Page 9 of Mountain Man's Autumn Angel
I wanted Melanie. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anyone—or anything—in my life.
She knelt before me, eyes locked on my cock, her gaze hungry as she worked. With a slow, deliberate motion, she sprayed a long line of whipped cream from my tip to my base, then cupped me with her free hand as she leaned in to lick. If I'd thought her mouth felt incredible before, I hadn't seen anything yet.
But I had to hold out. We’d been painfully interrupted earlier, and this time, I was determined to see things through.
She took her time, lapping up the whipped cream, her tongue teasing along my length. Once she’d cleaned me off, she lifted the can again, spraying a fresh dollop on the head. Then she set it aside, wrapped her hand around my shaft, and looked up at me as her tongue flicked out to taste the creamy concoction.
“Fuck.” That was the only word I could force out—the only one that mattered.
When she wrapped her lips around me and took me deep, my body screamed to let her finish. She swallowed me whole, sliding back and forth in a rhythm that threatened to undo me.
“Okay—okay, you have to stop,” I gritted out.
She pulled back, eyes wide with concern. She thought she was doing something wrong.
Dammit. That was the last thing I wanted her to think.
“That feels too good,” I rasped. “I have to hold out. Let’s go to the bedroom.”
She shook her head, rising to her feet, her fingers hooking into my jeans and tugging them down as she stood. “No. Right here.”
The demand in her voice sent heat coursing through me. I didn’t argue.
I kicked my jeans aside and grabbed the condom from my wallet before it hit the floor, opening the packet and rolling it on with quick, impatient strokes. She rose to her feet and turned, bracing her hands against the island, back arched just enough to drive me insane.
I stepped closer, my hands sliding down the curve of her stomach and over her hips before gripping her firmly. God, she was soft everywhere.
“Fuck, you feel good.”
My voice was rough as I pressed against her, my cock sliding between her thighs, teasing before I finally lined myself up. She was already wet, and when I pushed inside from behind—slow, so fucking slow—she let out a breathy moan that went straight to my groin.
“Yesssss.” Her fingers curled against the countertop.
I groaned, my head dropping forward as I sank deeper. She was tight, so tight, and the heat of her was unreal. I had to grit my teeth just to keep from losing it right then.
“Tell me if it’s too much,” I managed, my voice strained.
She shook her head, pushing back against me. “More.”
If she wanted more, more was exactly what I’d give her.
One hand slid around her hip, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in slow circles as I started to move. The other cupped her breast, thumb grazing her nipple, and she gasped, her body clenching around me.
“Fuck,” I said, my hips stuttering. “You feel so damn good. You’re going to make me come too fast.”
She whimpered, her breath coming in short, desperate pants. “Don’t stop—please?—”
I didn’t.
My thrusts were steady, deep but controlled, each one dragging another broken sound from her lips. The slick, wet sounds of our bodies moving together filled the kitchen, mingling with her soft cries and my own ragged breathing.
“That’s it,” I growled, my fingers working her clit faster. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”
Her back arched, her whole body tensing, and then a sharp cry tore from her throat as she clenched around me, the orgasm ripping through her. The sensation was too much, too fucking good, and with a groan, I buried myself deep and let go.
Pleasure surged, white-hot and overwhelming, my hips jerking as I came. Every muscle locked, my fingers digging into her hip, my other hand cupping her breast as I rode out the waves of pleasure.
“Fuck,” I said, my voice raw.
