Hot Moves. Kristin Hardy
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beard, the heat of his breath.
And then his mouth was on her.
Shocking in its heat. Overwhelming in its suddenness. No matter how she’d imagined, how she’d expected, she was nowhere close to the vivid immediacy. His mouth was on her, against her, searching out the most intimate part of her.
Making her gasp.
He didn’t tease, he didn’t make her wait now. He found her with his tongue. Just one touch was enough to have her crying out. But there was more, oh, more as he leaned in, tracing maddening patterns over her clit, stroking it again and again, sending her jolting against him, her hips moving helplessly, her head thrashing back and forth.
Insistent, unrelenting, he took her up until she was wound tight with tension, until every slick caress sent heat washing through her, until she didn’t think she could stand any more. She was poised on the edge, where sensations and senses merged until it seemed as though she could see vivid rainbows of color at his touch, the shades growing darker and more intense until suddenly she was flung over the edge in a wash of blinding white and an intensity of sensation that had her crying out and shuddering and shaking.
It seemed long moments later that it ended. Brady straightened. “Come on,” he whispered and took her hand to pick her up off the couch.
His arms were warm around her. She barely noticed the hallway, the bedroom they entered. All she could see was the bed. When he laid her down on it and stripped off her thong, she shivered. He ran a possessive hand down her hip, over her thigh and calf and down to her stiletto. “Nice shoes,” he murmured, kissing her. Thea reached for the straps at her ankles.
“Uh-uh.” He put a hand over hers. “Leave them on.” And then slipped onto the bed beside her.
The feel of his naked body was blissful, extravagant, a warm luxury. For a moment, she didn’t move, still absorbing the sensation in a sort of giddy disbelief. There was something glorious about closing her eyes to savor his weight against her as she sank back onto the mattress.
He leaned over to his bedside bureau. There was a crackle of foil as he sheathed himself. Then he poised himself over her, his face taut now with the need for control. She felt the startling slip of his cock against her still sensitive clit as he rubbed himself through the slickness. She looked up into his face. Anticipation threaded through her.
The time for finesse was gone. His eyes were hot, dark, driven.
Desperate.
“I want to be in you,” he whispered.
And with a sudden thrust of his hips, he was.
Thea cried out blindly. There was nothing like this, no sex toy, no vibrator, nothing that could make her feel this completeness, this connection, this reality. Hot and hard and silky soft and insistent, he was all the way inside her, filling her completely. His body surged against her, as much force as flesh, making her feel every least fraction of motion. And he went deep, so deep it wrenched a cry from her every time he sank himself home.
The sensation overwhelmed her. She’d thought about it over the years, tried to remember what it was like. Nothing had prepared her for the reality. She wrapped her arms around him, her fingers slipping on the muscles that bunched and tightened with the motion.
And he watched her, his eyes narrowed with pleasure.
She’d wrapped her legs around his waist but it wasn’t enough. She wanted to feel him deeper. She worked them up higher, around his sides. And finally, higher still, over his arms to rest her ankles on his shoulders. Turning his head, he kissed her instep, then he looked down and his eyes darkened.
She could see. If she glanced down where they came together, she could see it all, the thick shaft of his cock, sliding in and out of her. And it was incredible, suddenly so real. “Oh, Brady,” she said softly. “Look at it.”
AND HE DID—at her face, her breasts, the long sweep of torso down to where they were intimately joined. But it wasn’t that that overwhelmed Brady. It was the excitement and arousal in Thea’s voice, the fascination in her eyes. “I want you to come,” she whispered. “I want to feel it, I want to see it.”
“Not yet,” Brady ground out. “Not until you do.”
“I already did,” she purred. And when she brought one of her hands down to caress her own breast, squeezing it with obvious pleasure, that was it. Too much. More than he could take, the sight, the sound, the scent, the sensation. He pumped into her again and he could feel it starting, could feel himself go past the point of inevitability, his curse turning into a groan as he felt the rumble and gather and tightening and he poured himself into her.
It took a moment before he could do anything more than breathe and hold himself feebly on his elbows. Thea slipped her legs down so that he could roll onto his back beside her.
“What’s wrong?” She frowned at him in concern. “The condom didn’t break, did it?”
“No. I just came.”
“I noticed.” She kissed him. “I liked it. Didn’t you?”
He felt the bliss spread over his face. “Oh yeah. But it seems to me like you missed out on the deal.” He traced his fingers over her torso.
“You were in the room too, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I wasn’t speaking in tongues to stroke your ego.”
“But you didn’t come.”
“I already did earlier, when you were going down on me.”
“But not when I was in you.”
She moved her shoulders. “I don’t, at least not that way. Female anatomy, honeybunch. The right parts aren’t in the right place for some of us. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t feel amazing, though,” she added, thinking about the exquisite sensation of being filled, being stroked so completely. “Of course, if you really feel bad about it, I have a few ideas for ways you could make it up to me.”
“I’ll get right on it, as soon as I can move. Keep those shoes on.” He winked. “We’ll see what we can do.”
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