Swear (Landry Family 4)

I can feel his kisses shoot through my bloodstream, regrouping again in between my legs. My hips tilt just as he presses his body closer to mine and I feel his hardness through the fabric of our clothes. My clothing pulls, sticking to the tacky wall behind me.

Moaning into his mouth, my body goes lax. Any sense I had moments ago to keep this in check—to keep it somehow to kisses—is long gone. Instead, my hands are roaming beneath his shirt and splaying over his chiseled abdomen.

As he takes my face in both of his hands, continuing his delicious assault on my lips, I drag my hands all over his body. Across his stomach, along his hips where the muscles are cut to perfection, up his sides and around to his back. Each movement causes those muscles to flex beneath my palms and with each ripple, I lose a little more judgment.

We’re going so fast, trying to fit so many years of not having into this moment of having that his fingers are fumbling with the button of my jeans before I realize what’s happening. I shimmy my hips, helping them drop to the floor. He grins salaciously.

“Spread your legs.” It’s a command, an order, given with such authority I shiver.

I’m nearly panting as I widen my stance as much as the jeans pooled at my feet will allow. The wall is warm against my bare skin, my hair feels like it’s glued to the space behind me. All of that is forgotten as desire pools everywhere from my vagina to my breasts.

He holds up his right hand, showing me it’s paint free. Not that I care at this point. I’d take a trip to the ER as long as I got off first.

I’m nearly trembling with anticipation as I wait for his touch. I gasp when his finger slides into me, my legs almost buckling. He draws his finger through my slit while his bright blue eyes watch my reaction.

“Damn,” I hiss, my back arching at the sensation. Lacing my fingers through his hair, I bring his face down to mine. There’s nothing sweet about it this time; it’s frenzied, capped off by a moan into his mouth as he slips one, then two, fingers inside me.

My body hums to the tune of Ford’s insertions. As he intensifies his pace, adding another finger to the mix, I think I’m going to lose it.

I feel how wet I am and know I must be dripping down his hand. The insides of my thighs ache from the build-up of the orgasm that’s well on its way.

He kisses me hungrily, ravenously, even, as my hips work against his fingers, absorbing every fraction of friction I can

get. Everything moves at a million miles per hour as he uses his free hand, lifts my shirt, and frees my breasts from the lace bra. Paint smears through my hair and along the side of my face in his haste to rid me of my clothes.

“Ford,” I breathe, my eyes rolling in the back of my head. He rolls one of my nipples with his fingers while the other hand continues its onslaught of my pussy.

“This is the most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen,” he whispers.

I feel his gaze on me as heavily as I feel any other part of him. It feels just as heavenly.

Tilting my hips even more, craving the final couple of steps to climax, he presses a simple kiss to my lips.

His hand slides from my breast, down my stomach, and splays his hand on the top of my legs. Using his thumb, he presses on my clit. One touch sends me over the edge.

“Fuck,” I groan as an eruption begins in my core. Like a flash flood, it crashes through me with no warning. “Ford!”

I buck against him, meeting him thrust for thrust. He presses and pushes on every part of me that he knows will elicit a spark of ecstasy. He works me over like he wrote the book on how to make me come. In a way, maybe he did.

He brings me down as expertly as he took me up. Slowly, he allows me to drop from the clouds and land, shakily, on my own two feet.

When I open my eyes, he’s grinning ear-to-ear.

“That was . . .” I don’t know what to say, so I giggle.

“That was awesome.”

“You got nothing out of that.”

“Oh, sweetheart. I got more out of that than you did.”

“But . . .” He’s making no move to do anything else, no indication that there’s more where that came from.

As if he reads my mind, he nods. “That’s all that’s happening tonight.”

I look at him curiously as I pull my jeans back over my hips. They stick to the paint, making it harder than normal to get in place. “Whatever you say,” I say, fastening the button. “It felt amazing.”

I stall mid-zip as his grin turns wicked. He holds his hand up in the air. My juices are all over it, his fingers covered in my come.