Page 39 of A Way Out
“Oh. My.” Hopefully, Oz didn’t expect her to talk much in return, because she could hardly form a coherent word.
His hand slipped behind her back, and with an expert flick of his fingers, unhooked her bra. He drew his hand back, bringing the strap with him, effectively peeling the stretchy, lacy piece of clothing away from her body.
Smiling, he tossed the contraption over his shoulder.
Propping himself on one arm, he cupped her breast from the underside, his fingers sliding upward through the valley between both breasts, then his palm scraped across her sensitive nipple, like he was trying to memorize the shape. Her nipples, already hard, sharpened to the point of pain.
“Rosy,” he murmured, tracing her areola. “I’ve been wondering what color they were.”
He’d been thinking about her breasts? Maria squeezed her eyes shut and arched again.
“You like that? The idea that I’ve wanted you all this time?”
“Y-yes.” Her entire body quivered.
“Does the idea make you wet?”
She’d been wet courtesy of her own fantasies. About him. Which she might have told him, except at that moment, his hand skated down, over her abdomen, until he cupped her sex, and her brain short-circuited.
“Open your eyes, Maria.”
She blinked them open. His fingers slipped under the edge of her panties, and then one of them slid through her folds. She was certain her mouth fell open, even as she maintained eye contact.
“So wet,” he murmured while his fingers explored. “All for me.”
“Y-yes,” she croaked out, which was apparently all she could manage.
He smiled. “I’ll be right back.” After pressing a kiss to her lips, he shimmied down her body. She flung her arms up and grasped the headboard, lifting her gaze to the ceiling.
“Look at me, Maria,” Oz said from where he was now positioned between her thighs, his face so close to her sex that she could feel his breath stroke over her. Somehow, he’d managed to divest her of her underwear.
“Watch me bring you to climax,” he said.
She groaned. “If I do, I won’t last long.”
He grinned. “This doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. We have all night.”
She caught his gaze and held it as he lowered his face, stuck out his tongue, and dragged it through her seam. Her body tensed. She clung to the headboard and kept watching him, her chest heaving, while he licked and nibbled and suckled—yes, that tiny hoop most definitely enhanced the experience—and then added his fingers, two of them thrusting into her, mimicking sex.
The orgasm slammed into her; she’d known it was coming and yet it swamped her, surprised her with its intensity.
The aftershocks were still quaking through her body when she grasped him by the shoulders and rolled him onto his back.
“Condom,” she demanded. She was on birth control but was in too much of a hurry to pause to have that conversation. Maybe next time. Right now, she needed him inside her.
He shoved his boxers down his legs, plucked his wallet off the bedside table, and pulled out a square packet. Tearing it open, he stroked himself a few times—all while staring at her face—before expertly sliding the condom over his erection.
Good Lord, she was twisted so tightly, she was nearly ready to orgasm again.
Straddling him, she wrapped her hand around the root of his erection, squeezing. His eyes flared while he sucked in a harsh breath.
She loved feeling like she was the center of his world. Like this moment, what they were about to do next, was exactly what he’d been living for. His focus was so heady.
“Fuck me, Maria.”
“Oh God.” She whimpered. And then she positioned him and slid down onto his hard length, groaning as her body stretched to accommodate his girth.
He moaned. Rolled his hips. Kept his eyes wide open, watching her. “So damn tight.” He slid his hands over her hips, cupping her in that crease between her butt cheek and the back of her thigh, applying pressure and guiding her into a slow, steady rhythm.
