Page 36 of The Rival (Looking to Score 2)
I swallow a wave of nerves. I woke up the last three mornings with my hand inside my boxers, stroking my dick while I dreamed about being buried inside Aspen, convinced that it could never really happen. But now that the moment is here, I’m more uncertain than ever.
When she steps into my arms again, she chases away the cold. Our skin may still be raised in chill bumps, but I’m hot all over.
With trembling fingers, I untie the strings securing the top of her bikini. Her breasts are perky and perfect, and I trace her nipples with my thumbs. She inhales a shaky breath as I explore her body . . . the dip in her belly, the weight of her breasts in my hands, the soft, want-filled sounds she makes when I pinch her nipples.
Aspen trails her fingers along my bicep. “Tell me what you like. In bed, I mean. I’m worried I won’t—”
“Don’t worry about a thing. I like you.”
And with that, she kisses me. Hard.
I force a long, slow breath into my lungs and try not to get too excited. Which is difficult, because I haven’t had sex in months. So this is either going to go really, really good . . . or really, really fast.
When she tugs off my T-shirt, it doesn’t feel like she’s just removing my clothes. It feels like she’s removing my armor, freeing me, layer by layer, of whatever it was that was holding me back before. And being bare-chested with her, holding her close? It’s magic. Her soft breasts press into the hard planes of my chest, and I can feel the frantic rhythm of her heart. Mine’s beating just as fast.
When we part, she gives my chest an appraising stare, her eyes lowering as she takes in my physique. I work hard for it. Sometimes it feels nice to be noticed. To be seen. And Aspen sees me.
“Your body is insane,” she murmurs, trailing her fingertips over the grooves between my abs. Her fingertips linger over the black heart tattooed on my chest. I could stand here and let her admire me like this, but my body has other ideas.
I guide her to the bed, and when she sits and begins scooting up toward the pillows, I hook my fingers into her bikini bottoms and tug. As badly as my body aches for her touch, my need to watch her come apart is even greater.
When she parts her knees, I climb toward her, appreciating the delicious view of pink, wet flesh that I want to devour.
My cock is still very hard and very ready for fucking, but I take my time, kissing a path from her knee up to her core. I press my mouth to her center and use my tongue to stroke her clit. The sound Aspen makes is surprised and pleasure filled. I don’t stop until she sinks her fingers into my hair and comes apart, her body jerking as her orgasm washes over her.
After, I settle next to her, kissing her neck, and she reaches between us to untie the laces holding my swim shorts together.
“You sure you want this?”
Aspen licks her lower lip and nods, and there’s not a single doubt in her eyes. “Positive.”
The word crashes through me. “Then take out my cock.”
Her hand dips beneath the waistband to draw out my aching erection. My eyes sink closed and my jaw clenches as she curls her fist around me and begins to stroke.
With one delicate fingertip, she traces a vein in my cock with the lightest touch, but I feel it everywhere.
I can’t take it anymore. I shove the damp shorts the rest of the way off and toss them to the floor.
“Condom.” I croak out the word, my voice now rough with need.
I tip my chin to the dresser, and Aspen retrieves the foil packet, tearing it open with nimble fingers. She hands the condom to me, and I sheath myself in a matter of seconds.
I move between her legs and align us, balancing my weight on my forearms. She can’t seem to stop herself from touching me, though. Running her hands over the muscles in my ass. Cupping the back of my neck so I’ll lean in and kiss her. Palming my biceps and appreciating the way they tense as I hover over her. I love it.
Part of me could stay here in this moment forever, kissing Aspen and letting her touch me, but the organ below my navel has other ideas. My cock ruts and nudges against her, insistently asking to be let in.
She says my name with desperation, and it’s good to know I’m not the only one who feels so desperately out of control.
When I press forward, I’m welcomed into the slick heat of her body with a soft moan.
