Page 114 of The Overtime Kiss

She hesitates for half a second, then meets my gaze, her eyes dark and trusting. “Page fourteen.”

Pleasure ignites in me all over again, chased by something warmer, something steadier, something I don’t quite know what to do with. Why do I love that she practiced on Popsicles for days? Why am I caught up in her knowing the page number? Is it just because all this tonight turns me on?

No. There’s more to it. My chest feels fizzy, and something’s stirring deep inside me that has nothing to do with sex. Something that feels a lot like more. But when I flip to page fourteen and read her words, everything else drains away. There’s no room left inside me for anything but lust.

“Ask him to bend me over the counter,” I read aloud. Ihaul in a breath, letting it fuel me, then meet her gaze. “Ask for it, baby.”

She bites the corner of her lip, teasing, tempting—then whispers, “Bend me over the counter, Tyler. Now.”

“There’s nothing as good as a fast and furious fuck,” I tell her.

She blinks up at me, all innocence and wicked delight. “I wouldn’t know,” she says, coquettish as hell. “But maybe you could show me.”

“With so much pleasure,” I promise.

Then I grab her off the counter, spin her around, and press a hand to the small of her back. I push her down, lining up her body into a seductive L shape for me. She’s wearing only her top and this half-naked look is hot as fuck.

I reach into my pocket, rip open a condom, shove my jeans down my thighs, and slide inside her in one smooth stroke.

And fuuuck.

She’s tight. I’m steel hard. And I don’t want this to end. I stop for a beat, just savoring the way we fit. “When everyone’s here for Thanksgiving…” I begin on a harsh pant.

“Yes?” she prompts as I start to move, slow and deep.

“I want you to think about the way I fucked you in the kitchen.”

“I will,” she breathes.

“Want you to look over here, and think about me fucking you so hard on this counter,” I growl, slamming into her, reaching a hand around to stroke her clit.

“It’ll be our dirty secret,” she says.

“I’m going to be thinking of you the whole goddamn time,” I say, and that’s the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.

I swivel my hips and drive back into her, playing with her, making her feel everything as I tell her exactly what I wanther to be imagining when everyone is in this house in a couple days. How I’ve fucked her. How good it felt when we fit together, my cock plowing into her over and over again. How I’ve tugged on her hair, how she’s groaned my name, and how I’ll be thinking about this too every time our eyes meet.

And soon, she’s gripping the counter, screaming my name.

And I’m following her there.

I was right. There’s nothing like a fast and furious kitchen fuck with the woman I can’t stop thinking about.

The woman who practices to make me happy.

Who knows what she wants.

Who plays the music I like. “I like these songs,” I say, and it’s just about music. But it feels like a bare admission.

“I had a feeling,” she says.

“That I like female pop singers?” I hold her tighter.

“I noticed what you play in your car. What you listen to in the house. What you sing along to with your kids,” she says.

And suddenly, I don’t just want to make her happy in the bedroom tonight.

I want to do something special for her.

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