Page 36 of Penalty Kiss
He slides a finger through my slick folds, groaning at how wet I am. “Sweetheart…you’re dripping for me. Your body knows what you need, even if you don’t.”
I gasp as he circles my clit, the sensation too sharp, too intense, my hips jerking helplessly. “Cam!”
“That’s it,” he growls, stroking faster. “Doesn’t this feel good? I want to feel you come on my hand before I bury myself inside you.”
It builds too fast, spiraling hot and unbearable, and then I break, crying out his name as waves of pleasure roll through me. He kisses me hard, swallowing the sound, fingers still stroking until I’m shaking.
When he finally pulls away, his shorts are shoved down, and I see him — thick, hard, overwhelming. My pulse stutters. “Cam, I don’t—”
He hushes me with a kiss. “I’ll go slow. I’ll make it good. First time, best time. I’ve got you.”
He lines himself up, the blunt head nudging my entrance, and I gasp at the pressure. He grips my hips, steadying me. “Deep breaths, Tara. Just me. Just us.”
Then he pushes in, inch by inch, stretching me wide, burning but perfect. Tears prick my eyes, but his voice is there, soft and steady. “That’s it. Take me. You can take all of me.”
When he’s fully inside, filling me completely, I realize I’ve never felt more claimed, more alive.
Cam’s forehead rests against mine, his breath ragged.
And then he starts to move.
My breasts bounce against his chest with each push, nipples brushing the rough heat of his skin until sparks skitter through me. His scent is everywhere — soap, sweat, something earthy and purely him — and every grind of his hips presses me tighter into the counter.
I can’t stop watching him. The way his sharp jaw flexes as he drives deeper, the sweat beading along his shoulders, the animalistic sound he makes when I clench around him. He’s strong and raw and beautiful, moving in me like he can’t get close enough.
A stunned sound escapes me — half laugh, half moan. I’ve never felt this much at once: the drag of him inside me, my ownbody responding without hesitation, the dizzying thought that I might actually break from how good it feels.
His rhythm grows harder, rougher, until every thrust rocks me against the counter. The cold granite bites into my skin, but all I can feel is him — deep, relentless, filling me so completely I can’t think. My cries tumble out without filter, every sound swallowed by his mouth or met with another punishing grind of his hips.
Then he growls against my lips, “I need more of you.”
Before I can catch my breath, his arms scoop under me. I yelp, wrapping my legs around his waist as he lifts me off the counter like I weigh nothing.
For one ridiculous second, I actually think:this man must have the strongest back in professional sports.And then he proves it — standing there, carrying me, driving into me like it’s the easiest thing in the world.
The angle has me spread wide for him, and when he slams back in, the shock rips a cry from my throat.
“Cam!”
His teeth scrape my shoulder as he groans, “Sweetheart, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
My nails drag down his slick shoulders, my body clenching around him like it can keep him forever.
He slams back into me, and the sound that tears from my throat is part moan, part disbelieving laugh.
I cling to him, but then another thought blindsides me — one of those reckless porn flashes I’ve secretly watched at night.
Oh, I wonder…
And then—impulse takes me. I wriggle down against him, twisting in his arms until my palms hit the wall and my back arches toward him.
“Please,” I whisper, glancing back at him over my shoulder, heat flaming my cheeks. “I just… I wondered…”
My face goes hot —did I seriously just porn-move him?— but the stunned groan that rumbles out of his chest tells me exactly how much he loves it.
“Baby,” he growls, voice guttural, “you just made me harder.” His grip clamps around my hips, holding me steady as he positions himself behind me.
He bends low, his mouth at my ear, breath hot. “You’re sexy as hell like this…but this position? Not for beginners.” His tone is rough, possessive, the kind of warning that feels like a promise.
