Page 104 of Hot Lap
“Jesus fucking Christ.” He threads his fingers into my hair, not yanking, justthere.
I pull back with a soft pop, give him one last long stroke with my tongue, then wipe my mouth and smile. “You look wrecked already.”
“You’re an evil little minx.”
“I’m just getting started.” I climb back into his lap and guide his cock into me with one smooth slide.
We both groan.
He’s thick, hot, and perfect inside me. Hands on his chest, I roll my hips, finding the rhythm I want. Reece grips my waist, but he lets me move how I need to.
“You feel like sin.” His eyes are locked on mine.
“’Cause I’m a little devil.” I laugh, though my breath catches.
He groans, thrusting up to meet me, and I bite my lip to keep from crying out too soon. Every inch of me is lit, tight, aching in the best way. I ride him slowly, building tension, grinding down. He slides his hands up my body, cups my breasts, and brushes my nipples with his thumbs.
“Fuck.” I roll and grind harder. “You’re so deep…”
“Take what you need.”
I ride him like I own him, because in this moment, I do. The air between us is thick with sweat and sound, the slide of skin and breath andwant. He thrusts up into me now, harder, matching my rhythm with one that threatens to break me.
I grab the back of the couch for leverage and move faster. Every stroke hits just right, lightning crackling across my spine.
When my thighs start to tremble, Reece slides his hand between us and presses his thumb against my clit in tight, dirty circles.
I cry out, head falling back. “There. Right — there?—”
The orgasm strikes through me white-hot and electric, and I clench around him, breath gone, sparks shooting down every nerve.
Reece holds me tight and thrusts up once, twice, then stills with a groan and a curse.
We collapse together, breathless and sweat-slick. I bury my face in his neck as he strokes my back in slow, dazed circles.
His heart pounds under my palm.
I pull back just enough to look at him. “Still alive?”
“Barely.” He grins, ruined and beautiful. “You?”
I smirk. “Cocky bastard. You should be thanking me.”
He cups my face. “I’m never going to stop.”
We stay like that for a while, tangled and flushed, his hands tracing lazy shapes along my spine while my heartbeat slows against his chest.
Then, because I can’t help myself and it’s an inevitable question, I ask, “How many women have come before me?”
Reece huffs. “That a real question?”
“Dead serious.”
He brushes my hair back from my cheek. “Not many.”
I lift my head. “Define ‘not many.’”
He shrugs, and his eyes shift slightly as his expression grows a little guarded. “Peony.”
