Page 110 of The One Night Dash
I feelher eyes on me as I wake, and when I open them, I love that I’m not imagining it.
“Happy Thanksgiving.” She grins from the chair next to her window in her bedroom, laptop perched upon her thighs.
I stretch out. “Did you sleep at all?”
“Yep. Right here beside you,” she tells me, setting the computer aside and sauntering over to me. I shift over, and she slips into bed.
“Get some writing done?”
“Hmm?” she murmurs, resting her head on my chest.
“Hmm?” I ask back.
“Emmett changed—bigger, stronger, full of muscles. He leaves the shop to hit the gym.” She smiles as her fingers trace the contours of my chest, exploring every ridge. “I fear I have entered my hockey era.”
I chuckle. “Yeah?”
She nods. “You should apologize.”
“I’m not sorry, though.” Flipping us over, I hover above her. “Just like I’m sure you’re not going to be sorry that I’m in my ‘I wanna make my girl come everywhere, including her parents’ house era.”
Her grin widens, and she slides her hands down my torso, fingers tracing each muscle until they reach my hardening cock. “You have to be quiet.”
“Me?” I joke, and she rolls her eyes.
I run a hand up and down her inner thigh before slipping it beneath her panties. Her breath hitches, and she bites her lip as my fingers make contact with her pussy.
Our gazes lock on each other’s as her hands find their way down. She takes a firm, possessive hold of me and begins to stroke me slowly.
“Feels fucking good, sweets.” I curl a finger inside her.
“So good,” she whimpers as she positions my dick at her entrance.
“Word for better than good?” I groan.
“Don’t know,” she gasps as I push inside her slowly.
“Noelle.”
“Dash,” she pants.
I laugh. “No, Noelle is the word that’s better than—” I stop when she rolls her hips, taking me further inside her hot, wet pussy.
“Fucking now, word games later.” Her voice is tight with hunger.
I don’t even hesitate; I push inside her, hard, all the way, burying myself so deep I feel her clench around me in a fierce, involuntary grip. The friction, the heat, the wet … she’s already gone so soft and slick for me, and the sound she makes—half-gasp, half-throaty challenge—tells me she’s been waiting for me to wake up.
Her nails dig into my shoulders, not to leave a mark, but out of raw need, and I respond in kind, slamming my hips against her as the pressure rises.
My balls tightening, her insides clenching, until it finally cracks wide open.
She arches her back and bites at my neck. I fucking love that. My rhythm finds its own violence, urgent, punishing, and she drags her legs higher around my waist, like she can’t get enough of me. Love that, too.
Each thrust is met as she clenches her teeth, holding back sounds that I want to hear, but yeah, parents’ house. She bites into my shoulder, my neck, my arm to stop them every time I bottom out.
We’re both holding back, each of us too stubborn to give in first, but I know exactly which angle to hit.
She trembles then shudders, and her walls clamp down on me so hard I nearly lose it. She lets out a hoarse, open-mouthed, silent cry, and I follow right after, the coil in my gut finally snapping, and my cock, doesn’t twitch; it pounds against her with every burning hot burst of my cum. We collapse together, breathing like we just ran a marathon, her fingers still laced in my hair and mine digging red crescents into the curve of her ass.
