Page 58 of Fake Wife
He’s so purely opposite of Drake with his runner’s body and soft hands.
He pushes to his knees, ripping his shirt off with a hand at the collar at his neck, that sexy, one-handed move men can do that makes muscles flex and jump and veins pop from his shoulders down his arms, and I want my hands on all of it. I want to trace the map of his veins with my tongue and my fingers, and I want his rough and calloused hands on my nipples and my core, and I want it, need it all, to happen as soon as it possibly can.
I sit up, fingers going to the button at his pants and pop them open, ripping the zipper down, showing my visible need and rush to have him. He sits back on his knees, letting me slide my hands into the front of jeans, until I reach deep inside, his thick, heavy weight pulsing in my hand.
“Fuck,” he groans, and his hands skim my waist, thumbs dig into my hips. I can’t look at him. My desire is overtaking me and I lean forward, brushing my lips over his chest to his collarbone. I kiss him wherever I can reach, massaging his thick erection.
“Harder,” he grunts, and I squeeze the base of him, shoving his denim down his hips to give me more room. “Fuck, Teagan. You’re going to make me blow my load before I’m in you.”
“Good.” I want that. I want him to lose control. I want him to be as desperate for me as I am for him. I need it. I need the confirmation I’m not the only one crazed and insane and overcome with emotions and realizations and hope that this is real.
That we can bereal.
I slide off him, to my knees, and I shimmy out of my pajama shorts, baring myself to him with no shame. My fingers tremble as I kick off my shorts and he’s off the bed, standing at the side of it, dropping his jeans and his boxers to the floor. He’s in front of me like a Viking marauder, and I am the treasure he’s won, the prize he’s about to plunder.
His large hand wraps around his dick, stroking it harshly, and I can’t take my eyes off the sight of him, so beautiful, majestic, and all for me.
I move to the edge of the bed, and then to the floor, at his feet.
“Teagan,” he says, as my hand covers his. “I’m not sure—”
“I have to taste you,” I say, stilling his hand. I peer at him, tilting my head back, and lean forward, licking around the tip of him, and God he’s beautiful and delicious and thick and I won’t be able to take him all, but I don’t even care. His abs contract. His hand tightens at his base. I press a kiss to the head and then take him in my mouth.
“Fuck.” His knees buckle.
If I could smile around him, I would, but I press my hand to his thigh and together we stroke him, finding our rhythm together while I take him as deep as I can. My lips kiss our entwined fingers every time I go deep.
I’m dripping wet, and I slide the fingers of my other hand against my clit, my hips arching and pressing against my own hand as his grunts and groans heighten. His thighs clench, his words a mixture offuck, yes, harder, God, damn, Teagan.
I’ve reduced him to nonsensical chants. There’s something so thrilling about it, a turn-on unlike anything I’ve experienced, before a shiver rolls down my spine, my orgasm beginning to build.
His fingers of his free hand dig into my head and he halts my movement, pulling me off him. His hand tangles in my hair and we stare at each other, chests heaving, both of us ready and wanting.
“I’m not coming in your throat the first time I have you.” He growls at me like an animal.
I’ve done this to him. I’ve turned this man into someone desperate. It’s all I can do to bite back my smile as he leans over and yanks out a condom from his nightstand, handing it to me.
“Put it on.”
My fingers shake as I rip open the foil packet and I take him in my mouth, one last time, one last delicious taste of him before I slide it down his shaft.
“Lie down.”
I listen without hesitating, not even bothering to climb to the bed because his hands are on my shoulders, pushing me to the floor. Andyes.This is better than his bed with the thousand-count sheets and luscious down comforter.
This is us, pure, just as we are with no pretense.
“You ready?” he asks as he climbs over me, his fingers going straight to my sex.
“Yes.” I gasp as he touches me, fingers circling my clit, and then his lips are at my nipple, sucking it into his mouth.
I arch off the floor, hips pressing into his fingers, shoving my breasts in his face and my fingers cling to his hair, the sides of his head.
“Stop,” I pant over and over. “Close, I’m so close.”
“Come for me,” he says, taking my other nipple in his mouth and pushing two thick fingers inside of me. The heel of his palm grinds against my clit, his fingers curl inside, and I’m so close. He sucks my other nipple, bites it and flicks it. It’s too much.
“Corbin!” I grasp him, holding him close and trying to push him away as my body quakes, and I lose control, reduced to chanting as he’d done.
