Page 61 of The Unlikely Pair
I’m almost delirious with want.
Our bodies are flush together, and I can feel every inch of this man.
He’s so hard against me, and my own cock throbs with desire.
We no longer have underwear, so when he pushes his hand into my trousers, he immediately encounters my very erect cock.
Then his hand is on my cock. I see stars and desperately unbuckle his trousers so I can have my hands on him. Feeling the very large evidence of his arousal almost tips me over the edge.
Toby tastes of smoke and energy bars.
He tastes ofoh my God,holy fuck, anddon’t stopbecause those are the words he’s gasping that I’m swallowing down. As much as I don’t usually agree with what comes out of Toby’s mouth, I’m definitely obeying his instruction not to stop.
I frantically stroke him as we buck against each other. Everything is a blur of movement and sensation, of exquisite feeling.
Toby’s fingers curl tighter around my shaft, his grip firm. Fireworks light me up as he strokes me with the same rhythm as my hand on him. We’re locked in a frenzy of touch, creating a symphony of sensations that threatens to overwhelm me.
Toby. The rasp of his stubble against my cheeks. His tongue still rammed in my mouth, battling mine, his hand around my cock driving me insane.
It’s too much, and suddenly, I’m erupting, my orgasm so intense my head is thrown backward.
In my daze, I’ve stopped stroking him. Toby has no qualms letting me know what he needs, thrusting until I get with the program and continue to move my hand.
His hazel eyes are on me, and it feels like the most intimate thing I’ve ever done to stare back at his flushed face as I continue to give long, rapid strokes from the base to the tip.
He whimpers, and then he’s coming, and I get to see exactly what Toby Webley’s expression looks like when he’s having an orgasm, the lines of pleasure etched into his face. It’s a memory I will take to my grave.
Bloody hell.
Toby’s head falls forward onto my shoulder.
Our breathing settles from frantic gasps to something back in the normal range.
I retrieve my hand from Toby’s trousers, wiping the stickiness off on my mine.
Toby pushes away from me. He’s still flushed, not looking me in the eye.
My legs are shaking, and I make a concerted effort to remedy that, to regain my usual composure.
I can scarcely believe what just transpired. I can’t believe I kissed him.
But I’d reached the end of my tether, having Toby so close, so alwaysthere. The memory of my dream of kissing him and the real, fresh memory of what it felt like grinding against him was so fresh in my mind, with no amount of willpower capable of shaking it.
It had tipped me over the edge when I stood face to face, arguing with him. Something inside me snapped.
I’ve never lost control in such a manner before, and I feel a flash of shame.
But Toby had definitely been a willing participant.
I swallow hard.
What does one say to their nemesis—whom they’re stranded alone with in the wilderness—after having just engaged in a spectacular, out-of-this-world sexual encounter?
All the etiquette training my mother provided me with never covered this particular scenario.
“Right. So that happened,” I manage.
Toby’s raised scornful eyebrow communicates exactly what he thinks of my attempt at addressing this with words.
