Page 65 of Mercenary
He quickens the pace. Far from gentle, leaning more toward frantic as his body stiffens beneath me.
“Touch my breasts. I need to feel your hands on me,” the insatiable, lust-driven hussy in me moans.
He . . . growls. Yep, music to my ears. Leaning back in the seat and drawing my back up against his chest, he grinds his hips up, thrusting into me as he reaches around to cup my breasts.
The combination of his chest, his hands, his beautiful cock . . . it’s too much.
“Oh my word,” I moan.
He bucks beneath me as I climax hard.
I quiver and shake. Loving every blissful second. Aware of how his hands are on my hips, holding me steady as he thrusts up into me.
Once. Twice. Ten times.
I lay my head back against his chest as a second climax builds inside me, catching me off guard. Turning toward him, our eyes connect. “Kiss me,” I gasp.
He shakes his head, then with a sharp “Fuck,” he lifts me high, almost clear off of him, then with a force so powerful I scream, jerks me down and embeds himself so deep I see stars.
I shatter.
In harmony with his body shaking beneath me as he climaxes hard.
For a few minutes, we stay like this. With me on his lap, my cheek pressed against his chest.
I feel the change in him before it happens. The slight stiffening of his chest. Before he sits up in the seat, breaking contact with me despite him still being rooted inside my slick wetness.
Withdrawing emotionally before physically.
As calmly as I can, I disengage myself, climbing off of him and carefully clambering out of the truck. My legs are liquid, my heart a pool of jousting emotions. Pleasure, sadness, disappointment. I grab hold of the door, trying to find balance.
Without a word, he steps out and away from the truck. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch him remove the condom, carefully knotting the end like he intends to preserve the evidence of our lust within, before hurling it into the wheat stalks.
“Two minutes. Clean yourself up.” He disappears around the hood of the pickup. Disappears right before my eyes.
I tug my skirt back into place over my bare bottom.
And count out exactly two minutes as I stare off into the wheat field.
Whatever Dayton holds in store for me, one thing is clear. Like it or not, Declan isn’t as unfazed by what’s happening between us as he’d led me to believe.
20
Madelyn
“You don’t know what you’re missing,” I tell him, as I lick fudge off my plastic spoon.
To my surprise, he brought me to Dayton Creamery, an old-fashioned ice-cream shop on Main Street in downtown Dayton, where we now sit at a sidewalk café table. With me eating a hot-fudge sundae with whipped cream and a cherry on top, and with him idly looking around, pretending not to be watching me.
I catch the flash of interest in his eyes. Until he shuts me out, leaving me wondering if I’m mistaken.
Not so fast, Declan.
I casually pluck the stem off the cherry and set the fruit along with my spoon onto a napkin. Sticking out my tongue, I position the stem horizontally across the tip before closing my mouth. It’s been years since I’ve done this, a sexy maneuver seen in a movie and repeated perfectly during a high-school cafeteria challenge. In order to tighten the knot, the trick is to brace the stem between your lips as you roll your tongue, twisting, turning, and tying the stem. My lips pucker into a tight moue as I suck and roll, suck and roll. Yeah, so much for sexy.
“Don’t.”
He stares at me, stone-faced. No telltale sign whatsoever what I’m doing has any effect on him. Not at all like the hero in the movie, who was overcome by lust over the heroine’s silly yet suggestive tongue action.
