Page 68 of The Last Guy On Earth
“I know.”
“Stop it,” he demands. “Stop being nice.”
There’s a problem with angry kissing—you both have to be angry. And I’m not. As Clay deepens the kiss, I’m so filled with relief that I could cry.
I thought this was gone forever. I thought I’d driven away the only person who ever loved me. But here he is, trying to fuse his body onto mine. So I stroke his back with reverent hands, and I soften my mouth under his, taking everything he’s giving me.
Our kisses roll on. Time stops, and nothing matters. Not my save percentage. Not my reputation. Not all my scary responsibilities. Just this. Just him, and the burning need to get closer.
Clay moans, making a sound like he’s in pain. And maybe he is, because there’s a very hard cock lined up against mine, asking for relief. Good thing I know what to do with that. I press an elbow into the mattress and roll us both so I’m on top.
He gazes up at me in surprise. Like he can’t figure out how we arrived at this moment where I’m snaking a hand down his body and yanking down the waistband of his boxers. I slip a hand inside and wrap my palm around his hot length.
“Fuck.” His blue eyes look dazed.
I’m still half afraid he’s going to tell me to stop. But fortune favors the bold. “Take off your shirt,” I demand.
By some miracle, he does, shucking it off to reveal toned abs that make my mouth water. I don’t resist. I kiss my way down his stomach, making his skin tremble.
“Christ,” he pants.
Kneeling, I nose across his V-cut. My movements are slow, lazy, but inside I’m chaos—heart pounding, limbs shaky, mind staticky with desire as I finally reach my prize and kiss the tip of his erection.
He shivers, then sinks his fingers into my hair.
“Mmm.” I take him into my mouth, breathing in the warm scent of his skin as a drop of saltiness hits my tongue.
He curses, and his hips twitch.
Triumph flares inside my chest. His desperation does things to me that I haven’t felt in years. I take him deep and give a hard suck.
More cursing, which makes me grin. And then a pair of hands scrambles for my shirt. “Take this off,” he says. “Take it all off. I want to see you.”
I sit up tall and tug off my T-shirt, flexing all the muscles in my chest.
“What, is this the Chippendales?”
“You asked for it,” I point out.
He sighs. “I did. Go on, then. If I’m going to break all the rules, I might as well get the full experience.”
I’m not a fan of his rules, but I’m too smart to argue. I stand up and drop my shorts, kicking it away with the enthusiasm ofsomeone who’s getting exactly what he wants. And then I wrap a hand around my aching cock and give it a few slow pumps.
Clay makes a pained gasp. “Bring that over here.”
“In a minute,” I tease. But the truth is I’m desperate to be touched, and I only hold out another few seconds before I climb onto the bed and sink onto his body, skin to skin, the way I crave.
And as I lower myself down for another kiss, I take in his flushed face, and heated eyes that only mirror my own expression. He groans when I kiss him, and I moan as he slots his tongue into my mouth again.
Then the kiss catches fire, my nerves snapping and popping like live wires in a thunderstorm. Our hips churn, and our hands are everywhere at once.
“Slow down,” he pants into my mouth.
But I can’t take it slow. I don’t even remember the meaning of the word.
“Baby,slow,” he says.
Baby. Nobody calls me that. I think I like it.
