Page 41 of Play Fast (Brooklyn Dawn 2)

Somehow it fit everything about all of our interactions this weekend. Between us lay wreckage and disaster and a tragic, perfect beauty that could only come from the ashes.

He drew out, swearing, before anchoring my leg over both of his and sliding home once again. The sting almost seemed worse the second time, but his long exhale as if he’d found a slice of heaven distracted me from the pain.

“Fuck, Daisy,” he said against my ear as we moved together.

He was doing most of the work, but we were finding a rhythm. Ours, meant for just us alone.

“Pretty sure you already are,” I whispered back, grasping his hand against my belly when his fingers would’ve wandered. I wanted them between my thighs again, but more than anything, I needed to hold on to him. He was my anchor in the center of insanity.

God help us both.

He let me have that hand and then slid his other arm beneath my body, sliding up so he could stroke my clit. I was half on top of his body now, lying down draped over him, and I couldn’t reach the parts of him I wanted to. I felt filled and surrounded and so fucking hot, as if I was burning up from the inside out. His teeth grasped my earlobe as he lifted me with his strong thighs, powering in and out of me like we’d been made for this.

Even if I knew I’d be walking funny tomorrow. Hell, tonight.

He brought our joined hands to my breast. “Touch your nipples. Let me watch.”

While I did what he asked, I looked down at us, me sprawled over him so languidly in the last of the sun’s rays. So much of what had happened the last couple of minutes seemed beyond my comprehension. His hands were everywhere, and he fucked me so masterfully I wasn’t even sure if I was helping. I wished there was a mirror overhead so I could see every detail, but what I could see was beyond erotic.

His cock, slick with me, sliding in and out of my pussy would live in my memory forever. Along with our restless fingers plucking at my nipples together, knowing he was studying every movement over my shoulder, his darker fingers tangling with my lighter ones.

“That’s it,” he breathed as I squeezed him. “More.”

I did it again and he groaned, twisting my nipples so hard that the ache inside me turned into desperation. He pulled his hand away and found my clit, rubbing it in frantic circles that matched the drumbeat rising to a fever pitch inside my head. Between my legs.

Everywhere.

“I can’t.”

“You can.” He drew his fingers away for a moment before bringing them back, moving them that much faster. I gasped, but he didn’t stop. He braced his feet on the edge of the bed and drove into me so deeply that I knew I screamed. Not from pain, but sheer, mindless pleasure. I’d never imagined being taken over this ruthlessly could feel so powerful.

“Come on me.”

As if I had any choice.

The orgasm ripped threw me, shocking in its force. His hand came up to cover my mouth as he rolled us one more time, pinning me beneath him so he could surge into me, driving me into the mattress. I was completely enveloped by him, my cells screaming from lack of oxygen and the massive heat of him holding me in place.

And I liked it. I loved it. The pressure of his body and his hand and his cock kept me coming and coming, my cries trapped behind his palm.

He was so thick inside me, I didn’t think he could pull out. I didn’t want him to. I knew what it meant, and I didn’t care. It was my first time. What were the chances?

All of a sudden, he yanked free of my body. His shout came an instant before the warm wetness that streamed over my back and my ass.

Another form of deliciously dirty possession.

I couldn’t lift my head. Could barely move. But before he did, I reached back to touch what he’d left on me, bringing my fingers to my lips for one forbidden taste.

Salty sweet, just like Oz.

“Dirty girl,” he murmured, sounding proud as he brushed my hair aside to kiss my neck.

Warmth suffused my cheeks. Only for him. He was the one who’d brought this side out of me. With every other man I’d been with—or tried to be with—I’d almost always stiffened up and gone cold. I’d always suspected I hadn’t met the right man yet.

Except I already had, and deep down, I’d always known it.

He slid out of bed, the frame creaking at his heft moving across it. I shifted to press my legs together, wanting to keep his heat inside me a little longer. Along with heat, pain flashed through my pleasurably used muscles, but even that felt like a badge of pride.

I’d done it.

---