Authors: Abbie Cole
My mouth waters, my gaze lowers, stopping at his heavy, thick cock, then slowly rises to his face. “No, priming the pump.”
He chuckles.
I lift my arms to him.
He comes to me—covers me—takes my lips in a searing kiss and without hesitating, eases himself into me. I am hot and tight and primed.
He holds still, for one long, achingly tense moment, now I ease about him. Instinct claims him—he thrusts powerfully, deep into my body—and claims me.
Driving him, driving me, into a frenzy of a rhythm.
Far beyond thought, beyond reason, beyond anything except feeling, I hold tight and let our passion take me. Every sensation, battering in on my mind, my overloaded senses, yet I cling to each thrill, each new intimacy, determined to miss nothing, determined to feel all.
To know the sheer delight of his hard body heavy on mine, his chest hard, hair-roughened, rasping against my sensitive nipples and the soft swells of my breasts. To glory in the hardness that fills me, the steely velvet that presses deep into me, stretching me, claiming me. To experience, with every gasp, with every desperate pant, the power with which he repeatedly drives into me, the flexing of his spine, the rhythmic fusing of our bodies. To sense the freedom in my nakedness, in the weight that anchors my hips, in the blind wanting that drives me. To revel in the excitement, shamelessly hot, unquenchably erotic, that swells, grows, builds, and floods us, in a raging tide avidly seizing us.
I moan as he moves more deeply into me, I lift both legs, and he leans into me, letting my legs fall wide.
The Feeling, deep within me, the unfurling of an anchoring force, more powerful than desire, more deep, more enduring, than anything on earth. That force, all emotion, swells and catches me. My eyes close as I give myself up to it and bravely, eagerly, knowingly claim it for my own.
He fills me, long, deep strokes from base to tip. He is fucking me hard, ecstasy fills me—eagerly, I share it, through my lips and our hungry kisses, through the worship of my hands, my limbs, my body.
He does the same; I taste it on his tongue, feel its heat in my body.
Whatever he needs I give, whatever I crave, he delivers. We are buried to the hilt, mouth to mouth, breasts to chest, urgent softness gripping his hardness.
On a groan, Jake straightens his arms, and manages to find support enough in the hay to lift from me. “Open your eyes.” He drives himself into me, I savor every hot inch that sinks deep into me, he pauses for an instant and I feel myself throb around him, before he withdraws, only to thrust deeply again. And again.
Sating himself—and me.
Rocking into me, I meet him, every movement sinking deeper and deeper.
I writhe, heated and urgent beneath him. I lift and twist, my head turns blindly from side to side as, inside, I seek a release. He sinks deep and pushes me higher, but still holds me back from the edge—I can go higher yet. So can he.
And he watches me. My hands dig into his sides, as I take him in and hold him, as I match him. The slapping of our sweat-soaked bodies seems loud in the empty loft, keeping time with the merging of our bodies.
I feel the keen edge of tension ready to explode—and feel the hot flowering within me. “I’m going to come, Jake.”
Thrusting deeply—he lets his body do what comes naturally as he pounds mercilessly as I buck and moan beneath him. Finally our matched intensity sends us both over the edge. And, at the last, he watches me closely as the explosion takes me, as desire coalesces and turns my channel molten, a hot sheath for his steely rod.
His teeth grit, he hangs on, thrusting as waves wash over me. I see the lines of his face, drawn tight with passion, soften; felt, deep inside me, the strong ripples of my release. On a silent sigh, my body softens beneath him.
I feel the shudders rack him. His eyes close.
Lying on his back in the hay, I curl into his side.
Slowly I drift back to consciousness. My body floating on a sea of pleasure, my mind hazes with a deep sense of peace. My limbs heavy, weighted with warm languor; my body feels buoyed, sate, replete. For long moments, no thought can pierce the glow, then, gradually, my surroundings intrude.
I lay on my side, cocooned in warmth. Beside me, Jake lays stretched on his back, his body a hard rock.
The delicious pleasure still laps about me. I smile. One hand rests on his chest; under my palm, beneath his muscles, I can feel his heart beating, steady and sure.
Lips gently curving, I shift, and plant a warm kiss on his chest.
He looks down. Looking up, I smile more deeply and close my eyes as I sink against him. “Hmm—nice.” I curl up against his side.
Jake turns, cocking a brow as he rubs my back.
“Nice?”
He looks down at my face, and notices the smile on my lips.
Lifting one hand, he brushes back my honey gold hair; the tangled mass caught in his fingers and he tugs me closer.
“I’ll show you nice.”
About the author
Abbie Cole started reading at a very young age and continues to devour has many books as she can. She enjoys writing of romance, and heroes and even one night stands. Her favorite place in the whole world is sitting on the beach while reading a romantic novel with her husband beside her. She adores spending time in secluded places surrounded by nature's beauty, an avid collector of quotes, a hopeful gardener, and a proficient and enthusiastic holiday decorator. She lives in Tennessee with her husband (her very own Dr. Doolittle) and their very own menagerie which is comprised of two dogs, two parakeets, two turtles, one rabbit, and a fish.
You can contact Abbie at:
[email protected]