Page 101 of Secret Service

Then he’s inside me. All the way inside me.

I can’t breathe, and neither can he. My thighs clench around his hips. He tears the sheet from the corner of the bed. His cock twitches. I feel him everywhere.

I grind down. Rock my hips. Reese growls, and then he starts to move. Agonizingly slowly, so slowly I think I’ll die. He’s gentle, more than I want him to be. I want to feel him—now, tomorrow, and the day after. I want to feel his lovemaking for days. I want him to carve a permanent place for himself inside my body. I want him to make love to me forever.

I kiss him, and feel something inside him snap. Gentleness gives way, turns to harder, deeper thrusts. Each punches a gasp from me.

More. I need more. I need everything. I ride him thrust for thrust, speeding up, chasing this moment, chasing the fire he’s stoking inside me. His hands slide up my thighs and over my ribs and my pecs and down to my hands, where he threads our fingers together and squeezes. He folds my arms around my own back, wrapping me up as he rises, until he’s sitting and holding me in his lap. He buries his face in my chest, gasping a mixture of my name and curses and desperate noises—

He takes my face in his hands and kisses me before he rolls and brings me down to my back, his cock still buried. He takes my legs in his hands and hefts them to his shoulders, then grasps the edge of the mattress above my head. I’m folded in half, my back off the bed. Suspended on him.

And like this, he’s going even deeper.

I’m shameless, pleading for more. More of him. Every press of our bodies is blurring the boundaries between us, until part of him seems to slide into me and stay.

He’s kissing me like he’s collecting each gasp and moan. I cling to him, to his biceps and his shoulders, my grip so fierce I’m leaving bruises. Our sweat-soaked skin is slapping together. He’s hammering into me, harder, faster, driving into me, an almost terrified look in his eyes—

Reese roars, bellowing my name, thrusting as his cock swells and liquid heat pulses inside me and around my hole. My back arches, and I grind down on him, on his come, on his cock, and stroke myself as I kiss him and taste the way his lips form my name and then “Mon cher” and “Je t’aime”—

I shatter.

We keep going, like we can make love forever without stopping. Aftershocks quake for several minutes. I shiver on his cock. Reese keeps thrusting, slowly, softly, trying to extend my pleasure.

Eventually, we crash, Reese tipping sideways and pulling me with him. We’re on our sides, facing each other, touching from collarbones to toes.

Our kisses slow and turn to smiles as exhaustion creeps over us. His fingers travel the length of my arms, twirl circles on my ribs and my hip bones.

“I love your legs,” he whispers. “Do you have any idea how sexy you are?”

I sigh into his neck. “Why don’t you tell me?”

He laughs. “I’m going to worship your legs with my mouth. Kiss every inch.”

“Only my legs?”

“That’s where I’ll start.” He grins, and I melt into him again.

Our eyelids droop, and the blinks become longer. We’re still kissing, caressing, entangled in each other. I hear him whisper “Mon amour” and feel his lips against my hair, and then—

Sleep claims me.

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