Page 27 of Enforcing the Rules

Groaning, he pulled his fingers free and lowered his hand to thrust those long fingers into my pussy once more. Harder this time.

I rose on my toes. My hips bucked and lifted into his strokes. I clamped tighter onto his shoulders and clung to him. My head went back, my throat arched, and I ground against his hand.

“That’s it, baby. That’s my girl. Fuck my hand.”

And I did. I fucked his hand.

“I’m not stopping until you come for me, Kate.”

The man was good to his word. I soon found that out.

He wouldn’t let up until I was soaring toward an orgasm, one so strong I nearly shouted, balanced on the razor-sharp edge before plunging over into ecstasy so quickly he had to catch me in his arms to keep me on my feet.

“I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you,” he whispered in my ear. He held me until I had time to recover, and my breathing evened out.

Then, his hands moved to my ass, his big palms closing, squeezing, tugging me against him. I felt his thick cock under his jeans, hard as a steel pipe between us.

“Let’s go to the bedroom.” Desire roughened his voice.

It’s what I’d come for, right?

As if sensing my hesitation, he cupped my face again, his thumbs stroking my cheekbone. “We’ll go as fast or as slow as you want, Kate. I promise. Okay?”

I nodded, my throat too closed for words. I was terrified if I tried to speak, it would come out sounding like a frog.

Utah snagged my hand. My skirt fell around my thighs as he led me inside and down the hall to his bedroom.

It seemed like a normal bedroom, but not what I’d expected. The bed was made, and no clothes were scattered in discarded piles around the room. No nightstand overflowing with dirty ashtrays and empty beer cans. Nope. None.

Instead, what greeted my eyes was the room of a tidy person. That made me suspicious, and I pulled against his hand.

“What is it?”

“Are you married or something?”

“What?” His chin pulled to the side. “No. Why?”

“This room is too neat. Like a woman lives here.”

“I assure you, babe. No woman lives with me.”

“Do you have a girlfriend? I guess I never even bothered to ask, did I?”

“You didn’t. And I don’t.”

“So, this is all you?”

He chuckled. “If you mean, did I make my bed and pick my shit up, yeah. This is me.” He said those words as he peeled his cut off and hung it—neatly, I might add—over the back of a chair in the corner. I had a feeling it was that chair’s only purpose for being in the room—to hold his cut when he wasn’t wearing it.

As he strolled across the room, he undid the snaps on his denim shirt. Pop. Pop. Pop. I watched them open, revealing a hard body underneath covered in ink.

He tossed the shirt aside, landing it on the chair, and then he stalked toward me.

The dark beard, the hard, inked, bare chest and arms and those sexy eyes were all doing their job to drive my libido into overdrive. But when he undid his belt and unzipped his jeans until they hung low on his slim hips, it pushed me over the edge. My mouth fell open, and I stared, my breathing increasing. My heart pounded in my ears, and my blood pulsed in my veins.

My brain flooded with images of him naked and sweating, his hips driving as he thrust into me, giving me orgasm after orgasm, bringing me to heaven again and again.

Please God, I prayed, don’t let my imaginations exceed reality.

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