Page 98 of Penalty Kiss
His mouth finds mine. Not tentative, not questioning. A claiming. Soft at first, a brush of lips that ignites a slow fuse deep in my belly. Then deeper, hungrier, as my hands fist in thesoft cotton of his shirt, pulling him closer. He groans, low in his throat, the sound vibrating against my lips.
His tongue sweeps into my mouth, and I taste excitement, warmth and home. I melt into him, the counter’s edge digging into my back, a sharp counterpoint to the liquid heat pooling between my thighs. His hands slide down, gripping my hips, lifting me effortlessly onto the cool metal surface. The clatter of a stray fork hitting the floor is distant, insignificant.
His body settles between my knees, hard muscle aligning with my softer curves. Every nerve ending sparks to life.
The rough denim of his jeans against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. The solid wall of his chest against my breasts. The insistent heat of his erection pressing against my core.
I arch into him, a gasp escaping as he kisses a burning trail down my throat, his teeth grazing the frantic pulse there.
“Cam,” I breathe, tangling my fingers in his hair. “Here? Now?”
He lifts his head, his eyes burning with an intensity that steals my breath. “Right here. Right now.” His voice is gravel and need. “I need to feel you, Tara. All of you. No walls.”
His hands slide under the hem of my blouse, hot palms skimming my ribs. The shock of skin-on-skin contact is electric.
I tug his shirt over his head, my fingers tracing the powerful lines of his shoulders, the defined ridges of his abdomen, the faded scar from an old hockey injury above his hip.
He’s magnificent—strength carved in warm, living flesh. My mouth follows my hands, tasting salt and him, drawing a ragged groan from deep in his chest.
His fingers make quick work of my jeans, pushing them down my hips along with my underwear.
The cool air kisses my heated skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat of his gaze as he looks his fill.
Then his hands are on my thighs, spreading them wider, his thumbs brushing the slick heat already gathering there. I cry out, my head falling back against the cupboard door.
“Look at me,” he commands, his voice thick. I force my eyes open, meeting his smoldering gaze. His fingers slide through my wetness, circling my clit with torturous precision.
Pleasure arcs through me
“This,” he rasps, watching my face, “this is what you do to me. Just by breathing.”
He replaces his fingers with his mouth, his tongue making love to my core with devastating expertise.
I cry out, my hands scrabbling against the cool countertop, lost in the whirlwind of sensation. He feasts on me, relentless, pushing me higher and higher until I shatter, a silent scream tearing from my throat as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over me.
Before I can recover, before my trembling legs can even think of closing, he’s standing, freeing himself from his jeans. The sight of him—thick, straining, glistening at the tip—makes my mouth water.
He grips himself, stroking slowly, his eyes locked on mine, dark with primal need. “Need to be inside you, sweetheart. Now.” His voice is a guttural rasp.
“Yes,” I gasp, reaching for him. “Please, Cam.”
The broad, slick head of his cock nudged my entrance. 'Look at me,' he commanded. When I obeyed, he sheathed himself in one brutal thrust, stealing my breath and my sanity.
We both cry out—a sound of possession and surrender. He stills for a heartbeat, buried deep, forehead pressed to mine, breath mingling. “Mine,” he growls, the word vibrating through my core.
Then he begins to move. Slow, deep strokes that steal my breath, each one dragging against that sweet, sensitive spot inside me, building the fire anew.
His hands grip my hips, holding me open, taking me with a fierce tenderness that overwhelms me.
My legs lock around his waist, heels digging into the hard muscles of his backside, urging him deeper, faster.
The counter rattles slightly with each powerful thrust. The sounds are raw—skin slapping skin, his ragged breaths, my desperate whimpers, the low, animal sounds of pleasure neither of us can hold back.
He kisses me again, deep and consuming, swallowing my moans.
The pressure builds, coiling tighter and tighter. I can feel his control fraying, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more desperate.
His fingers find my clit again, rubbing tight circles. Stars explode behind my eyelids as another orgasm rips through me, violent and shattering. He follows me over the edge with a hoarse shout, his body shuddering, pulsing deep inside me as he empties himself, his arms locking around me like steel bands.
