Page 65 of Dump Tackle My Heart
With her.
And then she mutters it like a vow.
Like surrender.
“Oh, the hell with it.”
And grabs me by the collar.
Fast burn it is.
The second her mouth crashes into mine, I’m gone.
All my careful planning, my patience, my promises to let her set the pace? Out the window.
Because this? Us?
It’s wildfire.
She’s tugging my shirt up, her hands frantic, scratching down my back like she’s trying to memorize every inch.
I rip it over my head, breath heavy, heart pounding.
She fumbles with my jeans, and I swear my cock’s so hard it’s fighting her.
“Hang on,” I grit, trying not to lose it as I yank them down.
Her shirt’s bunched above her tits and she spins around, dropping her pants and planting her palms on the kitchen table.
Bent over. Waiting.
Goddamn.
Her arse is thrust out, smooth and round and shaking slightly with need.
“Hurry, Hudson. I need you,” she whimpers, voice breaking.
I almost come just from hearing that.
My jeans are halfway down one leg, and I kick them off like they’re on fire.
“I got you,” I promise, stepping up behind her, both hands steady on her hips.
“Hang on, Sweetheart. I got you.”
I line myself up, easing forward, and I pause.
“You sure you’re ready?”
Because I know I’m not small. I’m not easy. And I’d rather die than hurt her.
She looks back over her shoulder, eyes wild and full of emotion.
“Hudson,” she whimpers.
Then nods.
And I groan.
