The Wayward Sister (The Wayward Sons 5)

“Yeah, me, too.”

His eyes flick to my lips and he leans forward, his warm, clean body pressing against mine. Our mouths meet, lips then our tongues, a few seconds later we’re back were we left off, wound up and breathless. Except this time, we’re in a bed.

Weeks of tension builds. Adrian’s hands skim down my side, stoking the fire as his fingertips touch my skin. I push away the blanket, brushing my hand over his hip and startling myself by grazing his erection. I gasp in surprise. He grimaces, shifting back. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” I say. “It’s flattering.”

“That you make me hard like a teenage boy with zero self-control?”

I could shove his hand down my pants and show him that I’m just as aroused. I don’t, but I could.

“A little bit, yeah.”

“Well, in that case you should be ridiculously flattered. I’ve been rock hard for days.”

I laugh and reach for him, running my hand over the cotton of his shorts. His cock reacts at my touch, growing larger, fuller. He touches my chin, lifting my focus back on his face, his mouth. I continue to stroke him, and he kisses me again.

We’re not horny teens, grappling and unexperienced in the backseat of the car, but we do have to be quiet. It’s a challenge, because he knows what he’s doing. Knows what he wants. Knows what I want.

He knows his way around a woman’s body, and I’m glad, because I don’t want fumbling awkwardness. I want Adrian to blow me away.

It’s obvious from the first touches, the tiny licks, that I won’t be disappointed.

His frame shadows over me, the two of us still on our sides. His finger trails down my neck, over my chest, and between my breasts. It’s a gentle touch—a warning—and my body reacts accordingly. My nipples peak. My stomach flutters. Heat builds between my legs. I want friction, and I press my hand against his chest, flattening him against the bed, then climbing over his hips.

I hiss when our bodies meet, both still covered with cotton. Adrian smiles up at me, although it’s tight with need. I can’t help but assess his body. His broad chest, his defined abs. I run my hands over his warm skin, fingertips grazing over his nipples. It earns a low groan from him, and his fingers thrust into my hair, then clasp behind my neck, yanking me forward.

We kiss, lick, rub, grind.

My body heats, my skin burns. I feel him everywhere, want him everywhere. Adrian takes his time pushing up my shirt, then pulling it over my head. He blinks when he sees me bare, eyes wide, tongue darting out.

“Jesus,” he mutters, ghosting his hands underneath. My back arches, and he leans up to kiss each breast, lingering over the peaks, working me into a state.

I grind down on him, moaning quietly. Desperately. I don’t have it in me to care how it sounds. I want him, and I want him to know that I want him.

His fingers trail over my hip bones as he tugs at the waistband of my shorts, lowering them inch by inch. I don’t know how he’s so patient, because I’m not. I am absolutely not. When they get to my hips, I rise up and kick them down my legs, then reach for his own shorts, tugging them away. His cock frees, bobbing under the cut of his muscular waist, beneath the soft hair that trails down his body. I graze my fingers over the tip, swirling the fluid dripping down the side. Adrian’s eyes darken as he watches me.

“You’re beautiful,” he says suddenly.

“Because I’m naked and holding your cock?”

His lips twitch. “Because you’re strong and smart and funny.” His thumb parts my lips. “I’ve wanted this for a long time,

Sierra.”

I open my mouth and suck his thumb, then rise up, centering myself over his body. His hand trails between my legs, feeling the pool of slick wetness. He grips my hips, and guides me down, his girth and length pushing past long-set barriers. It’s been a long time since I’ve been with a man like this, but my body doesn’t care. It reacts on instinct, expanding with his size, with his demand. I have my own demands, my own need for control, and I take it, setting the pace, fucking this handsome, charismatic man I’ve let into my house, and now into my bed.

I roll my hips, taking him in, and he thrusts with every move. In this position he continues his touches, his kisses, his adoration. I close my eyes, feeling his hands all over me, his tongue and god, his cock. My breath rattles, growing less controlled with every move, every thrust, every roll. The coil in my belly winding, tighter and tighter, until my vision glazes and every inch of my skin because over sensitive. A moan falls over my lips, too loud, too much, and he pulls me down to kiss him, covering my mouth, absorbing the sound. The movement triggers the wave, and as I taste him, breathe him in, consume him, I come, body shaking, limbs quivering, soul quaking.

Before I fully finish, Adrian rolls me over, pressing my back against the twin mattress, and slams into me. It brings on a second wave, something I’ve never experienced, as he hitches up my useless legs, and plows forward. He lays a hand flat against the wall, holding himself up right as he shudders against me, in me, and comes in long, sweeping thrusts.

He braces himself over me, a hand on each side of my head. He smiles down, satiated, pleased. I smile back at him, feeling the same.

When he kisses me, just before pulling out, I tell myself that this was a good thing, that we hadn’t crossed any lines. I’m buoyed by the fuzzy feelings, and the way his arms feel around me as he pulls my back against his chest.

I just hope I feel the same in the morning.

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