Page 96 of Kane's Awakening
When I was lubed up as well, I grabbed the base of his dick and slowly lowered myself on him. The smile on his lips was replaced with a small O as he shut his eyes and laid his head back, gripping my hips and adding the perfect amount of pressure.
It stung at first, as it usually did, but then it eased and I pulled him more into my body. I couldn’t hold back my gasp and long moan as I began moving, gliding up and down his rock hard shaft.
In the middle of it, he firmly grabbed my waist and flipped me to my back on the bed. He placed himself back between my legs and started pounding into me—going hard and fast before altering his rhythm and going slower and deeper.
“Kane,” I whimpered as pleasure rippled through me.
“What do you need, baby?” he asked in a raspy tone, continuing his deep thrusts.
“You. All of you.”
He leaned forward and seized my mouth, kissing me hard but with so much passion my head spun.
“You have me,” he said as he pressed his cheek to mine, still moving inside me. “Fuck, Ryker, what are you doing to me?”
My mind was too foggy to make sense of what he was actually asking, and I didn’t have long to ponder it. A tingling moved down my spine, and I groaned, begging for more.
And then I came so hard, I nearly blacked out.
Afterward, I was too weak to move. I closed my eyes as my body weighed with exhaustion, but I felt Kane get off the bed. Falling in and out of sleep, I remembered him cleaning me and then disappearing again. Before sleep completely took me, though, Kane lay beside me and pulled the blanket up to my shoulders.
His lips pressed to my forehead, and he said something, but it was too low for me to pick up.
I rolled over and cuddled into his chest, getting farther lolled to sleep by the warmth of him against me. Nothing could’ve been more perfect.
***
The drive to his parents’ house was about an hour. They lived way out in the country and owned a hundred acres of land, so the scenery along the way was stunning and helped make the drive more enjoyable. But even if it didn’t, Kane was with me, and any time spent with him was entertaining.
Specifically, hearing him sing.
Displaying his country boy roots, he had the radio turned to an old country station, and he belted out Hank Williams as he drove down the two-lane road. He wore a baseball cap on backward and his shirt had the sleeves cut out, showing off his biceps.
Molly sat between us in the truck, and I pet her back as I watched Kane.
“What?” he asked with a laugh. “Didn’t know I could sing, huh?”
“That’s singing? I thought an animal was dying under your seat.”
“Oh shut the fuck up, Rye,” he responded with a silly grin. Another song came on next, and his smile widened as he reached and turned it up. “Okay, here we go. Listen and weep, baby.”
Thebabyendearment was new, but I loved it. He normally only said it when joking or playing around, but he used it a lot during sex as well, which made it hotter. Some people might’ve found endearments annoying, but hearing Kane use them just made me fall harder for him.
Even his awful singing touched my heart. As he sang about his Momma getting out of prison and getting hit by a train, I laughed.
“Don’t you be laughing, boy,” Kane said, speaking with a heavy southern twang and exaggerating the accent he already had. “This is David Allan Coe.”
“Never heard of him,” I admitted, unable to stop smiling.
Kane was just as he’d been when we’d met, but he lacked the phony attitude and showed me the real him: the funny, goofy side of him that made my stomach hurt from laughing so much. Thehimthat laughed easily and didn’t hide behind false pretenses. Along with the goofball behavior, he was also caring and sweet.
“That’s it.” He sighed and focused back on the road. “I’m gonna give you a music education.”
“Country really isn’t my style,” I admitted with a sheepish expression. “Now, give me some Sinatra or Dean Martin, and I’m a happy guy.”
Kane gave me the side-eye before running his teeth over his bottom lip, as if thinking. “Okay, you’re redeemed. Sinatra is badass.” He then flipped through the stations on the radio before landing on one called Big Band. “Better?”
“Definitely,” I answered as I recognized an Ella Fitzgerald song playing.
