The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

“I want to feel you in me,” I counter, proud of myself for finally coming up with something good to say. My brain’s been on AEL—Arousal Emergency Leave—and it finally punched back in on the clock.

Ty doesn’t mince words or time, expertly unbuckling the belt at his waist and shoving his pants down to his thighs without even so much as bobbling me. Holy hell, he’s strong.

I glance down at his rock-hard, seriously big cock. I don’t exactly have the best view from this position, but traumatized or not by the rejection, it’s burned into my brain from before.

He pulls a condom from his pants pocket and hands it to me, instructing, “Here. Put it on.”

For all my stubbornness with authority, it’s never translated to school. As ever, I’m an excellent student, taking the package, ripping it open with the tips of my teeth, taking out the rubbery circle, and reaching down to unfurl it along his length.

When I look back up into his face, there’s a flare in his eyes that I hope I’m ready for. Quite frankly, he looks like he could eat me alive, and it makes my breaths come out in erratic pants as my body tries to anticipate his next move.

Slowly, he swirls a finger around my entrance, pulling some of my moisture and rubbing it across the tip of his dick before aligning himself with me. I inhale deeply as the head of his cock seats itself perfectly inside me, and he freezes.

Our eyes meet, holding tightly, and my irregular breath swirls in the tight space between us. I’m expecting him to be rough—to seat himself in one smooth stroke—but instead, he moves almost painfully slowly.

Languid, measured, millimeter by millimeter, he pushes himself to the hilt and then squeezes his hands on my ass.

It’s safe to say, I’ve never been this full in my life. I’ve had guys, I’ve had vibrators, I’ve even had a dildo that I got as a joke from some sex toy company, and let me tell you, none of them measure up to the feeling of Ty Winslow inside me.

We stay there for a long moment, just barely even existing past the connection of our bodies. When my heart rate starts to even out and my eyes start to feel hard to hold open, that’s when Ty starts to move. Slow, directed thrusts that shake our heads just enough to keep our lips bumping together.

It’s so different from how I imagined it would be the first time we went at each other, and yet, it’s also so much better.

There’s no outside noise rattling around in my brain, no obnoxiously fake sexy talk, no overbearing need to perform. It’s all about feeling—and because of that, the sensation of every stroke is heightened.

In and out, Ty moves with infuriating precision, hitting all the right spots just enough to bring me to the brink and hold me there. Over and over and over, I throw my head back in eagerness of tumbling over the edge, only to come up just a fraction of an inch short.

“Ty,” I whimper. “I don’t know if I can…take…anymore.”

He smiles against my lips, the sexy feel of the curve of his mouth pushing me just a hair closer to paradise.

“You can,” he asserts, grabbing my ass tighter and bouncing me down on him to the hilt. “You’re so fucking close, Rach. I can feel you. Getting wetter, getting hotter, getting tighter. I can’t wait to feel you come.”

“Ty,” I cry on an exhale, losing complete control over petty things like the volume of my voice.

“Come on, Rachel. Let go. Stop thinking. Just feel.”

I close my eyes then as his strokes get just the tiniest bit faster. Just one sweet, tiny change. But it’s enough to send me careening over the edge into a bliss I’ve never experienced before.

Stars dance behind my eyes. Sound swells over and hums in my ears. And my whole body rolls into a wave of pleasure. It feels like every cell inside me is on pleasure overload and can’t do anything besides shake and tremble. I can still feel Ty’s breath on my neck, escalating, changing, getting harder and heavier, and I will myself to find a way to concentrate.

Ty Winslow isn’t the kind of guy you have sex with, just to miss the big finale. I have to see his face when he comes. I have to hear the grit in his groan. I have to witness firsthand what hundreds and hundreds of other women go to bed at night fantasizing about.

Sweet Hamlet in movie form, this guy is the real deal. I watch avidly as he drives into me, harder, faster, steadier, striving for his own climax. His eyes are open but hooded, and his mouth is pulled into the sexiest fucking smirk to ever exist, I’m sure of it.