Page 46 of Where It All Began
“God no. You’re not my type,” John promised.
Her laugh was breathless. He tore himself away from her mouth and feasted on her neck, making her tremble as his rough jaw stroked over her flesh. Her nipples, damp now, strained for more.
“I can’t catch my breath,” she whispered.
“You can have mine,” he promised.
She sucked in an unsteady breath. “Please tell me you have a condom.”
His mouth froze on the upper curve of her breast, just over where her heart hammered. “Fuck.”
She shook her head. “I’m just messing with you. I have one in my pocket.”
His head came up, gray eyes dark. “You’re evil. You’ve been carrying a condom around with you?”
“Lucky charm. Do you want to argue about my optimism, or do you want to put my condom to use?” Phoebe settled the question by unbuttoning the fly of her shorts.
Even in the dark, she could see those gray eyes go molten.
“Take them off,” he ordered, voice harsh.
There was no “please,” no determination to go slow. She’d won, and that dark victory had her heart pounding, blood scorching its way through her veins. She would belong to him tonight, and he to her.
He bit her lightly on the shoulder, and Phoebe’s fingers tremored when she retrieved the condom from her pocket.
“Here.” She thrust it at him and, with more enthusiasm than finesse, rid herself of her shorts and underwear.
John tore the wrapper open and fumbled once, refusing to take his eyes off her. Phoebe grabbed the condom, and as she rolled it down that thick column of flesh, John licked two fingers and guided them between her legs.
“Oh, my God.”
“Just you wait,” he said darkly, sliding them into the wet heat of her core.
The invasion had her thighs trembling as she fought to stay on her knees. He pulled out and slid home again, Phoebe riding his hand as he moved.
“I want to touch you,” she whispered, reaching for his hard-on.
“Later. I won’t last if I give you free rein.”
She was already quivering around his fingers, dangerously close to the edge. “I need you, John.”
And then he was lifting her to straddle him, and she was opening for him. He thrust into her in one, smooth motion and then clutched her to him. For a second, Phoebe just felt. The brutal fullness. The quick rise of his chest as it played over the tips of her breasts. The charge in her blood that begged her to move, to take.
He held her there, reminding her exactly who had taken her to this edge. And when he finally moved, finally stroked in and out of her, she was coming hard and bright, gripping his shoulders with all her might so she wouldn’t come apart in his arms.
“Yes,” he grunted as she rode him violently until the tremors subsided to little shivers of pleasure.
She collapsed against him for a moment, collecting her breath. Surprised to find his heart pounding in time with her own.
“More,” she whispered against his neck.
He gave her more, one hand between her legs stroking her where she needed it. John leaned forward and latched onto her breast. His thrusts were faster now, and she could feel the build coiling within him. He was going to come, and she was going to take him there, wrapped around him, shattering with him.
She slammed down against his thighs drawing a satisfying groan from him. His hand gripped her hip hard, callused palms against smooth curves.
“Come for me again, Phoebe. Take me with you.” His demand was a joy to fulfill.
Phoebe met his furious thrusts beat for beat, rocking her hips into him until sweat dotted her skin. The cab of the truck, their own personal pleasure den, was humid like a rain forest. She smelled him, that scent of wind and sun and sweat and straw. Felt his muscles bunch under her hands as his entire body tensed.
