Page 64 of Forecheck
“And I repeat…you wouldn’t dare.” I giggled as he playfully bit my nose. “If you cut my tongue off, kissing me wouldn’t be nearly as fun.”
Lifting my head, I pressed my lips to his. When he deepened the kiss, I bit and pulled on his bottom lip, nudging them apart, slowly licking my way inside. Before I knew what happened, he’d rolled us so I was on top, my knees resting on either side of his torso. The change in angle had his cock straining against his shorts, as if it were desperate to reach me. I shifted a little atop him, and his head brushed against the seam of my pants, rightagainst my clit, which throbbed in response. My little wriggle had Brent choking on a breath, and he gripped the back of my head, tugging me closer. Our tongues danced together. Brent fisted a hand in my hair, pulling my head back to nip at my exposed neck.
“I knew you were trying to take advantage of me,” he said against my skin, grinning wolfishly when I pulled away and sat back on his thighs.
“I definitely was,” I admitted.
“Well then, let me give you a couple pointers.”
“Oh?”
“First of all,” he said, his hands diving under my sweater, fingers tickling the skin of my stomach. “You’re wearing too much clothing.”
“I feel like that’s a problem you can fix.”
With a wicked grin, he gripped the hem of my sweater and pulled it off, tossing it across the room. He ran one of his long, thick pointer fingers over the lacy edge of my bra cup, raising goosebumps on my skin.
“Do you just have an endless supply of sexy lingerie?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the slopes of my breasts and the pale pink lace that covered them.
“I like pretty underwear,” I said, driving my fingers into his hair and tugging until he met my eyes. “I have it on good authority that the panties match. Why don’t you find out for yourself?”
I unhooked my bra and shed it, then I threw myself backward. Brent wasted no time reaching for the fly of my jeans, working down the zipper and pulling them free. I spread my legs, loving the way his gaze darkened as he took in the scrap of lace covering my pussy.
I knew with certainty that I hadn’t had as many sexual partners as him, but knowing that—and knowing what wewere about to do—somehow didn’t freak me out as much as I expected. Being with Brent came naturally to me. Not for one second had I ever felt the need to force anything or pretend to be someone I wasn’t to keep him interested. The older I got, the more I realized I needed a man who took me at face value and appreciated me, ugly parts and all.
Brent was proving to be that man.
His hand blazed a path up my left leg and, without waiting for my permission, without giving me any warning at all, he fisted his hand in the lace and ripped my underwear from my body. The sting at my hips was a distant sensation compared to the way he looked at me now, at how my pussy clenched, completely bared to him.
“Holy fuck,” he whispered.
“Is that a good fuck or a bad fuck?”
“Oh, this is gonna be a good fuck,” Brent said, a devilish grin splitting his face.
“Brent!” I scolded, a blush creeping to my cheeks. “Be serious.”
His gaze softened. “Berk, you’re beautiful.”
Then he moved so he hovered over me, near enough to kiss, and I couldn’t resist running my hands over the expanse of his smooth, solid skin. His abs lightly jumped under my touch, and I relished the knowledge that I had unfettered access to this absolute perfect example of the male form.
He wasmine.
The muscles of his back bunched as I lightly scraped my nails up the curve of his spine, and he gripped my earlobe with his teeth in response.
Digging my hands into his hair, I arched into him, grabbing fistfuls as I pulled his mouth to mine. The moment our lips touched, Brent dropped his weight and ground into me. Twin gasps escaped us at the sensation.
I needed him so much closer.
“Shorts. Off. Now.”
Brent moved away and stood, hooking his fingers in the waistband and dropping his trunks to the floor.
“Holy fuck,” I said, echoing his earlier words. “How are you even real?”
Brent laughed, standing unselfconsciously in front of me, every perfectly sculpted inch of his body on full display. The same dark hair that dusted his pecs picked up again below his belly button, a happy trail drawing my eyes over the deep vee of his tapered abdomen and waist, leading straight to his cock, which stood at attention, impossibly large and ready for me.
“You forget I’m a professional athlete,” he said. “I get paid to look like this.”
