Page 60 of Pitcher Perfect
Her right hand traveled slowly along his rib cage to the front of his body, pausing momentarily at the top of his abdominal muscles, before her fingers curled inward and her touch dropped away entirely. Leaving him sick. “Sorry, if you want to go, I won’t stop—”
Robbie dropped his bag and spun around in one swift movement, catching her face in between his hands, his mouth coming down on hers, their lips barely meeting before opening for each other, his tongue dipping into her mouth and stroking slowly, a breathy sound falling from both of them. One of uncertainty and hunger, all rolled into one.
He wanted to back her up, make her lose her balance onto the bed.
Get on top of her.
Kiss her until she forgot her name and location and started begging him to fuck.
He could do it. He could cover her mouth and bang her rough as hell, right under her father’s roof, make her squeal into his palm. Christ, heneededto know what her pussy felt like. How fast it dampened and how tight it clenched when she got excited. How well his cock would fit. Whether or not she liked to be pinned and flipped over and manhandled.
Making out was a far cry from sex, though.
Get yourself together.
She had asked to be taught. Not debauched.
“Come here,” he growled, breaking the kiss and leading her over to the dresser, turning her around so she could look in the mirror, Robbie looming behind her. That ass tucked into his lap like a motherfucking dream and although he tilted his hips slightly to get his dick tight between those ass cheeks, he grit his teeth and ignored the urge to yank down her yoga pants and panties, the way he wanted. “Look at yourself. In the mirror.”
“What?” Her neck seemed to lack power suddenly, her head briefly lolling to the right, before straightening up. “O-oh. Okay.”
“You told me before that sex happens too quickly, right? That you never get time to find a rhythm.” He fisted her hair and pulled to the left, exposing her neck, his open mouth dragging up the full length, not stopping until he reached her ear and groaned against the smooth shell of it. “We’re working on foreplay, Rocket. That’s the purpose of making out. You can demand what you need. You can ask for the things that will get you ready.”
Already, her eyes were glassy, her tits rising and shuddering back down in the neckline of her tank top. “I can ask. Demand.”
“That’s right.” Never breaking eye contact, he planted his lips on the side of her neck, suctioning, razing his teeth and lapping at the spot almost crudely, all while his hand kept a firm grip on her hair. In charge of her, yeah. In charge of the situation, most definitely. But most importantly, impressing on her that she had a right to speak out loud. To express what she needed.
Express it with me.
Temporarily.
Robbie fought through the steep drop of his stomach. “Do you like that?”
“Yes,” she said, lips barely moving. “Yeah, I like it.”
“Then ask for more.”
“More,” she gasped, her mouth falling wide when he bit the spot that connected her shoulder and neck, raking his teeth up to her ear and breathing hard there. Yanking her hips up and tighter to his lap, looking her in the eye while he humped her once, twice, three times, rattling the dresser. “More, more, more,” she said, teeth chattering.
Robbie whirled Skylar around to face him, unsurprised when her thighs wound around his waist like vines around a pole, their frenzied mouths meeting to fuck, tongues and lips and teeth clashing in the most sensual battle, his hands finding and massaging her juicy ass, squeezing until she whimpered and let her head fall back, giving him her neck again, shaking in his arms when he attacked it, laving and sucking and kissing.
“That’s what you need, isn’t it?” He cracked his palm against the right cheek of her backside, baring his teeth against her mouth as she gasped. “Yeah, it is. Tell me that college girl pussy isn’t getting wet right now.” Her thigh muscles rippled around him, her stomach hollowing, lust and censure warring in her eyes, though lust was clearly winning. “That’s how it is, Skylar. I talk fucking dirty.”
“I like it,” she managed.
“Iknowyou like it or you wouldn’t be rubbing your cunt on my lap.”
“Robbie.”
He pressed a wicked grin against her mouth, snagging a hard kiss. “If only it was Thursday, right? I’d have your knees over my fucking shoulders by now.”
God. God.
This wasn’t making out. This was more.
Everything between them felt likemore.
He walked her backward until he had her flattened against the door, his hips pumping once out of pure desperation to connect to her, to Skylar, to imprint her body with his, to leave a fucking mark. To own her. Give her ownership over him—
