Page 58 of That Moment
“Neither do you,” I whisper back.
He laughs softly. “Fair enough.”
I shift on his lap, meaning to tease, but his hands tighten at my hips, holding me in place. “Careful,” he warns. “You keep that up and I’m not stopping.”
“Maybe I don’t want you to.”
His eyes darken, and before I can take another breath, he’s kissing me again, harder this time. His hand moves from my hair down my back, over the curve of my ass, squeezing once before guiding my hips. The friction makes my breath catch; he’s already hard beneath me, thick and straining against the thin barrier of his sweats.
He groans into my mouth, low and raw. “See what you do to me? You make me want to lose control.”
I can barely breathe. “I thought you liked control.”
“I do.” His lips graze my ear. “But I like this more.”
I shift again, slow and deliberate, and his breath punches out against my neck. He bites back a curse.
“Jesus, Adrienne. You’re gonna kill me.”
“Say that again.”
He laughs, rough and broken like he’s trying his hardest to keep his composure. “You’re gonna kill me.”
“Maybe.” I smile against his mouth. “But what a way to go.”
I reach between us, fingers sliding under the waistband of his sweats, and my fingertips find heat immediately. I run my hand over his bare skin and the thick, hard length of his cock, stroking him. His whole body goes rigid.
“Fuck,” he rasps, eyes closing for a beat.
“Still think I’m jealous?” I whisper.
He opens his eyes, looks straight into mine. “I think you’re dangerous.”
“Good.”
I free him completely, pushing the fabric down just enough to let him spring free, heavy and hot against my stomach. My breath stutters at the sight.
He leans back, eyes burning into me, and then his hand is on me again, sliding between my thighs, finding me already slick. “You’re not wearing anything under my shirt.”
“Nope.”
He groans, the sound more animal than human. “You really are trying to kill me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”
“Maybe.”
I rise up just enough to line him up, and when I sink down, it’s slow, inch by inch, both of us groaning at the stretch. The air leaves my lungs in a rush. His grip on my hips turns punishing.
“Holy shit,” he growls, head falling back. “You’re gonna ruin me.”
I start to move, hips circling, finding the rhythm that makes him curse again. The porch boards creak beneath us, wine glasses forgotten. The cool night air licks at my bare legs, but I’m burning from the inside out.
His hands slide up my sides, over the T-shirt I stole from him, until he’s cupping my breasts through the thin fabric. “Take it off,” he orders.
I pull it over my head, toss it aside, and his eyes go molten.
“That’s it, fuck me,” he says, hands moving to my bare breasts. “Jesus, Adrienne.”
I press his palms to me, arching forward, needing his touch. “Touch me,” I breathe.
