Crave (The Gibson Boys 3)

He thrusts his tongue in my mouth and moans as if I’m the best thing he’s tasted in his his entire life. The feeling of his voice vibrating against me with need sets me ablaze.

I dig at the button of his jeans as he brings his lips to mine again. Somehow, I get them unfastened in my haste.

His mouth is hot, his breath sweet, as he sweeps his tongue inside my mouth again. I shove his pants over his hips and grip his cock in my hand. It’s thick and stretches from the tips of my fingers up the bottom of my forearm. It’s heavy in my hand and the head sticky from a drip of pre-cum. Wetness coats the inside of my thighs as I hold him with both hands.

“You’ve done it now,” he says, ending the sentence with one final kiss.

“If only you’d do it now.”

He pierces me with a look that’s feral. “Oh, love. I’m gonna do it.”

Shorts drop. Flip-flops off. I’ve never undressed faster in my whole damn life. The faster I move, the harder my heart beats, and the more I want him to touch me.

He hooks an arm around my left leg, hoisting it up to his hip.

“Oh, shit,” I gasp. My insides melt at the way he grips me as though I’m his, the way his fingers sear into the sensitive flesh on the insides of my thighs.

My urgency is reflected in his eyes. I drag in a jagged breath as he positions himself at my opening.

“Do I need a condom?” he asks.

“No. I have an IUD—holy shit!” I cry.

He fills me so quickly I’m forced into the wall. The picture of Linton from the 1800s rattles on the little nail where it’s hung for decades.

My eyes roll closed as I stretch around him. His hands cup my ass, and he lifts me. My other leg curls around his hip. When I open my eyes and look into his, I think he’s going to come undone.

His teeth are gritted together, a bead of sweat dotting his forehead. “Damn it,” he groans, his tone full of grit and gravel.

He slips out and pushes right back inside me, hitting every nerve ending in my body from this angle. My hips push against him, craving the contact. He squeezes my behind, digging his fingers into my flesh before he strokes inside my body long and hard.

“Oh, God,” I mutter. The two syllables take more than two syllables to get out as my body begins to convulse. My teeth almost chatter at the intensity of the moment.

My shoulders dig into the paneling as my lower half wraps around this delicious man. The sound of our bodies sliding against one another producing an erotic layer over the rock music from the bar below. I can’t take it. I’ve needed this for far too long. I’ve needed him for far too long.

“Harder!” I shout, the words coming out through my clenched teeth. “Please. Harder.”

“Like this?” He hammers into me with no caution or concern, no tenderness like I’ve experienced with him before. There’s nothing personal about this—this is fucking.

“Ahhh …” My voice gets louder as the beat of the song below increases and as the drum hits, so does my orgasm. “Fuck!”

As I grip his shoulders, my body explodes around him. The walls of my vagina pulse with each ripple of sensation he delivers. He brings me higher and higher until I think I’m going to rip in two.

“Machlan!” I scream.

The wall bites into my skin and my nails dig into his as he grips my hips and presses me down hard. Through the aftershocks of my own orgasm, I can feel him releasing into my body, filling me with his own pleasure.

His head falls back, a low hum emanating from his throat. Sweat trickles down the side of his face, glistening over his skin.

Panting, finding it impossible to get enough air in my lungs to steady myself, I watch him come back to Earth. His eyes are almost bloodshot. His hat gone. His shoulders red from the marks of my fingernails.

“How organic was that?” he asks.

He’s trying to play it cool, referring to our earlier conversations, but something’s amiss in the way he says it. It’s not cocky or even neutral. It’s … careful. And that makes my stomach drop.

I shrug in an attempt to seem as nonchalant as I can. “That’s one way to put it.”

He sets me back on my feet. My legs shake, threatening to give out, so I lean against the wall.

“This is gonna make me an asshole,” he says, “but I gotta get back down there.”

He keeps his head down, his voice as gruff as I’ve ever heard it. He busies himself with getting put back together. It doesn’t go without notice that he keeps his distance.