Page 100 of Tangled Like Us
Our mouths are a breath apart.
I clench between my legs, aching for his hardness. “That was…nice.” I swallow a shallower breath. “Really…very…”nice.Our lips naturally drift closer.
“Jane,” he says, deeper and deeper. He is making love to all four letters of my name. Eight hard inches inside one syllable.
We kiss a soft, short kiss. Testing the waters.
I pant. “Kissing…and dry humping, they can pair well together.” He’s near my lips again, and I add, “Like peanut butter and jelly.”
I swear he smiles, but words and thoughts are lost as his mouth meets mine for the second time tonight. A slow, scalding kiss suddenly explodes in a volcanic eruption.
He clutches me tighter. Pulling me into his chest, his hands diving down to my ass. I grind into his lap, and his muscles contract, a swelter brewing hotter.
And hotter.
Thatcher picks me up, just enough to bring my back gently down on the mattress.
My lips part in an overcome breath.
He’s on top of me, his six-foot-seven stature swathing me, and my legs stay stretched around him.
Carnal emotions and sensations cocoon me at once. He’s this protective force, and the way his body shields mine, I feel like I can come unraveled underneath him and he’d safeguard each and every moan. Each shudder.
Each small tremble of pleasure that ripples through my bones.
Thatcher reaches over and grips the rungs of the headboard with one hand.
Noise.
We must make noise.
He rocks against me and slams the headboard into the wall, perfectly timed with his movements.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
Each one blazes my nerves and wells an aching pressure, craving for harder entry.Oh God.Oh God. I’m so very wet, and we’ve only just begun.
Fully-clothed, my hips buck up into him and my shoulder blades dig into the mattress. “Thatcher,” I say in want, raising my voice above a murmur.
He kisses me with deep, powerful tongue that vibrates my body, and then against my lips, he says, “Tell me how you want it.” His voice is even louder than mine.He’s excelling at this.
I hold on to his bare skin that beads with sweat while he rocks into me.
Thump.
“Harder,” I beg.
Thump.
The noisy springs squeak as he picks up his pace.
“Oh God,” I breathe.
My nerves prickle, and I’m suffocating beneath my fuzzy cotton shirt that I forgot to remove. His pants are still on. My jeans are still on.
