Made to be His ( The Archer Family 1)

Still, her gaze was focused on him as he pushed away and got to his feet. His thumb hooked beneath the red, elastic waistband and then...

And then her breath caught, and she was certain she could come just by looking at him.

Good God, not only did this man have the abs of an Olympian and the face of a Hollister model, but he also had ten more inches to offer than she'd known before. And now, more than ever, she was determined to make sure she experienced every single ounce of him.

* * *

He'd imagined this a million times before. A be

autiful woman, splayed out on a baseball field, waiting for him.

But Andy?

She was more than even his fantasies could have dreamed up.

He sank to his knees and trailed kisses from her smooth, flat stomach, to between her two, perfect round breasts, licking a path from one nipple to the other.

"Please," she breathed again and his cock jerked with the need that had been building since the first moment he'd seen her. But he'd made it this far. He had to wait. He was going to make her come so hard that she wouldn't be able to think straight for days afterward, and the only way to do that was by driving her insane now.

And himself, too.

"Patience," he said and kissed from her perfect, pert nipples to the dip of her collarbone, nibbling the delicate skin until he was teasing the hollow of her throat, brushing her soft brown waves.

She was close enough to feel. Her heat was only inches from his cock. One subtle move, one jerk and he'd be inside of her, warm and wet and perfect.

He kissed her throat, working his way to her earlobe and teasing her.

A soft moan escaped her lips and her hips arched up, pressing her pussy against his hard length.

Goddamn.

She was so wet, so soft and ready for him.

"Are you ready?" he whispered.

Her head shook against him, and that was all the incentive he needed. He didn't dare to pull away from her now. Not with her beautiful, soft breasts pressed against his chest. Instead, he gripped himself and thrust inside.

And that alone might have been enough to make him lose his edge.

"Jesus," he ground out. She was the best kind of tight, the most perfect kind of warm, and he was torn between the urge to lay into her and feel her sweet, pink pussy pulse against him or to shove himself deeper, to feel every inch of her until there was nowhere else to go.

All he knew for sure was that he didn't want his to end. But his body would never allow him to hold still and savor her. He was moving without thinking, working himself in and out of her, slow and deep, until he was completely buried in her.

She took in a sharp breath and he pulled back, looking over her sweet, rosy blush.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"More than okay," she murmured. "You're just so big."

Her hips rocked against him and she circled her arms around his back, digging her nails into his skin as if to spur him on.

And she did. How could he not keep moving? Keep pushing deeper, harder, and faster? Even if he'd wanted to hold back, he couldn't have. Not with her perfect body at his disposal.

He pulled away until he was perpendicular to her and gripped her hips, pulling and pushing her into him with each thrust. Her breasts bounced with every move, putting him into a trance, and he moved to cup them, to feel them move with him.

He pinched one nipple and then the other between thumb and forefinger and she cried out again.

Jesus Christ.