Page 89 of Sawyer

“You’re not the only overachiever here tonight.”

His lips twitch. “Bet I still got ya beat.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Before I know what’s happening, he’s circling my waist with his hands and he’s tossing me onto the hood of his truck like I weigh as much as a feather. Sitting me up, he parts my legs and steps between them, cupping my ass so he can pull me even closer. I loop my arms around his neck and play with his hair.

Then he’s kissing me, slipping his tongue into my mouth in a way that makes my skin feel two sizes too tight. He’s unbuttoning my coat and slipping a hand inside my sweater. He curses when he finds my bare breast.

“Pretty girl, you best not be lyin’ about leaving your panties at home too.”

“You forget, I’m a naked person.” Laughing into his kiss, I grab his hand and put it on the fly of my jeans.

He makes quick work of the fly. “Lift your hips.”

I do as he said, and then he pulls down my jeans a little. He settles my bare ass on the hood, which is still warm from the drive here, and reaches between my legs.

I cry out when he finds my center, pushing his first two fingers through my slit.

“You were telling the truth.” He smirks. “See? I’m the true overachiever, always getting you soaked.”

I nod, hanging on to his neck for dear life. “It’s the hat.”

And the mustache. And the emotional intelligence, and commitment to family, and the perfect dick and blue eyes and the ability to think ahead and and and …

I could go on forever. Truly.

He sinks his middle finger inside me and his expression contracts. “Aw, pretty girl, you’re burnin’ up. So hot and tight.”

I pull him in for a hungry kiss. My eyes roll to the back of my head behind my closed eyelids when he presses the heel of his palm to my clit. At the same time, he slips another finger inside me. The pressure is unreal.

Unreal, and wonderful.

He curls his fingers so that he’s pressing against my G-spot. My hips begin to rock as sensation rises through my core, a tight spiraling that scatters my thoughts and clears my head. I am one huge, throbbing heartbeat, and I lose myself in the joy of justbeing.

I lose myself in Sawyer’s kiss and his touch, the way he knows how to handle me with just the right amount of urgency and roughness. He kisses me like the world is ending, drinking me in deeply as he grinds his palm against my clit.

I press into his touch, dying for more friction. He trails his mouth over my cheek and jaw and onto my neck, kissing me there while I ride his hand. The pressure in my core is sweetly painful.

“Oh, honey,” I pant, curling my fingernails into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Ilikethis.”

“You like me,” he growls, sending a hot gust of air over my throat. “Only me.”

The swift, heady sense of relief—of arousal—that swoops through me at his words takes me off guard. My heart is lodged somewhere in my throat.

All my talk of freedom. My adamant belief that commitment leads to the death of self. Yet here I am, turned on to an absurd degree by Sawyer staking his claim on me.

By Sawyer’s insinuation that we’re exclusive.

Is that what I want?I think wildly.Can I be free and faithful at the same time?

The orgasm tears through me. I yell his name on the hood of his Chevy like the animal I am. My toes curl inside my boots as I hold Sawyer against me in a death grip. He laughs into my neck as I come, and come, andcome.

When I finally float back to earth, I ease my grip and open my eyes. Sawyer’s looking at me. The expression in his gaze—tender, adoring—has my heart falling a hundred stories.

A beat of stillness passes between us as he searches my gaze and I search his.

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