Page 66 of Coach
“Say it again,” Saul demanded, voice shredded.
I did, gasping it, whimpering it.
He thrust harder, faster, until our movements were frantic, messy, desperate.
His mouth found mine again, the kiss as raw as our bodies—teeth knocking, tongues tangling.
The climax built sharp and sudden, a heat that spiraled low in my body, then spread until I was trembling, gasping, shuddering.
I clung to him, nails scoring down his back, as I cried out against his lips.
Saul’s body stiffened. His hips bucked up into me, dragging out the pleasure until I was falling forward into him, weak, spent, gasping.
He held me after, fingers stroking, lips grazing.
It took me what felt like forever to realize he was still rock-hard inside me. The realization had me clutching around him, and the sensation had a sound suspiciously close to a growl escaping Saul.
His arm hooked around me, then he was throwing his weight, rolling me under him.
There was nothing slow or tentative about him then.
His thrusts were hard and deep, making the headboard knock, making our breaths go sharp and shallow.
My fingers clawed, his teeth nipped.
My heels dug into his ass, driving him deeper with each thrust.
“Fuck, baby,” Saul groaned, but the sound was drowned out by my moans as the pleasure tightened, sharpened. “Come for me,” he demanded.
As if I had any control over it.
The pressure built low in my belly, then snapped.
I cried out against his neck, body tensing, nerves sparking white-hot.
At the feel of me breaking apart, his rhythm faltered, stuttered.
Then he was cursing hard, thrusts rough and erratic as he drove into me hard, coming deep into me, his groan muffled by my hair.
His weight came fully down on me then.
And there was nothing for a long moment.
Just the sound of our ragged breathing, the sweat drying on our skin, the trembling aftermath of our orgasms.
My arms banded tight around him, my face pressed to his shoulder.
I couldn’t say how long we stayed just like that. But when he lifted up, forcing me to loosen my hold, my muscles ached with the effort of holding onto him so hard.
When he looked down at me, there was something raw and open in his dark eyes—something more dangerous than the sated lust between us.
His thumb brushed my jaw, slow and soft.
Then he was kissing me again. Softer. Sweeter.
The fire had burned out, leaving us in ash and embers, flickering, smoldering.
He kissed me until my lips felt swollen and tingly, until I felt it down to my toes, into my marrow.
