Page 89 of The Woman in the Hollow
“Don’t trust me?” she asked.
“Like being able to spoil you is more like.”
“Oh, well. In that case,” she said, shooting me a flirty smile before taking a sip of her coffee.
She sat there, occasionally making small talk, but mostly just keeping me company as I chopped vegetables and shredded cheese.
The problem was, she was a damn distraction.
The bare legs, the way the shirt wasn’t buttoned all the way up, so I could see down somewhat.
I’d been dealing with a semi pretty much since she came down.
I stopped halfway to the fridge, turning, and making my way back.
“Everything okay?” she asked, head cocked to the side as she tried to read the determination on my face.
“Yeah. I’m starving,” I said.
“Oh, well, I can take over cooking while you have a quick sna—”
She didn’t finish that sentence because I moved in front of her, grabbed her thighs, and spread them wide for me.
“Not what I had in mind,” I said, loving her gasp of understanding even as I moved between her legs to trace my tongue up her pussy.
It looked like I wasn’t the only one who’d been a bit impacted by the closeness.
She was already wet for me.
And after my tongue found her clit, I slid my fingers inside, finding her fucking drenched for me.
Her moans filled the kitchen; her thighs clenched the sides of my head; her walls tightened around my fingers.
She was halfway there before I even touched her. So it wasn’t a surprise when in just a moment or two, her walls were clenching, then spasming around my fingers as she came.
I’d never been happier for my planning-ahead nature when she grabbed me, pulling me, softly begging me for more.
Reaching down, I snagged the condom from my pocket I’d grabbed before making my way into the bathroom, ripped it open, and slid it on after she reached to push my pants down.
I grabbed her hips, yanking her off the counter. Turning her, I pressed her down across the island, hearing the sharp inhale of breath at the coldness against her as I yanked up her shirt to reveal her soft, round ass.
My hand glided over her skin, squeezed, slapped. The last got a little needy whimper out of her. I couldn’t help doing it, a little harder. Again and again until she was writhing and panting.
“Dante, please,” she begged, angling up in invitation.
I stepped inward, letting the head of my cock rock against her sex.
She rocked shamelessly against me, fingers curling into fists on the countertop, her little cries making me twitch.
When I couldn’t stand it a moment longer, I grabbed her hips, holding her in place as I thrust hard and deep, taking every tight inch of her at once.
Her moan was low and deep as her pussy clenched hard around me, her hips wiggling, desperate for movement.
I was just as far gone.
Fingers holding fast to her hips, I started to fuck her. Fast. Using her hips to drag her back against me as I thrust forward. The sounds of our bodies filled the kitchen, mingling with our heaving breaths, my groans, and her throaty moans.
“Love how you sound when you’re moaning for me,” I murmured as she got tighter and tighter, pushed close to that edge.
