Page 57 of Striking Heat
I kiss her on the nose and then on the lips. Moving down, I suck on her neck—not enough to mark it but enough to cause her to moan. Kisses on the neck seem to unlock all kinds of things for this girl. My hand dives into her folds, three fingers deep. She’s so tight and wet. The feeling of her clenching around me turns me on even further. My cock is straining in my boxers. I want to get inside her, but I want this foreplay to last a little longer. She’s a ball of want and need. I think she might need it just as badly as I do at this point.
I withdraw my fingers, and she whimpers at the loss of them. I grab a condom from the nightstand and remove my boxers so that I can slide it on. I pump on my cock once and then roll it over slowly. She licks her lips as she watches every action I take.
“Roll on your side,” I tell her. I get behind her and throw her leg over mine, rubbing my fingers at her opening. She’s soaked and ready for me. Kissing her neck, I slowly enter her. We both moan at the feeling of being joined. My hand comes around and grabs her breast, kneading her nipple as I pump in and out of her.
She moans and clenches around me. She’s already coming. I pick up the pace and she’s gripping at my hip, trying to get me closer. I keep moving in and out, feeling her tighten and go slack around me.
“Holy fuck!” she cries out as she comes.
I hold on to her while she rides the wave. Slowly, I pull out and roll her so that she’s lying on her back. I climb on top of herand enter her, and she cries out again at the feeling of my cock filling her. My arms are propped up so that I can watch those baby blues go wild as I drive in and out.
“Oh god, Mac. You feel like heaven.”
I wrap her legs around my waist so that I’m deeper inside her. Her cries are filling the room, and I’m grunting, barely able to hold on any longer. I can feel her tightening—she’s close. So, I pinch one of her nipples and kiss the other. My lips find hers as I move quicker and quicker, her hips rising to meet mine. We come together, both crying out.
My body lies on top of hers, and I can feel her heart hammering in her chest.
“You might just make me love surprises,” I tell her in the glow of the room.
Mac’s arms come up around me. “I was wondering if you were going to fuck me from behind or if I was actually going to be able to hold you.” She strokes my back up and down with her fingertips. “I like lying here with you like this. Maybe being a brat has paid off for once.”
I laugh. “Maybe it’s just our way.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
~MAC~
I’m wearing one of Danny’s oversized T-shirts and nothing else. The man is over six feet tall, so I’m swimming in it. We’re sitting on his living room floor, new tumblers of whiskey and a pizza on the coffee table.
“I don’t know why we couldn’t order Marcella’s,” I tell him. “I mean, this is good, but I always order from them.”
“They don’t deliver and there was no way I was leaving you or putting on more than a pair of shorts tonight. Gia’s has good pizza,” he defends his favorite pizza place.
“It’s not bad. I like Marcella’s crust better,” I say before taking another bite. “And if I’m going to have a cheat day, it should be just the way I want it.”
He laughs at me. “I promise the next time we do this; we can do it at your place, and it’ll be pizza from Marcella’s.”
I smile. “I don’t know that we should be doing this at my apartment. I think your place might be best.”
I take a moment and look around. There are pictures of his mom and him. I know he doesn’t have siblings, but I don’t even see a picture of his father in the living room. I want to ask about it, but I know how he gets about his dad.
He’s sitting there crossed-legged, dark hair mussed a bit from where my hands ran through it. He looks so carefree. I don’t want to say anything. Every time I do, it causes him to get a little irritated. But I do it anyway, against my better judgment, and hope that it doesn’t wreck our evening.
“There are no pictures of your father here.”
He looks around and nods. “No, there aren’t any. I have a standard one in my office, but that’s about it.”
“Why are you calling it a standard one?”
“Because I have that one displayed so that I can say I have one. Sometimes when he comes over, I move it to the living room, where he can see that I have it. Other than that, it stays hidden.”
I nod. “I get it. I don’t have a lot of pictures of my parents either.” I shrug. “Doesn’t seem to matter. They never come to see me anyway, so they’ll never know.”
“Did they visit you in Portland?” he asks.
“Sometimes. Sometimes they would watch my games, but it was rare.”
“Do they have demanding jobs?”
