Page 85 of Coming Home Country
Teeth descended into the flesh of my shoulder, and my eyes slid closed as I let out a deep groan, my hips shifting restlessly, seeking relief. The fire he’d stoked within me was raging out of control, threatening to consume me.
Rough fingers gripped my chin, turning my head to face forward. “Open your eyes, baby.”
Swallowing, I obeyed his command. A gasp tore up my throat when I caught the sight of us reflected in a dresser-mounted mirror across theroom—Tucker’s big body behind mine as he maneuvered my arms upward to lock behind his neck, forcing my back to arch, which in turn pushed out my heaving breasts.
Oh God, the image alone had my core clenching around nothing. The desperation to be filled overtook my senses, and it felt like I might actually die if he kept teasing me, delaying the inevitable.
I’d waited a lifetime for Tucker to claim me. It was a dream I never thought would come to life. Yet here we were. This was really happening.
“Tucker,” I breathed. “I need you.”
“Keep these hands up. Understood?” His gravelly voice sent a shiver down my spine.
I managed a weak nod, and his fingertips trailed over the skin of my inner arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. I swear I stopped breathing when that touch skated over my aching nipples before dipping lower until one hand was settled on my hip while the other dove between my open thighs.
At his first pass over my clit, my hips jolted, allowing him to sink in that first inch.
My fingers tangled in the short strands of Tucker’s hair. It was as if they already knew I was in for the ride of a lifetime and would need to hold on for dear life.
His firm grip held me immobile as his cock surged, filling me in a single stroke.
“Oh God,” I moaned, my head falling back against Tucker’s strong shoulder.
“Pictured this a million times in my head,” he rasped. “So much better than I imagined.”
He rolled his hips, grinding against that sweet spot inside me. The blinding pleasure had the edges of my vision blurring.
Was it possible to pass out from sensory overload? I had a strong feeling that I was going to find out tonight.
The slow, steady rhythm he set between my thighs had me keening against him, searching for more. The firm press of his fingers on my clit while his cock nudged my G-spot had the pressure mounting, coiling deep within me. I could feel the orgasm looming just out of reach, taunting me the same way Tucker had earlier when he’d denied my release.
“Look at us.”
I whimpered, unable to get my eyes to focus. “Can’t.”
The air rushed from my lungs when a stinging slap came down between my open legs. I was so out of it—the lust clouding not only my vision but also my mind—that it took a second slap for me to realize what had happened.
The throbbing of my clit reached a nuclear level, and I begged on a panted breath, “One more.”
One more slap to my pussy was all it would take to send me careening over that cliff I’d been teetering on the edge of for what seemed like hours now.
My nails dug into Tucker’s scalp, and he hissed.
“Please.” The word was said on a broken sob, my desperation finally having leaked over.
“Look. At. Us,” he practically growled.
It took all my energy, but I finally managed to blink away the haze surrounding everything in the room. When my gaze shifted to where Tucker demanded, I flushed hot from head to toe.
If I couldn’t feel his hands on me—the pair of them moving upward until they held both of my breasts, his thumbs strumming the distended peaks and shooting sparks of pleasure straight to my pulsing core—Imight’ve believed we were acting as voyeurs, watching another couple in an intimate act, using it to heighten our own pleasure.
The scene was so erotic it bordered on obscene.
His big hands roving over my flushed skin.
My lips parted as endless moans slipped past them, my eyes heavy-lidded and glassy.
But none of it held a candle to the sight of his cock, slick with my arousal, thrusting between my thighs.
