Page 66 of Meet Hate Love
I sucked in a jilted breath at the sensation of him filling me. He wasn’t joking. I flattened my body against the door, trying to adjust to the feel of him. Then I squeezed my muscles around him, and his lips stilled over mine on a deep groan.
“Fuck. Blake.” He pushed in, deep, hard. Then pulled out. His lips frozen over mine, like the feeling was almost too much. “Fuck.You’re pussy.” His fingers dug into my thigh, and then his pace picked up. Deep, determined, grunt-laced strokes.
In. Out. In. Teeth and hands were everywhere, biting and grabbing. Deep moans and the wet sound of him fucking me echoed around the empty restroom. Everything about it was messy, uncontrolled, mind-blowing. And with each determined stroke he made, that tension built. This went beyond hedonistic pleasure. It was overpowering. Overwhelming.
His hand gripped my jaw, fingers splaying over my throat in a tight grip as he turned my head toward the sinks, then pressed the thumb of his other hand to my clit. “I want you to watch,” he said as our gazes locked in the mirror.
Holy shit. He was filthy, and I loved everything about it. He went harder. His attention drifting from our reflection to where our bodies connected.
“You’re almost there, aren’t you,” he said, his breath ragged.
“Yeah.”
“Come on my cock like a good girl.” The pressure he had around my throat increased as his pace quickened.
After one more long, deep thrust, every sordid need inside me detonated. Muscles coiled. Heat spread like nuclear fallout through my veins, and I grabbed his biceps to steady myself as I came. A string of profanity-laced moans slipped from my lips, echoing through the empty restroom. The next few thrusts bordered on painful, and I fought not to back away from him. Then he stilled.
“Fuck.” He buried himself so deep I gasped. “Fuck!” Then his head dropped to my shoulder, his breaths ragged.
And now came the awkward. What was I supposed to say to a man who had just nailed me up against a restroom door, giving me an orgasm I thought was going to send me straight to Jesus? Thanks? No, not thanks.
“Well…” I dropped my leg to the floor. “That was fun.”
Laughing, he pressed a breathless kiss to the side of my neck. “You’re right, babe. You are kind of bad at dirty talk. And I kind of like it.”
ChapterNineteen
BLAKE
I’d always rolled my eyes when heroes in romance novels slammed a girl against the wall and warned, in a deep, gruff voice, “I’m going to fuck you so hard you’ll feel me for days when you sit down.” Well, I’d never roll my eyes again because I’d felt Vance with each step I’d taken in the hour since he’d done just that.
I stood between a men’s boutique namedLo Uomoand a giftshop, eating the bestdulce de lechegelato of my life while Googling if it was possible to become addicted to a person. As it turned out, it was.
I licked the last remnants of melted gelato from my finger just as the tiny jingle of the bell over the boutique door sounded and Vance stepped out in a pair of shorts. His dark hair was still messy from where I’d run my hands through it. Two women to the side of the shop glanced at him, and I fought the urge to scream, “Yeah, I just banged that in the Vatican.” Okay, not really fought the urge, but the idea of it had crossed my mind.
He stopped in front of me and kissed me. “Mm.Dulce de leche.”
I grabbed his pocket, tugging him closer for another kiss. “Tell me you kept the kilt?”
“I fucked you in that kilt. It’s my souvenir.” He slipped his arm around my waist. “Speaking of souvenirs…” He fished in his pocket, then held up a fork with a bowl of bolognese engraved on the handle. “Thought you might like that. Maybe it could go with your spoon.”
Smiling, I took it from his grasp. Who knew a fork could make a girl so happy? “You’re kind of cute.”
The loud chime of church bells rang out. I ducked when a flock of pigeons roosting on the fountain in the center of the square took off, flying straight at me.
Vance laughed. “They weren’t anywhere close to you.”
“My biggest fear is one of them just smacking me in the head some day.”
His phone alarm went off, and he slid his backpack from his shoulder to search through the front pocket. “A bird is not going to fly into your face.”
“It’s me we’re talking about. Nothing regarding pigeons is impossible.”
He took out his phone. “I’m just going to text her. She’s supposed to go get her hair done today.”
“It’s really cute that you know that.”
Smiling, he sent a text, then pocketed his phone.
