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His mouth moves hastily from my ear to my neck and down my collarbone, before returning to my mouth. Suddenly, he steps back and yanks his pants down to where they meet his riding boots and then removes his jersey and tosses it on the ground.
Holy crap. Not only is his bare ass showing to everyone, but Tiller Sawyer with no shirt is just about the sexiest thing ever. Between the hard muscles and the ink, I will never tire of seeing him like this. Everywhere I look is hard, taut, tanned inked muscle, begging to be touched and licked.
With lust-stricken eyes, I grasp onto him anywhere I can.
Without breaking the kiss, his mouth is back to my neck when his hips move against mine. There’s no denying what’s going on when he rubs against me.
“I don’t have a condom,” he tells me.
“I’m on the pill.” My heart hammers, breathing escaping me entirely. Maybe it’s the jealousy, but I can’t help myself, my hips moving, making more direct, persistent contact with his. I’m certainly aware that he’s been with other women and could potentially have something, but I don’t stop him. I can’t even tell you why I don’t other than I want him, completely oblivious to the consequences of it.
He makes a noise in my ear, somewhere between a gasp and a groan, as his body answers mine. “I can’t wait any longer.”
Supporting my weight against the side of the trailer, his hands move to my breasts, massaging them with need and desire. My hips drag against his again, savoring the feeling, but knowing this should be stopped. The sensation, a reminder, jolts through my body like a spark to an engine, like the igniting of a firecracker.
Pressing his lips to mine, he drowns out everything when the trouble-tortured groan leaves his lips, and he reaches for the edge of my panties under my dress.
Face flushing with the heat of the night, he moves my panties aside and gasps for air as he enters me. “Fuck, you’re so tight and perfect.”
I love the way the sound of his voice makes me feel secure, wanted, desired to the point of obsession.
I throw my head back against the trailer, and Tiller curls his arms around the backs of my knees and holds me in place, pounding into me with need, fucking me thoroughly. “When I’m finished, every time you move tonight you’re going to be reminded of me fucking you against this trailer.”
“Oh God,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say. Overwhelmed by his words, I desperately cling to his body and the reassurance I have him now.
“Say it, Amberly,” he begs, his breathing heavy as drives into me, our eyes locked. “You have to fucking say it. Tell me you want me too. Tell me that you’re mine.”
Sometimes you have to ask for something you want, and that’s not something I’ve been able to do with him. Tiller is determined to make me. He wants me to tell him what he so badly desires to hear from me.
“I’m yours, Tiller. Always.”
And it’s the truth. Always has been.
“Fucking Christ, Amberly. . . .” Again, my name, his weakness, a prayer spoken against my lips, as if he’s claiming me. He knows as well as I do there could never be someone else that could make me feel the way he does.
He slams into me again, filling me, over and over again. I want to slow it down, but I know we don’t have time. Shade’s run is only two minutes and then Tiller’s up. My sounds mixing with his is all it takes for me to get lost in his every thrust, every moan, and I’m pushed over the edge until I’m falling with him.
No, literally falling onto the ground. Tiller catches us by falling to his knees, never pulling out of me. Instead, his hands wrap under and over the tops of my shoulders, slamming me down on him, over and over again.
It’s quick, and then Tiller groans, his body shaking as he lets go, strangled words falling from his lips, his head thrown back. Watching him in the midst of his orgasm is enough for me. I don’t need to get off to get pleasure out of that. When his body stops shaking, I wonder what he’s going to say to me next.
Leaning back to see his face in the dim lighting, my hand drifts to his face, running my fingertips along the edge of his cheek, and for a split second, he opens his eyes to me. I want to see warmth and the connection reach his eyes. And when I don’t see it, a hint of fear hits me as I realize all I see is sadness. His lids shut again, and he begins kissing me harder, trying to mask whatever he’s feeling.
Under that sadness—the vulnerability and the emotion—is something in the way he looks at me, like I’m all he’s ever wanted, but never thought he deserved. He looks at me like he’s about to lose me. And while I want to reassure him he won’t, I know I can’t promise him anything because I know how destructive Tiller can be when he wants to be. He can drive everyone and anything away from him.
I feel beautiful in the harsh light of the street lamps above us. Alive and consumed by his obsession with me. With one last kiss, his mouth parts from mine.
There’s a sting as he slides out of me, both in my body and my heart. My breathing evens out, and he gasps, hands in his hair, swallowing over and over again, trying to gain control. “Fuck. . .,” he breathes out when I stand.
Drawing back, he stares at me as he stands, too, almost confused, his breathing remaining heavy. His head slumps forward as he breathes in harsh gasps, pulling his riding pants back up.
Ricky comes around the corner and nods to him. “It’s time, Wild Cat.”
“I gotta go,” he mumbles, so low I have to strain to hear him.
My cheeks break into a fire, waiting to see what he’ll say. Finally, he draws in a deep breath and looks over his shoulder Ricky waiting for him.
And then he smiles and bends down to retrieve his jersey. “I owe you one now.”