Page 51 of Whiskey Chase
“Lay back,” he said, his voice strained. The tendons on his neck stood out rigidly against his throat.
I leaned back on my elbows. The heels of my boots hooked on to the lip of the tailgate. I was spread bare for him out here under the stars and the sky. Devlin gripped me by my thighs and pulled me even closer, spreading my knees. He stroked his cock in his big fist and watched me. I’d wanted this moment for long enough that I didn’t see what the point was in waiting any longer. I moved my hand lower, determined to take care of business myself or at least threaten it to spur him into action.
“Don’t,” Devlin said darkly.
He slid his hands warmly against my calves around to stroke my knees and then sent them diving down the insides of my thighs as his hard-on hung heavily against where I needed him most. Stroking my flesh, worshiping it. He petted me, electrifying my skin. Shocking my nerve endings to life.
His thumbs slid closer and closer to where I wanted them, where I needed his touch the most. He teased me deliberately, diabolically.
Finally, one thumb brushed over my clit gently, lightly. And then again. He stroked me with tender touches that lured another orgasm into the wings. And just when I thought he’d let me have it, just when my eyes were squeezed shut tight, he stopped.
“Damn it, Dev!”
He gripped my hips and drove into me, sheathing himself in my flesh.
I cried out in surprise, in relieved frustration. Sothisis what I’d been missing. He seated himself in me so that he filled me completely. But rather than pull out and push back in, Devlin held here as deep as he could go in my body. I could feel the pulse of his cock inside me, the throb of his desire. I needed him to move. I could come right now if he’d only just move. But he held fast, buried inside me.
Until I looked at him. Until I met his dark gaze.
He was in control, and I was at his mercy. And I couldn’t get enough.
He withdrew slowly, and I bucked my hips against the bed of my truck, begging him to do it all again. Devlin gripped my thighs and pushed into me once more. I was blissfully full, stretched to accommodate him. And then he was moving. He set a leisurely pace as if he had all night to enjoy me spread open for him.
Plunging into me over and over again under his own supreme control. I’d never seen this side of Devlin, and I wondered if he had. I loved watching him shed the anxiety, the self-doubt. And I fucking loved watching him make love to me.
He stared into me as he methodically plundered me. One hand skimmed up my thigh and over my belly so he could palm my breast. I was hanging by a thread, one tenuous thread, and he knew it. I wanted more. Everything that he could give me. But I knew if I asked, he’d hold back.
I had to take what I wanted.
I put my weight in my heels and lifted my hips into his thrusts, daring him to stay under control. Tempting him. I reached down and squeezed my own breast and watched as his hooded eyes tracked the movement. Devlin’s hand flexed on my other breast, and I gave a little moan.
I felt him pick up the pace infinitesimally and hid my victor’s grin. I closed my eyes and focused on pure sensation. The way his thick crown nudged at my front wall, stirring my pleasure. The broad flat palm plumping my breast, the cold hard metal under me. The bunched material beneath my bare back.
Devlin hinged forward, folding over me and locking me in place between his forearms. He was done torturing me, done drawing out the agony of pleasure. His thrusts went deeper, became more brutal, and I reveled in it.
He was driving me up, higher and higher. Every thrust carried me closer to the building orgasm. “Come on my cock, Scarlett,” he ordered, his breathing ragged. “I want to feel your pussy close around me when you come. I want to see you.”
I would have done anything in that moment if it guaranteed the orgasm that I knew would make the last one look like a cute little appetizer to the main course. For someone who, until half an hour ago, thought that multiple orgasms were made up by the same people who told their kids there was a Santa Claus, I was pretty desperate for that second climax.
“Dev? Please?” I could feel it build, brick by brick. I was going to burn down the world with this orgasm.
“I’m here, baby.” His voice was strained as he flexed into me grinding his pelvis against me. My clit was so swollen it didn’t take much more than that. One second I was begging for it, and the next I was coming apart on him, around him, under him.
He groaned, feeling the pulses and tremors of my walls and those delicate muscles closed around him.
“God, yes,” he breathed, pumping into me.
I cried out his name as I shattered into a million pieces, and he never stopped fucking me. Never stopped moving in me. I was spent. The waves gentled and slowly, slowly receded, and still he moved in me. Limp as noodles, I lay there. I tried to build up the energy to offer him a blow job. But I needed another minute before words would form coherently.
Devlin had other ideas. He pulled out of me, a slick slide of flesh, and turned me.
“On your knees,” he said, bunching the quilt up under me. “Now, Scarlett.”
I scrambled to my hands and knees and turned away from him.
He grabbed my hips and yanked me back. His cock slammed home, impossibly deeper. There was nothing controlled about him now. Nothing civilized or torturous. He was a beast in rut. My hands and knees bit into the truck bed liner, and I knew I’d hurt tomorrow. But I didn’t care. And neither did he.
He rode me without letting up, bearing down onto me, curling over me. His fingers dug into my hips, biting into my flesh. I was nothing but feeling now. My thoughts were gone. My words had abandoned me. All I was was Devlin McCallister’s toy.
