Page 71 of Shockproof

Burning sensations spread from the tips of my wiggling toes up through my aching calf and angled knee to fuse with the ones building between my quivering thighs.

Breathing suddenly becomes irrelevant.

Fuck, everything that isn’t bucking back into his increasingly rabid pumping is irrelevant.

All I can do…all Iwanna dois keep meeting him thrust for thrust.

Pound for pound.

Muffled moan for fucking moan.

“Come on, Angel Cake,”Slater animalistically purrs as his hand glides itself around my leg towards the curve of my ass, “make my cock filthy…” The gentle prodding of his thumb against my tight hole isn’t gentle for long.“And I’ll do the same for that pretty little pussy of yours.”

One rough push of his slippery digit further in mercilessly shoves me over orgasm’s cliff. Spine arching screams are set free to be absorbed by the damp fabric doing a miraculous job at muzzling the sound while my neck snaps backwards landing on his shoulder, allowing his other hand to cup the extended area and sop up the continual vibrations being expelled.

“Fuck.Fuck.Fuck.Fuck,” dribbles itself through his gritted teeth, splattering beautiful blue lettering on top of me to the same steady rhythm his cock is splashing white inside of me. Blistery spurts are met by even more fiery pulsations prompting the love of my life to bellow at the top of his lungs, “Fuckkkkkkkkk!”

Well, if they had any doubts about what we were doing in here before, I don’t think they do now.

Spitting out the sock immediately precedes a small giggle. “What happened to we had to be quiet?”

“Rules changed.” Slater crashes his mouth on top of mine rather than letting me out of the compromising position. One soft spin rolls its way into two and two lures me into a third. Having his tongue whirl around so slowly and sweetly and lovingly makes it easy to forget about the cum that’s beginning to seep along my inner thigh. When he finally pries his lips from mine, it’s more than apparent he’s pleased about the whole thing considering the glint in his gaze. He pulls all the way out at the same time he asks, “Think Santa will give me what I really want for Christmas this year?”

“Probably.” Reaching for a nearby, freshly washed towel, I tease, “I mean you have been a rather good boy playing real life action hero this season.”

He lightly chuckles and commandeers the cleaning of our mess.

“I take it whatever it is, it’snoton the list we exchanged the day after Thanksgiving.” I watch him glide my red and white polka dot “Ho Ho Ho” boy short underwear into place. “Which isrudebecause we both know I’ve been goingreligiouslyoff that list. After last year’s book flop-”

“It wasn’t a flop.”

“You hated it!”

“No, I hated the jellyfish lava lamp you got me four years ago,” he informs during his step back to let me wiggle my distressed black jeans into place. “That visual history book about arms and armor was actually quite fascinatin’ and explained how some of our more modern techniques came about.”

Pulling the zipper up is attached to another playful expression. “Does that mean you didn’taccidentallybreak that lamp?”

“I won’t lie to you, Angel Cake.”

A tilted head is presented in response to inform him I’m listening.

“So, I won’t answer.”

We continue redressing ourselves around warm laughter. “See,nowyou belong on Santa’s naughty list.”

“For what I plan to do to you theminuteI get home, I think he might wanna reserve me a permanent space.”

It’s practically impossible not to whimper.

I know we probably can’t keep up this pace forever, but I just want it in our file that I love how much he can’t seem to get enough of me. I’ve never been with a guy who wanted me so constantly and obsessively that I just knew with one look across a dinner table that the only thing he was hungry for was me.

Kolby didn’t seem to notice but then again, he’s like a stray dog. If you simply putfoodin front of him – doesn’t even have to be good food – the guy’s occupied until the very last bite on the table has been cleared.

Particularly by him.

“Okay, Cowboy.” Flipping my dark locks out of my bright, chunky evergreen sweater, I inquire in a more serious fashion. “What is it youreallywant for Christmas this year?”

He reaches for the sock I spit out earlier. “You pregnant.”

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