Page 74 of The Fine Art of Faking It
“You know what I mean,” he told her, nuzzling at her neck. “If I want this night to erase the last decade and a half, it has to be perfect.”
She nudged his chin up. “Forget perfect, Davis. I want real.”
He saw the lust slide through those blue eyes when his erection pulsed against her torso.
“I want you tonight. Forget our history. Forget our families. Just be right here with me and forget everything else.”
He didn’t need any further encouragement. He was pushing her backward and sprawling over her. The crown of his cock nestled between her thighs, exactly where it belonged.
She arched under him, breasts flattening against his chest, hips rocking against him.
He didn’t need anything else.
With one brutal thrust, he finally possessed Eden Moody, the girl of his dreams.
“Holy. Shit,” she breathed.
How could something he’d imagined since puberty be even better than every fantasy he’d ever concocted? How could being buried inside Eden be better than any other sexual experience to date? It took him a long minute before he gauged himself ready to move. And the slow drag of her walls over his erection felt like heaven. If he was going to die tonight, it was going to be happy… with a fulfilled woman beneath him.
“I can feel your heartbeat,” he gritted out next to her ear, all his concentration on the sensation of the slow slide back inside her.
“I think I’m having a heart attack.”
He grinned, mouth moving over her shoulder. Her nails dug into his back, harder with every stroke. It had never been like this, would never be like this again. Not with someone else. His body had just claimed Eden as its mate.
Feud and family be damned. Revenge forgotten. Sense and logic deserted.
And for the first time in his life, Davis felt like the selfish thing was the right thing. Eden wasn’t getting away this time.
She brought her bent knees up higher, and he used the change in angle to thrust lazily against her tender bundle of nerves.
Biting her lip, she squeezed her eyes closed, relishing in his slow, methodical seduction.
“You feel like magic,” she whispered dreamily.
The non-sex-having, feudal Eden would never have confessed that. He wondered what other truths he could coax out of her using orgasms as truth serum.
He brushed his lips over hers. “I love how you feel.”
They were moving together, and he could feel that long, slow build in the stutter of her muscles, in the way she held him tighter.
“It’s too much. You make me feel too much.”
“That’s right, beautiful,” he coached her.
The sight of her sprawled beneath him, soft and pliable and so greedy for pleasure, had him quickening the pace. It was too much and not enough at the same time. The towering wave that they were teetering on would give way, and neither of them would be the same afterward.
Eden’s eyelids fluttered open as if hearing his thoughts. He shifted a hand to cup one of her breasts and gently worked his thumb over her nipple.
“Oh shit,” he breathed out the oath on a long groan.
“Davis, I’m not ready,” she said, squirming beneath him. Fighting the inevitable. But she arched against him, her body demanding what her heart was afraid of.
He felt the heaviness in his balls, felt the tingle at the base of his spine. The headboard rocked into the drywall with each sure thrust. There was no quiet, no carefully orchestrated seduction. Only a bottomless desire and a race to the top. “I’ve got you, gorgeous. I’m going with you.”
And staring into each other’s eyes, they gave themselves over to the wash of pleasure. The trembling squeezes of her walls set him off. He flexed his hips into her as the orgasm carved him out. He bucked into her over and over again until her hungry squeezes and his pulses subsided.
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