Connell (Carolina Reapers 3)

I licked her down, and only when she relaxed completely, I reached for a foil packet from the box in my nightstand.

“Let me.” She opened the packet with her teeth, then rolled the condom over my cock in one sure motion. “So cliche, but could you be any bigger?”

“You’ll like how big I am in about thirty seconds,” I promised her as I laid her back.

“I’m counting on it,” she answered with a grin, sweeping her thumb over my lower lip. “Your mouth should be outlawed. That was...incredible.”

“Just wait.” I lowered my mouth to kiss her and kept kissing her as her hands ran down my back to cup my ass.

“Fuck me, Connell,” she whispered in my ear, lifting her knees so I settled at her entrance.

Speechless. She’d rendered me speechless.

I gripped her hip with one hand and buried the other in her curls. Then I pushed inside her with slow-rolling thrusts, keeping my eyes on hers the entire time.

Fuck me, she was so hot. So tight. I locked my jaw and concentrated on her as I thrust in fully. “Holy shit,” I groaned against her lips. “Ye feel like a silk vise around me.”

“How can you speak?” she groaned and swirled her hips.

“Fuck. Lass. Annabelle. Give me a second here.” This would be over in exactly two seconds if she did that again.

“I can’t help it,” she said with a breathy moan. “You feel so good inside me.”

I withdrew and slid back inside. How was it even better?

“Tell me if I’m too rough,” I ordered as I rolled into her again and again.

“I can take it. I can take you.” She planted her feet and arched up for each thrust. “So don’t hold back. Take me however you need.”

Her teeth nipped at my earlobe, and my control snapped.

Harder. Deeper. I took her with abandon, losing myself in the feel of her, the taste of her, the sounds she made each time I bottomed out inside her. When she ordered me to move faster, I grinned and stayed exactly at the same rhythm as I stroked her higher and further into bliss.

I was going to live here, right between her thighs. Nothing outside this room—this bed—mattered. Just her. Just this. Just us.

Her cries grew louder, and I felt that tension take over, locking her thighs as her orgasm started. “That’s it,” I praised as I abandoned her hip to slide my thumb between our bodies. I strummed her swollen clit as I fucked her with long, hard, deep strokes, pushing myself past the limits I thought I had.

But that pleasure spiraling down my spine to gather in my balls wasn’t waiting any longer, and her loud cries were only spurring me on. “Damn. Annabelle. You feel so fucking good, love. You’re killing me. Come with me, love.”

“Connell,” she whispered over and over. When her pitch changed, I pressed on her clit, and she came around me, squeezing me so tight that I stopped fighting my orgasm and gave my body over to it.

My thrusts became as erratic as my breathing, and then it hit. Blinding, star-seeing pleasure burst through me as I slammed as deep as I could go in her welcoming body and emptied myself into her.

I didn’t know if had been minutes or hours when I found the strength to raise my head from her neck and kiss her lips. “Are you okay?” I asked, lifting my weight on my elbows to keep from crushing her.

“Uh. huh. Better than okay.” She smiled sleepily up at me and traced my face with her fingers. “You’re beautiful and very, very good at that.”

I grinned and kissed her again. I’d been right the first time I’d kissed her. She’d ruined me for anyone else. She was it. The epitome. The standard. Everything. “Give me a minute, and then I’ll show ye how good I am at it again.”

Her brown eyes sparkled as she licked her lips. “Good, because I wasn’t lying. I really do have this shower fantasy.”

“Your wish is my command.” Whatever fantasy she had, I’d fulfill it. I’d be it.

She might not know it yet, but she was mine, and I’d do whatever was necessary to keep her.

8

Annabelle

“Dinner at Luigi’s, ice cream at your favorite spot, and now this?” Connell asked as he drove through the entrance to Sweet Water’s drive-in-theater. “You must really want to spoil me.”

I smiled at him. “Just a little,” I said. “And I wanted you to see why Sweet Water means so much to me.”

Connell navigated the gravel pathways and rows of cars until he found a nice little secluded spot in the back corner near the tree line that bordered the outdoor theater. The clear night sky above twinkled with little pinpricks of light as we hopped out of the truck he’d borrowed for the occasion, rounding it to the bed.