Page 121 of Rescuing Rebecca
He leaned over, dipping his head until their lips almost touched. He wanted to kiss her. Bad. But he hesitated. Previous activities notwithstanding, he still needed to take things slow. Let her get comfortable with him. Let her decide when they should kiss. When they should fuck.
His choice already made, he wanted her by his side twenty-four-seven for the next hundred years. On him would be even better, his cock buried to the nuts inside her sweet pussy, but she needed to meet him in the middle. Needed to make up her own mind about how their relationship would progress going forward.
He knew what he wanted. Who he wanted. But he’d never force her to choose him.
Love him. Live for him.
Those were the decisions she had to make for herself.
“I trust you.” Whether from fatigue or desire, her body swayed, and she leaned into him, bracing her hands against his pecs. Then she lifted her chin and set fire to his blood by pressing her mouth to his.
Hungry for more—more Becca, more passion, more kiss—he parted his lips, and she accepted the invitation. Her tongue emerged and tangled with his, tasting and teasing. The result?
Instant. Fucking. Combustion.
Jesus Christ. He couldn’t get close enough to her. Couldn’t wrap both his arms around her. Couldn’t grab her ass and lift her onto the desk so he could fuck her. Right here. Right now. In broad daylight. Where anyone could walk in and see.
Yeah, Becca loved taking chances. Enjoyed the thrill of risking public exposure during sex. She didn’t actually want to be seen; she simply found the possibility of being caught exciting.
Case in point, her palm slid south, and she slipped her hand inside the waistband of his sweatpants, her gentle fingers caressing over his semi-hard dick until she cupped his balls. She rolled and squeezed, and fucking hell, he groaned. Loud.
“That’s my favorite sound,” she said against his lips, her hand sliding back up over his cock until she wrapped her palm around his length and stroked. A long, slow tug over his head and down again—and the friction—oh God, it felt so good.
“Baby, you have to stop.” He rolled his hips, grinding his dick into her fist. “Or I’m gonna spike a touchdown in my pants.”
She huffed a laugh and looked up at him, her face flushed, her perfect cock-sucking mouth glistening and swollen. “When did you become a football fan?”
“I didn’t.” His dick throbbing to the beat of his heart, he grinned at her. “But the guys made me watch the Super Bowl the last two years in a row—fucking torture if you ask me.”
“You poor thing,” she teased. “But I’m happy to have you come all over my hand if you need to release your pent-up frustration and blow a load. Or I could get on my knees and suck you off until your orgasm sends you ass over teakettle again.”
Her grip tightened and her jerking rhythm intensified, sending ripples of pleasure along every nerve ending he possessed. Combined with the image of Becca on her knees from earlier, his cock kicked a desperate hell yes to all of the above with a shot of pre-come she used to her advantage.
But coming in her hand…or her hair, for that matter…not what he had planned for the two of them. “Sweetheart, the next wad I blow is going to be so deep in your pussy, you’re going to taste me at the back of your throat.”
“Ooo,” she cooed, doubling down on her efforts. “I like the sound of that. Do you think five hours is enough time to split me in half? I mean, your arm is in a sling, and we’re both pretty much dead to the world right now.”
“Don’t you worry about the logistics.” He circled his good arm around her waist, and using the laptop in his hand for leverage, he pulled her in tight, trapping her palm between them. “I’ve got it all worked out.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” She pulled her hand free, and his cock throbbed a protest so violent it rocked him on his feet. “Then I guess we should probably go find Adam and get you something to eat, because I’m gonna need you to have some serious stamina.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Becca’s journey to the surface of consciousness began as a slow process. A gentle awakening of her mind coupled with a creeping awareness of her body. Draped over Jay’s chest, she inhaled his scent with every breath, and a combination of warm skin, clean linen, and the underlying odor of fresh paint cocooned her in peace and protection.
She blinked her eyes open and took a moment to let reality sink in. Bathed in the softness of the setting sun, the room glowed with warm light, a pale amber melting into dusky rose, coloring the furniture, the floors, and the newly patched wall as the end of another day crept toward evening.
All evidence of their perfectly disastrous reunion had been cleared away, repaired, sanded, primed, and painted. Cody’s doing, according to Jay. There’d been no need to ask for his help, no need to barter for his services, no need to seek him out and give immediate thanks and praise for a job well done.
He’d fixed what they’d broken and asked for nothing in return because that’s what he did. What teammates did. What family did.
Jay stirred beneath her, and she felt the outline of his cock. Big. Hard. Ready.
Oh God! Her pussy clenched. She wanted him inside of her. Bad. But fear kept her from rubbing her greedy cunt against his stiff erection.
He hadn’t had sex with anyone since Maya. Since the night she drugged him. Raped him. What if he couldn’t? Well, obviously, he could, but what if he couldn’t with Becca? With the woman who resembled his abuser right down to the ink in her skin?
What if she traumatized him? Forced the nightmare he’d endured to resurface? Set back his therapy and the progress he’d made? Yes, they’d had sex earlier. But it wasn’t full-on sex. What if?—
