from her lips and her body melted, limp on the counter.
I exhaled, discarding the condom, and leaned down to kiss her gently.
“That was amazing,” she said.
I grinned. “We’re not done yet.” Then, pushing my palms into her thighs, I spread her wide. “Fuck me, you’re sexy,” I said and inhaled her sweet scent.
She objected, wiggling against my caresses, but I wasn’t having it. I needed to experience that intoxicating taste of her. Gently, I pressed my tongue to her opening, circling it before licking up to her still-trembling bundle of nerves.
Mmmmm.Maybe it was my imagination. Or maybe it was all the baking we’d done. But damn if she didn’t taste a little bit like pumpkin pie.
8
Piper
“We’re not done yet.” Mason’s low, rough voice was undeniably sexy. His hands slid up the insides of my knees, nudging them apart, putting me on display in front of him.
Normally, I’d feel uncomfortable being that exposed—that vulnerable in front of a man. But I trusted Mason… I trusted him more than I trusted some people I’d known for years. “Fuck me, you’re sexy,” he growled, his mouth close to the juncture of my thighs, rustling hot breath across my overly sensitive skin.
I moaned and wiggled against his hold on me. His fingers traced up and down my thighs, curving gently over my kneecap until they brushed across my saturated folds.
I gritted my teeth, pressing my heels painfully against the countertop. “I can’t,” I whispered.
“You sure about that?” His touch dipped between my legs, thumbs framing my pussy as he spread me even wider. Teasing me, burning me, torturing my already too-sensitive flesh. Languorous bubbles simmered in every inch of my body, pooling between my legs.
Then, he sampled me, his tongue slick and flat against my opening and everything in the world went silent. My problems, my sadness, my anger, and my pain were nothing more than a trailing echo behind the languid stroke of his tongue. My legs jerked and my voice squealed in a way that was totally out of my control, and the muscles in my belly clenched as that magical tongue of his slid to my clit.
Despite the cold, dry air, sweat clung to my flesh and my skin burned beneath his touch as he devoured me like a starved man. His mouth claimed me, branding me as his. When his slid a finger inside me, I gasped. I might have thrown myself off the counter if he hadn’t been gripping my hips.
Blazing hot, glimmering sparks jolted through my body. My muscles erupted around his finger as I rode his mouth over the final crest of my climax.
My muscles dissolved as my rapid breathing returned to normal, and I felt his solid, contoured weight on top of me. His lips found mine, and when his tongue stroked against my bottom lip, I dutifully opened for him. His kiss was no less hungry and desiring than it was when we started, and he swallowed my moans. His mouth was disarming. His tongue, intoxicating. And that kiss sent my senses into overdrive.
A hum of bees buzzed in my ears.
My heart, my stupid, aching heart longed for more of him. As much of Mason as I could get.
At twelve, I lost my mother to cancer.
At twenty-two, my dad died of a heart attack.
From twenty-three until twenty-five, I survived my abusive ex-fiancé’s attacks, both emotional and physical.
But this? This all-encompassing passion and immediate love that I felt for this man in front of me?
I wasn’t sure I could survive that.
And it was terrifying.
9
