Heat Wave

“You like that?” he murmurs, his voice so thick with need that I can’t even answer him. I nod, relaxing back into the pillow. I’m both languid and tense, surrendering and spurring him on as he rubs against me, over and over again.

I swallow hard, making a noise that’s nothing short of begging. My heart is starting to sound in my head, my skin is hot and tight, my nipples are hardened pebbles in the cool air as the sheet brushes against them.

With a slow exhale, he grips my hip as he pushes himself inside me from the side.

Slowly.

Very slowly.

Inch by inch.

It feels good, then it feels too much, then I don’t even know what I feel because all I feel is him. I stretch around him, decadently full. This is nothing like last night, where it was hot and wild and rushed. This is a slow dance between us, taking the time to enjoy and worship each other’s bodies, to see how we fit, how good we can make each other feel.

This is nothing but pure indulgence.

“Want me to go faster?’ he asks, groaning through the words.

“No,” I say, licking my lips. I look at him. “This is good. It’s too good.”

He nods and watches me intently as he pushes in further. His lips part as he sucks in his breath and his forehead creases in lust and awe, like he can’t believe this is happening, can’t believe how good it feels.

That makes two of us.

“Ronnie,” he moans, his grip tightening on my hips, sliding up to my waist, to my breasts where he pinches my hardened nipples. “Fuck…you’re so fucking perfect.”

And in this moment, I feel perfect. He’s watching me, watching himself, watching us, where his cock sinks into me, his shaft wet with my desire. He’s entranced by the sight, the slow push in, the slow pull out.

So good. God, this is so, so good.

Each rock of my hips, each thrust of his, pushes him in deeper, makes us connect like puzzle pieces. The way his abs clench as he pushes inside, the tiny beads of sweat that gather in the creases, the dampness of his brow. I reach around and tug his ass toward me, wanting more, and he drives in so deep that the air leaves my lungs.

My head goes back again, my eyes pinching closed in shock before I surrender. He’s in me in so deep, and I don’t ever want him to leave. This feels beyond right.

This is us.

It sets something off inside me, a whirlpool in my core that’s slowly increasing, spreading, heating up. It’s going to take over me, it’s going to pull me under, and I’ve never wanted to come so badly in my life.

“More,” I whisper, my voice choked with my sudden hunger for him.

He responds instantly.

With a throaty growl he starts thrusting faster, one hand at my back to hold me in place, the other in my hair, making a fist. Because we’re fucking on our sides, he’s able to slide in deeper than ever, hitting me where my body is ripe and swollen and dying for him.

He brings my head forward and kisses me, quick and hot, tasting like sweat. My mouth is ravenous against his, the need inside me building and building.

And then we find our rhythm, our bodies coming together in synchronicity. He’s pounding and pounding and pounding me, working up into a frenzy because it is work to fuck like this. I can’t keep my eyes off of him, the muscles in his neck are corded and strained as the sweat rolls off of him, his eyes are lost in a fiery haze. The sounds that come out of his mouth with each thrust are deep, real and raw.

The bed slams back against the wall, the sheets are pulled loose, my breasts are jostling. The whirlpool inside me is now at a roar and I have seconds to hold on.

But why would I want to?

“I’m coming,” I cry out, my voice raw and raspy and drowning with desire, trying to hold his gaze. He holds mine back, his eyes burning in victory.

Then I’m twisted, sucked under, as the orgasm washes over me. My body jolts and shudders and I’m high above this world, fading into the stars, into the black. Only warmth and joy remain as I’m washed up on shore.

I never want anything else but this.

Ever.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Logan grunts, bringing me out of the haze. His growling, animalistic noises, the slap of his sweat-soaked skin against mine, the creak of the bed, all fill the air, becoming a deliciously lewd symphony.

Then he lets out a long, primal moan, shoulders shaking as he comes.

The pumping slows. His grip loosens.

He collapses against the pillow, his hair damp and dark and sticking to his brow. His eyes take me in, his breath heavy and hard. “Good morning,” he manages to say. He’s still inside me and I’m still pulsing around him, the torrent inside me slowing.

“Good morning,” I tell him, breaking into one stupid, happy grin.





CHAPTER FIFTEEN




By the time we finally get out of bed it’s nearly eleven a.m., and I need to get going so I can get an early start helping Johnny. With the restaurant closed yesterday and Charlie still gone, we have extra work to make up for.

Unfortunately, this means I’ll have to do the walk of shame.