Page 54 of Blindside Saint

I giggle. It’s a ridiculous sound, I know that, but it’s a pure one. I rest my palms against his chest and savor every beat of his heart.

Then he kisses me again. I get lost in the tangle of our tongues, the feel of him against me. Somehow, we end up laid out horizontally on the paint-stained tarp, and my overalls are suddenly nowhere to be found. Beck’s hands smooth along my skin, leaving a trail of heat as his cock nudges me along the inner curve of my thigh.

I’m ready. Needy and desperate to have him. These days, it doesn’t take much for me to want him. A look. An innocent touch. A smile.

I’m pathetic where he’s concerned.

Which is fine by me.

He presses kisses into my throat, into my collarbone, to my breast and then, blessedly, he lifts my tiny tank top up and takes my nipple into his mouth.

I sigh up to the peaked popcorn ceiling. While his mouth is on my breast, his hand trickles down my belly to my panties. My breath catches when he drags his knuckles down, between my legs, so that all of me twitches.

I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want him.

When I reach for his waistband, he pushes my hand away. “Just be still. Let me make you feel good for a while.”

“But I?—”

“I said be still.”

He’s almost gruff this time, and I’m almost ashamed of how stupidly wet that growly command makes me. I want to writhe or shiver, but I don’t. I can’t right now. I have to be still because I need him to not stop. I’d doanythingto make him keep going.

He rewards me by slipping his hand inside my panties and toying for a second with my clit before he moves his fingers down and slides two inside me.

“So hot and tight and wet for me. Such a good girl.” His breath blooms on the crook of my neck. “Spread your legs, Sloan.”

Well, I’m sure as hell not going to say no.

He always makes it worth my while to obey.

This time is no different. When he slides down, nestles between my legs, and licks, he might as well be incinerating me. A teasing, electric orgasm surges through me from head to toe. I’m curling and twitching, and that’s before he even adds those fingers to the mix. When he does that, a second one comes right on the heels of the first.

“Oh—oh—oh, God.” I can’t manage more than that between the couple breaths I take.

He slides his fingers in and out while his tongue teases and caresses. Every cell in my body coils. I can’t think about more than the sensations coursing through me, about the heat burning me. My hands clench in his hair and I’m holding on, waiting for my body to shatter.

Boom.Another one. The third in just as many minutes. I cry out, clench my legs around his head, and hold on, riding the waves of this pleasure until they subside and I can breathe again. Almost.

Laughing, with my juices slicking his perfect lips, Beck grabs me, rolls onto his back, and hauls me on top of him. He grins up at me, paint flecks dotted across his cheeks. “You good? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m way, way better than good.” I reach down between us, find his dick, and line it up with my entrance. “And as soon as you are inside of me, I’ll be even better.”

He laughs again, but it turns into a strangled groan when I slide down his erection. My breath comes out of me in hitching littlegasps and I see stars for a moment until I adjust to the size of him.

“Fuck, you weren’t kidding,” he murmurs. “You’re so fucking good.” His head falls back on the tarp and his eyes drift closed.

I take over and bounce up and down on his cock, as slow as we can bear. The friction is insane. I tease myself up and down his length, again and again.

But eventually, “slow” doesn’t cut it anymore. I feel the shift in the air, the tightening tension as Beck sits up and wraps one arm around me to drag me closer. He starts to buck up from below, fucking into me faster every time.

His body tenses and he groans from deep in his chest and buries his face in the crook of my shoulder.

“Sloan…” My name is a whispered prayer. I’ve never heard anything so perfect from anyone in my whole damn life.

“Come inside of me,” I beg him. I sound frantic and crazed, but when it’s him hearing me sound like that, I don’t mind so much. I want him to see what he does to me.

Those are the magic words, apparently, because he does exactly that. I spasm on him and he spasms in me and the room smells like paint and hope and sunshine.

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