Page 63 of Tattered and Torn

His attention intensifies. His long finger has reached the sweet spot inside me, and his thumb is tormenting my clit. This man is diabolical. I realize last night was just an appetizer. I have a feeling he’s going to slay me this time.

I cry out when the fireworks go off deep inside me. I don’t even recognize the sounds I’m making—loud, keening cries. I’ve never come so hard with a partner before—I’m practically seeing stars.

When my legs give out on me, he catches me in his strong arms and carries me to his bed, laying me down on top of a navy-blue comforter. I lie there, trying to catch my breath, and watch mesmerized as he finishes undressing. My gaze is glued to his fingers as they unbuckle his belt. He pulls it free and tosses it onto the chair. Then he unsnaps his jeans, lowers the zipper, and shoves them and his underwear down his long legs.

I drink in the sight of him as he retrieves a condom from the nightstand drawer. He tosses it on the bed, and then he takes hold of the waistband of my panties and gently tugs them off me. They end up on the chair with the rest of our clothing.

Before I know his intention, he climbs onto the bed and positions himself between my legs, spreading my thighs to make room for his broad shoulders. I feel his hot breath bathing my still-throbbing sex.

“I can’t,” I say. I lay my hands on his shoulders and gently push him back. “I already came.”

He lifts his face to meet my gaze. “So, come again.”

“I can’t. I’ve never been able to—”

“Then you’ve had the wrong lovers, honey.”

I gasp when I feel his hot tongue there, suddenly, without warning. The pleasure is exquisite, and my thighs start to shake. He’s relentless, teasing and tormenting me, and almost immediately my belly starts quivering again. Pleasure swamps me.

“John.” I fist the comforter. My heels dig into the mattress.

His strong hands hold my thighs open, pressing them apart, baring every inch of me to his hungry attention.

His lips latch onto my clit, and his gentle sucking makes me see stars. “Holy crap!” I gasp.

He chuckles, and I feel the vibration against my flesh.

Mindless now, I release the bedding and dig my fingers into his hair, tugging on the strands. “John! Please!”

His finger slips inside me once more, finding my sweet spot with unerring precision. He strokes me in unison with the fluttering of his tongue.

When I come again, it’s just as intense as it was the first time around—maybe even more so because my body is like a live wire. While I’m catching my breath and trying to recover, he grabs the condom, lies on his back beside me, and tears open the packet. I finally get a really good look at his erection just before he sheathes himself.

Oh, my.

I have been dating the wrong men.

He comes up over me, slides his hand between my thighs, and opens me once more. I suck in a breath as he guides himself to my opening. Pressure follows, then a stretch and a sense of fullness, and then finally a delicious heat as he sinks slowly into me.

“Let me know if I’m going too quickly, or if I’m being too rough.” His voice is gruff.

But it’s not too much. “It’s perfect,” I say. We fit perfectly.

He braces his hands on either side of my head, careful not to crush me beneath his weight. He starts moving, slowly at first, giving my body time to adjust. Gradually, he picks up the speed.

I gaze up into his face, my eyes locking with his, and see so much emotion there. My throat tightens. I reach around him and stroke his back, amazed by the powerful ropey muscles flexing beneath my fingers. He’s definitely not a city boy.

I’m swept away by his strength and power. It’s not too much, and he’s not too rough, or if he is, I like it.

When he comes, his body tenses, his muscles tightening. His arms stiffen, his back bows, and his head arches back on his strong neck. I think he’s trying to hold back, but his cry is loud, practically shaking the rafters.

Gradually, he slows his thrusts and soon they’re languid, gentle movements. My body is still tingling from two orgasms and from the stimulation of feeling him driving hard into me.

He rolls us onto our sides. We’re still joined together, and neither one of us seems in a rush to separate. He brushes my hair back from my damp face and gives me long, slow kisses.

Finally, although we’re both loathe to leave the bed, he goes across the hall to the bathroom to dispose of the condom. When he returns to bed, I take my turn in the bathroom. As I stand at the sink to wash my hands, I notice a small hickey blooming on my throat. I smile at the sight. So, he did manage to leave his mark. In more ways than one.

When I’m done, I turn off the light and make my way in the dark back to his bed. As soon as I’m on the mattress, he pulls me close. I realize he pulled back the comforter and sheet. He snuggles up behind me so that we’re spooning, his arm around my waist. He slides one of his legs between mine.

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