Page 77 of The Lineman

I reached down and took his cock in my hand, guiding him between my cheeks, positioning him in just the right spot. He didn’t push. He didn’t budge. He just waited.

Gently, I used my other hand to push against his backside, guiding him inside me.

“Oh, shit, you’re big,” I said between kisses, my breath again threatening to fail.

“Too much? Are you all right?” Elliot’s voice carried so much concern I fucking swooned right there.

“No, just go slow. Slide in a little more.”

He eased in another inch or so.

I gritted my teeth and tried to relax—but damn, it hurt. I wasn’t a fucking rookie, but Elliot wasn’t average, not by any measurement, and this hurt like a bitch.

“A little more,” I said.

He cupped my cheek and kissed me again, while the rest of his body did as instructed. His kisses were so incredible I’d completely lost track and missed the part where he ran out of dick to give me.

Fully inside, he pushed upright and stared down, brushing hair off my forehead.

“I’m all the way inside you now.”

“Yeah, uh, oh, yeah. You sure are.” I nodded, a quick, ragged gesture. “Don’t move. I just need to breathe a minute.”

He smiled. “Take your time. I could live inside you, if you let me.”

Fuck me. Fuck me. Fuck me. Why did this man have to besodamn perfect?

I guided his hips, ever so slowly pushing him back until he was barely inside me before pulling him back in again.

“I can’t even tell you . . . God . . . that feels . . . El . . .”

“I like it when you call me that.”

I blinked, my brain catching up with the sensations racking my body.

“What?”

“El. Nobody calls me that. Well, except you now. I like it.”

My heart shit the bed right there. Had I given him a pet name without realizing it?

“My El.”

And damn if I didn’t add possession to it. What in the ever-loving fuck was happening?

He slid out, then back in, this time a little quicker and harder.

“Oh, shit. Not fair. No warning or orders or—”

He did it again, this time alotharder.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!”

“Careful what you ask for.”

Apparently, I said the anti-safe word, because he lost all control, pulling back and slamming me so hard my head sank into the pillows. Elliot lifted from my shoulders to grip my ankles, spreading me wider, as his demon cock proceeded to drill, baby, drill.

My whole body arched as my head flew back. Eyes shut, I saw every star that ever dotted the sky. Elliot didn’t just hit my prostate; he played it like a boxer drilling against a bag. How he managed to hit exactly that spot, over and over, was a wonder. But Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, he never missed.

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