Page 121 of Get Me to the Starting Line

“Again,” I mutter, bringing her back down.

“I’m too sensitive, I can’t usually do more than one.”

I snort.

“Are you laughing at me?”

She looks down and damn, what a sight. I have the perfect view from underneath her, peering up between her legs, up her body from her breasts hanging down to her face, where her brow is pinched in my favourite scowl. But the lust still lingers in her eyes.

“Again,” I bark, not letting her protest as I bring my head up, starving for her. She clearly doesn’t realize that I’m so comfortable right here, I could stay like this all night, wringing pleasure from her until she’s a puddle on the ground.

I play with her, staying away from the most sensitive parts until her hips start moving again and I know I can get another orgasm from her. And I do. Two more times.

“Julien?” she heaves, her legs shaking and trembling after she’s screamed her pleasure. I hope the walls are thick. Then again, I couldn’t care less.

“Hmm?” I say, nuzzling into her.

“My legs are dying.”

That jars me out of my stupor. I’ve been drunk on the taste and the sound of her. I let her ease off my face and subtly wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

“I’m so sorry,” I say as she lies down on her back, her breathing still shaky. Male pride warms my chest at the satiated woman beside me.

Or at least I thought she was satiated.

She props herself up on her elbows. “Are you apologizing for giving me three orgasms in a row?” She looks incredulous.

“I could’ve done that with you lying down.” My brows pinch. I should’ve thought that she might be sore, her legs fatigued after the race today.

“Julien.” She pushes me back so I’m flat on my back and leans over me. “The only thing I’m complaining about is that you’re still dressed and aren’t inside me yet.”

A hiss escapes through my lips as she runs her hand over the bulge in my pants, her eyes widening as she traces the outline.

“Here’s the thing,” I whisper, suddenly self-conscious. “I uh ... I d-don’t always fit.” I close my eyes, willing some blood back to my head. But it’s futile, especially with her slipping her hand under my waistband and into my pants. Her small hand slides over the hard length. It might not even matter, I may come from this alone.

“Look at me,” she says firmly, using my own words against me. I can’t deny her anything.

When my eyes find hers, anger and desire greet me. My two favourite things.

“If I’m not allowed to make excuses, then neither are you,” she says, wrapping her hand around me and squeezing. It barely fits. I swallow.

I’ve been with partners before who couldn’t take me. I don’t think she understands.

“Leah—” This time it’s her who silences me with a kiss.

“Take your clothes off,” she orders after she effectively renders me speechless. She eases her hand out and helps me take off my shirt. It’s her turn to explore. Her eyes widen when she takes in the extent of my tattoo. She must not have seen it fully when we were on the couch together. It was dark that night.

The full sleeve comes up and around my shoulder and down one side of my pec. Her hand on my skin is hypnotising, charting the lines of my tattoo, and then her fingers run gently over my muscles. I twitch when she reaches my side, and she smiles.

“Ticklish?” she says, laughter on the tip of her tongue.

“Wicked woman,” I say before bringing her to me and kissing her senseless.

Not senseless enough, because she still has the capacity to order me around.

“Pants off,” she says when she can get her mouth free.

I sigh. I may just die if I can’t fit inside her. Everything else about her is perfect, perfect for me. It would be a cruel joke from the universe if I couldn’t claim her in that way.

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