Runaway Groom (I Do, I Don't 2)

“Ellie,” he says on a rasp. “Touch yourself for me.”

I lift my eyebrows. “Now why would I do that when I have you here?”

He starts to step forward, but I hold my finger up once more. Not yet.

Instead, it’s me who steps forward. Holding his gaze the entire time, I sink slowly to my knees, pulling his boxers the rest of the way down as I do so.

“Goddamn, Ellie,” he says on a pant as I maneuver his feet from the boxers and toss the underwear aside.

I wrap my hand around the base of him and, as I lift my gaze to his once more, my mouth brushes the tip of him, tongue flicking against the moisture there, waiting—waiting until he needs me, wants me, the way I want him.

Gage reaches down, his hands pulling my hair over one shoulder, winding it around his fist. His hips tilt forward. Please.

I give him what he wants—what we both want—opening my mouth and taking him inside.

I’m not sure which one of us groans. Both of us, perhaps. I love him with my mouth, relishing every thrust of his hips, every profane word that spills from his lips.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his head tilting back.

He reaches down and hauls me to my feet, his mouth opening hotly over my neck as he walks me backward to the bed.

I expect to find myself flat on my back on the mattress, but instead he spins me around, pushing gently until my palms rest on the mattress, my back to him.

He smooths a hand over my spine, then over my butt before giving it a light smack. “Stay.”

A second later I hear the rip of a condom wrapper, and then he’s back with me.

I moan and arch as I feel him brush against me, but instead of thrusting inside like I need, his hand slides from my waist to my belly, holding us both still.

“You wet enough for this?” he asks gruffly.

“Yes!” I try to arch back to prove it to him, but he holds me still.

“You’re sure? Sucking me off got you wet?”

I whimper.

He presses his lips to my ear. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

He slowly drags his finger along my slit and I cry out.

“God, Ellie,” he gasps as he slicks a finger inside me. “You’re so perfect. So perfect for me.”

He adds a second finger, and my hips start to move shamelessly against his hand. “More,” I demand. “Give me

more.”

He does. His cock replaces his fingers, and he gives me every last inch in a smooth, unapologetic thrust.

“Yes,” I gasp, arching my back as he pounds into me.

Gage grips my waist, holding me still for every thrust as he alternates between slow and torturous and fast and dirty.

When I can’t take any more, desperate for my release, I turn and meet his eyes over my shoulder. Please, now.

He rubs two fingers over my clit, circling in rhythm with his thrusts, and I lose it. There are orgasms and then there are orgasms, and this is one for the record books.

For him too, judging from the fierceness of his thrusts. I hear his shout, feel his loss of control down to the neediest part of my soul.