Colson (The Henchmen MC 20)

His lips pressed kisses over my collarbone, up the column of my neck, his tongue teasing my earlobe before kissing down my jawline, then sealing his lips to mine once again.

Colson's body shifted, slipping off his boxers, then his arms going under mine, his weight pressing down, making his hard cock press into my belly, promising fullness, fulfillment.

He kissed me like we had all the time in the world, like there was nothing else he'd rather do, before pulling away, pressing a kiss between my eyes, then pressing up a bit to look down at me.

"We have to stop," he told me, voice a husky whisper.

"No, we don't," I objected, shifting my hips, feeling his thick cock press against my cleft.

"Babe, yeah, we do. I don't have a condom," he admitted, leaning down to nip at my lips.

A little whimper of disappointment escaped me before memory struck, making my hand slap down on his shoulder.

"Wait!" I said, smiling. "I think I might!" I told him, half twisting away to dig through my nightstand.

I would worry later about the fact that he saw me battle bottles of period medicine, bars of chocolate, an assortment of hopelessly tangled jewelry, and two—yes two—vibrators in my search for the box.

I'd bought them on New Years Day as some sort of symbol of what I wanted to attract into my life in that "New Year, New Me" bullshit mentality. Apparently, I wanted cock. As well as to stop eating carbs and buy my house.

I caved and had a bowl of pasta three days into the new year.

And after several months of a continued dry spell, I relegated the condoms to the back of my nightstand with all my hopes and dreams for orgasms provided by anything other than a battery-operated device.

I did get my house, though.

And I was about to get Colson.

Two out of three.

You couldn't complain too much about that.

Besides, people who didn't like carbs were bizarre.

"Yes!" I cheered, grabbing the box, producing it with a smile that hurt my cheeks, getting a matching one out of Colson as he pressed up, then back, sitting on his calves. my legs still loosely wrapped around him.

He took the box from me ripping it open as I shamelessly let my gaze roam over him.

The strong shoulders, the deep indents of his abdominal muscles, the delicious V that I had a strange urge to lick, and, finally, the hard swell of his cock.

I could feel my sex tighten hard at the idea of him pushing inside me, stretching me to accommodate him.

While he fished a condom out of the box, I planted my hands, pushing my body upward, sliding out from under him slightly so I could bend forward, slip his cock into my mouth.

His whole body jolted as my lips closed around him, as my tongue traced over the head.

Giving head had always been obligatory for me. Something you had to do if you wanted it back, or for special occasions, or because I didn't want to have sex, and he was in the mood.

I don't ever recall being excited about it, completely initiating it. Let alone enjoying it.

But there was no denying that was what was happening as I worked him as well as I could with my limited range of motion.

I took in every sound of his breath rushing out, his hissed curses. I felt the way his hand clutched at the back of my head, desperate as I had been for release, as I was becoming once again.

His fingers shifted, sinking into the hair at the nape of my neck, yanking backward until his cock slid from my mouth.

My gaze rose, looking up at him, seeing his chest heaving, his lips parted, his eyes heavy-hooded.

His hand slid from my hair to frame my jaw, his thumb moving out to stroke over my puffy lower lip before his hand continued down my neck to land on my shoulder, pushing until I pressed back on the mattress.

He slipped on the condom, tossed the box onto the nightstand, planted his arms and lowered down, claiming my lips again.

It started slow and sweet, this kiss, but it wasn't long until we were both too far gone for softness, for exploration, for patience.

Need was a clawing thing in my lower belly, an aching between my thighs.

Our lips crushed, teeth scraped, tongues battled, as my nails raked down his thigh, as my hips ground upward against him.

Colson's weight balanced on one arm as the other moved downward, grabbing my leg, hiking it up as his hips shifted, the tip of his cock pressing against me.

His lips ripped from mine, waiting for my eyelids to flutter open, then he was surging inside me with one deep thrust.

My mouth opened on a silent moan as my hand curled into his shoulder, my walls tightening around him, my hips shimmying, testing out the feel of him.