Thirst (The Calvettis of New York 1) - Page 91

I twist my hands. “I need a condom.”

“Fuck me later,” she mewls as she looks up at me from where she’s kneeling on my bedroom floor. Her lips are swollen and pink. Her eyes hooded.

“Condom,” I repeat, unfettered lust consuming me.

She leans back on her heels. “Get the condom so I can sit in your lap.”

Goddamn this woman.

I push her aside and stalk toward the nightstand. I tug the drawer open and empty the box on the bed, sending condom packages flying everywhere.

“Someone’s in a hurry.”

I glance over at her. Her tits are bouncing as she laughs. Her hair is a mess.

I rip open a package and sheath myself. “Come sit on me.”

I settle onto the bed, my back against the headboard. I close my eyes, willing the weight in my chest to fuck the hell off.

I’ve been torn between wanting to fuck her and tell I love her since we left her apartment.

I watched her earlier. I know what she said to me.

The word ‘love’ left her lips when she stood by her window staring at me.

She crawls across the bed on her hands and knees like an alley cat out to get their prey.

Does she not know that she caught me in her snare before we ever spoke a word to each other? It’s not only my dick that is aching to be inside of her. The rest of me wants in her heart, her mind, in all of her.

“Get on my cock,” I demand in a low voice. “Fuck me.”

“My pleasure,” she purrs as she climbs over my legs and settles with her cunt grazing the head of my cock.

I want to rip the condom off so I can savor the smoothness of her. I want to feel that wet heat surround me.

“Be gentle?” she asks with a lift of both brows.

It’s taking every ounce of strength within me to control the need. My hands inch toward her bare skin. I want to bite it, bruise it. I want her to feel me tomorrow and every day after.

She grabs hold of the base of my dick and I groan aloud. “Fuck me, Dexie. Just fuck me.”

She lowers herself onto me, inch by deliciously dizzying inch until I’m buried to the hilt.

I let her set the pace. Achingly slow strokes of her cunt over my cock drive me mad.

I rest my head against the headboard and stare at her as she rides me.

Her eyes are closed, her lips parted enough to reveal those two overlapping teeth and her hair flows down her back as she takes what she needs from me.

“I love you,” I whisper so softly that I know she can’t hear.

She arches her body, her hands leaping back to rest on my thighs and she fucks me hard, chanting my name over and over, imprinting every nuance of this perfect moment into my memory.

***

“What’s the cure for a sore pussy?” Dexie snuggles under the blanket on my bed.

“My tongue.” I stick it out.

Tags: Deborah Bladon The Calvettis of New York Romance
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