Craft (The Gibson Boys 2)

“Sit. Still,” he says, pressing on my stomach to hold me down.

“You’re so good at this,” I say as he inserts a finger into my hole. His tongue licks up to my clit before he sucks it into his mouth. “Fuck you for being so good at this.”

He chuckles against me, the humming of his throat making everything worse. Better. I don’t freaking know. My head spins, the relief I need is so close I can taste it.

“I’m going to come,” I groan.

Then he stops.

“What are you doing?” I ask through gritted teeth. I feel like a baby when I almost whine as he stands. “Lance!”

“Yes, you are.” He scoops me back up. I link my ankles at the small of his back. “You’re going to come on my cock.”

He’s inside me, splitting me in two, pounding me with no fucks given about the noise we’re making or the sensitivity of the situation. My back slams into a wall next to a rack of spices as my body screams around him.

His eyes are trained on me, his jaw tense. I want to return the favor, watch him watch me, but I can’t keep my eyes open as the pressure inside me soars.

“I’m so close,” I beg as he slides inside me again.

“Mariah?” A voice comes from down the hall.

I snap my attention to Lance through a blur. It’s just clear enough to see him grin.

“Bite my shoulder,” he instructs, “because I’m not stopping.”

“Mariah?” My mom calls out again.

He twirls his hips as he’s balls-deep inside me. It’s enough to tip me over the edge. My legs shake, my body goes slack. I bite down on his shoulder.

His skin is hot and hard in my mouth as he pounds into me. Growling under his breath, he presses me harder against the wall. His cock swells as he empties himself into me. It only makes me shudder even more.

Every muscle in my body aches. The light in the pantry is too bright. The bolt of delicious orgasm melts me from the inside out as it rolls through my veins with every movement from Lance.

His thrusts weaken while my bite turns into a slack-jawed kiss. I pop a final, lingering press against the center of his shoulder before pulling away.

He quiets, still inside me, as I take in the definite circle marring his tanned skin. He looks at it too and laughs.

“Sorry,” I say, half-heartedly.

“I’m not.” He slips out of me and drops me easily to my feet. Kissing the top of my head, he lets his lips linger a moment longer than necessary. “I’ve fantasized about the things you’d say while you come.”

As I smack his chest, the buzz of the orgasm starts to dissolve and a tinge of reality works its way back in. I slip my bra back up and find my dress as the truth of his words hits me. Pausing, I look at him. I almost don’t want to ask in case I heard him wrong, but I do want to know. “You’ve fantasized about me, huh?”

He scoops up his clothes and starts covering up the body I could look at forever.

“Yup,” he says, buttoning his shirt. “But not one of them was as good as that.”

My cheeks ache from the smile stretched across them as I search for my panties. I never thought he fantasized about me. Not really. Maybe wanted me for a quickie here or there, but never an all-out fantasy.

“Mariah?” A knock comes against the door. “Are you in there?”

Grabbing my panties from behind an oversized can of soup, I whip my head to Lance. He looks no worse for the wear.

“What are we going to do now?” I say, half in shock. “Oh my God, Lance.”

He snakes his arm around my waist and puts his lips to my ears. “I think you need to go to the restroom and clean yourself up. I just came so fucking hard.”

I swat his shoulder. “I’m serious!”

“We walk out like two consenting adults. Ready?” he winks.

“Not that I care, but what is she going to think?”

“That you’re one lucky lady,” he laughs.

Before I can overthink it anymore, he tugs open the door. My mother is standing on the other side. She looks at me, then at him, in surprise.

“Oh,” she says, swallowing roughly.

“Mrs. Stevens, you need to have someone look at this lock. It’s sticking,” he says blandly.

“Really?” She looks at him, then at me. “I haven’t had any trouble with it.”

Lance grabs my hand, lacing our fingers together. He looks at me. “Trouble seems to creep up in the strangest places.”

My brows pull together, a question on the tip of my tongue, but my mother speaks before I can.

“Did you like what I’ve done with the pantry, Mariah?”

Starting down the hall, Lance right behind me, I call out, “Your pantry is memorable, to say the least.”