Page 53 of Own the Eights
“I think I’m about to hearyousaymy name,” he growled before pressing a kiss to her sweet bundle of nerves.
“Oh, Jordan,” she moaned as her ten went to work.
Did she like that he was right?
No.
But the man had a magic mouth that had her teetering on the edge, and that had to count for something.
She rocked against him, and he gripped her hips, setting a Marks Perfect Ten pace that had her crying out his stupid sexy name over and over again as she met her release.
He pushed up onto his elbows with a cocky grin. “You taste like…”
She tried to catch her breath, still bathing in orgasmic bliss. “If you say baby goats, I’m going to kill you.”
He prowled the length of her body. “You taste like the last rays of sunshine at the end of a long summer day.”
Oh damn! He could turn a phrase. Her traitorous trifecta swooned.
She ran her fingertips along his shoulders, feeling each taut, smooth muscle. “Do you have a…”
“Condom?” he asked with a naughty grin.
“Yes.”
He shrugged out of his mesh shorts and pulled a foil packet from the pocket. “I’m a ten, Georgiana. I’m always prepared.”
“Like a ripped boy scout,” she said, watching this glorious man roll on a condom.
She was really about to own the eights—and then some.
He positioned his hard length at her entrance, then stilled, his body trembling.
“Are you cold?” she asked.
He shook his head. “No, it’s you. You’re…”
“An eight?” she teased.
Intensity burned in his gaze. “You’re beautiful, Georgiana. Every part of you.”
She wasn’t expecting that, not from this ten, and could only answer by wrapping her arms around him. Their lips collided in a heated kiss as he thrust inside her, and the heat between them ignited. His sharp angles met her soft curves as if they were made for one another. They moved like lovers who’d been together for eons. He gripped her ass and changed the angle of penetration, and it was as if he knew what she needed before she even knew it herself.
“I could fuck you all day and all night and still not get enough,” he panted in tight hot breaths against her lips as he doubled his pace.
Dammit! He was good at dirty talk, too.
“Oh yeah,” she breathed, the coil inside her tightening on the precipice of release.
“You smell so fucking good, like hippie vanilla bliss, and you’re always so wet for me.”
Crap! He had her there, too. It was like Kegel City the moment she laid eyes on him—that cavewoman part of her brain, ready to get down and dirty. Grinding his pelvis into hers, his ripped body never faltered from its pace. God help her, the shape this man was in, he could probably make good on that dirty talk promise and screw her brains out for hours on end.
But she wasn’t going to make it that long. Unable to hold out a moment longer, her release tore through her body, spiraling, leaving her suspended between this world and the next.
“Fuck, yes!” he whispered in her ear as his pace ratcheted up a notch, and he joined her, flying over the edge.
In smooth, fluid strokes, he lengthened their pleasure. She rocked her hips against him as he held her close and their bodies wound down, slowly coming back from the crash of ecstasy.
