Page 37 of The Best Kind of Bad

“You feel so fucking perfect, baby.” I whisper, grinding against her. “I love the way you feel wrapped around my cock.”

She trembles against me, one hand gripping my upper arm, the other twines through my hair. I’ve pinned her with my hips, holding her in place with my weight and strength. And she seems to have submitted to my will. Her body arches and stretches against me, lazily like a cat, like every little movement feels luxurious. The ball of her foot traces up the back of my leg. Her toes are curled.

I’ve never been a possessive guy. In fact, when it comes to other women, I’m usually eager to be away.

But Marnie triggers something primal in me. I can’t stand the idea of anyone else ever putting their lips on hers. Coming anywhere near her with their dicks.

I drag my cock out, pausing with just the tip inside. “You want me to make you come again, baby?”

She looks up at me, face glowing in the dim light. She nods. “Yes, please.”

“Who’s pussy is this?”

She tilts her head, that sly grin curving her lips. She rolls her hips under mine. “Yours.”

She thinks I’m joking, but she still said the word I wanted to hear. Good enough for me. “You’re damn right it is.”

I slam home, pumping into her. Once. Twice. Three times, and then she’s tensing around me. She gives a little cry, my name on those pretty lips, as she comes hard around my cock. That pussy clamping down hard on my shaft like a vice grip is more than enough to send me over the edge. I fuck her through our climaxes, and we’re both groaning as pleasure crashes through us.

25.

Marnie

Ho-ly shit.

That might be one for the history books.

I lay under his hard body, trying to catch my breath. My pussy is twitching around his semi-hard shaft. Weaving my arms under his, I coax him to give me more of his weight. It feels good to lie like this. Every muscle relaxes, submitting to his superior size.

He’s a funny guy. In the daylight, he’s this disarming, sweet country boy. Charming and quick to smile. But the second his blood warms up, he’s ferocious. Domineering.

If any other man tried to claim my pussy, and I meananyother man, I would have probably clobbered him. But Dusty has the skills to back up his confidence, and I had no problem saying whatever he wanted me to.

I trust him, for one thing. I haven’t known him that long, but it’s a gut instinct. And even though I’m older than him, this is one area where he clearly has the upper hand. My pride isn’t so big as to get in the way of a good thing.

And that man’s cock is a very good thing.

My fingers trail up and down his back and he sighs, trailing kisses along my collarbone. And then he’s slipping out of me, despite my weak protests. He uses his cell phone as a flashlight, leaving me with the lantern. I can hear him moving around in the bathroom.

The storm has died off, but thunder still rumbles in the distance. When he comes back, he’s got a big quilt under his arms. He spreads it out over me, letting it flutter down to mold my body with its comforting weight. Peeling back the blanket, he slips in beside me, rotating us so that I’m laying on his chest, between his legs. I’m happy to report he’s still one hundred percent naked.

I rest my chin on his chest. “Has the storm passed?”

He sets his phone aside and runs his hands up and down my back. “The first storm cell. There’s another coming this way.”

I lay my cheek against his chest, trying to absorb some of that strength. “Ah.”

His fingers find my hair, and he runs his fingertips along my scalp. “You don’t like storms, do you?”

I trace lazy circles across his chest. “Is it that obvious?”

I can almost feel him smiling. “No. Just a hunch.”

His arms wrap around my body, caging me in their protective circle.

I snuggle closer, letting my legs tangle with his. “What about you?”

“Me? I like them.” He chuckles. “My mom used to call them summertime treats.”

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