Page 8 of Hayrides with Hank
“Come on, Maddie,” I breathed into her ear, my own voice strained to breaking. “Come for me. Now. Quietly. Let me feel you lose control.”
It was the “quietly” that did it. The command, the secrecy. Her body locked up. Her mouth opened in a silent, perfect ‘O’ of shock and ecstasy.
She came. Hard. Her internal muscles clenched around me in a series of rhythmic, pulsing contractions so intense it felt like she was trying to draw my soul out through my cock.
She shook violently, her silent scream a thing of beauty and agony, her nails scraping against the tree bark. It was the most powerful, most erotic thing I had ever witnessed.
And as the last tremors of her orgasm began to subside, she did something that shocked me. Instead of collapsing, she pushed forward, sliding me out of her body with a soft, wet sound that seemed obscenely loud in the quiet woods.
Then, she turned to me.
Her face was flushed, her lips swollen from my kisses, her eyes dark and blazing with a confidence I hadn’t seen there before. She looked like a woman who had been thoroughly claimed and had loved every second of it. The moonlight played over her features, highlighting the sweat on her brow, the triumphant, sated smile on her lips.
“I’m going to make you come in my mouth,” she said.
5
MADDIE
Who was this woman?
Had she been inside me all along?
And why didn’t I feel shy right now?
I’d never been all that buttoned up. I was bold and fearless, and I wanted to experience things in life. But I’d never imagined I could kneel in front of a hot, muscle-bound guy and do what I was about to do. I’d especially never imagined I could utter the words I’d just said to him.
The world was reduced to the taste of him, the weight of him on my tongue, and the symphony of his stifled groans. My inexperience had my heart pounding in my chest. Was I doing this right? Was I too tentative? Too clumsy?
I followed some primal instinct, tracing the velvety-hard length of him with my tongue. Then I explored the sensitive ridge beneath the head, tasting the salt and musk of his skin.
A sharp, choked-off hiss from above was my first reward. His hand, which had been tangled gently in my hair, stilled completely, his fingers tightening into a fist.
“Christ, Maddie,” he breathed, the words strained and thick.
Encouraged, I took him deeper, relaxing my throat as I’d read about in a hundred pulse-pounding, late-night spicy romance novels. But reading about it was nothing compared to the reality—the feeling of him hitting the back of my throat, the way my eyes watered, the sheer, shocking intimacy of it. I found a rhythm, sucking gently as I drew back, swirling my tongue.
I chanced a look up. His head was thrown back, the cords of his neck taut, his jaw clenched so tight I thought it might break. He was a statue of pure, agonized restraint, and the sight of him like that, unraveling because of me, sent a fresh, liquid heat pooling between my own legs.
My free hand, which had been braced on his powerful thigh, drifted toward my own body. My hand slid under my shirt, and I cupped my breast, sliding aside my bra cup and pinching my nipple until it pebbled into a hard, aching point. A low groan rumbled in his chest. His heavy-lidded gaze dropped to me, watching my hand with a dark, feverish intensity that made my skin flush.
He liked watching me. The realization was a bolt of lightning. I was exciting him, not just with my mouth, but with my own pleasure.
Emboldened, my hand slid down my stomach, under the waistband of my panties. I was still slick and sensitive from before, and my own touch sent a jolt through my system. I kept my eyes locked on his as I began to circle my clit, my movements on him slowing to a lazy, torturous rhythm.
His breathing hitched. He was watching my fingers work between my own legs, and the sheer, raw hunger on his face was the most potent aphrodisiac I’d ever known.
My pleasure, which I’d started as a performance for him, quickly became its own urgent demand. The familiar coil of tension began to tighten deep inside me, so impossibly soonafter the last two. A soft, surprised whimper escaped me, vibrating against his skin.
He shuddered violently. “Damn, baby, do you feel that?” he gritted out, his voice a ragged whisper. “You’re making me so fucking hard. I’m not going to last.”
Feeling him swell and pulse in my mouth, hearing the utter wreckage in his voice, was the final push I needed. Within only a couple of minutes, the orgasm crashed over me without warning, a deep, rolling wave that was becoming a terrifyingly familiar bliss. It wasn’t the sharp, shocking peak of the first, or the prolonged, soul-shattering release of the second. This was a warm, golden flood that melted my bones and turned my muscles to liquid. A long, low moan was torn from my throat, the sound muffled against him.
The vibration of my cry against his most sensitive skin was his undoing. His hips gave a helpless, shallow thrust. “Maddie,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m coming…”
A hot, salty rush flooded my mouth. I swallowed instinctively, once, twice, my hand still working gentle, fading circles between my legs as my own climax slowly ebbed. The taste was foreign, musky, and intimately his.
I stayed there, kneeling before him, until the last tremors subsided and his grip on my hair softened into a caress. He gently pulled me up, my legs wobbly and insubstantial. My lips felt swollen, my body boneless.
