Page 42 of Best Wrong Thing

I lift my chin. “I want to try something different.”

He gets up and strokes my hips, gyrating against me. “Feeling adventurous?”

“Yes.”

“I like it. Tell me how you want me.”

“At the end of the bed.”

“Bending over it like this?” He leans onto the bed with his arse in the air.

“No. Turn around.”

He does.

“Sit.”

He grips the edge of the bed with his hands and grins at me expectantly.

“Lie back.”

“I like where this is going.” He waggles his brows and flops back so his legs are splayed and hanging off the edge of the bed.

I stand between them and bend my knees to rest them on the edge of the bed. I shove my hands under his knees, lift his legs, and put his ankles on my shoulders. A rush of air escapes his lungs. His pupils shrink, and he parts his lips.

“You okay?” I ask.

“Oh, yeah, this is fucking sexy.”

I reach for the lube, but it’s too far away. He picks it up and hands it to me. Okay, this is more awkward than I thought it would be. I have to bend my knees even more to reach his hole, and I can’t get my fingers very deep. Not that he seems to mind. He moans and curses, wriggles and thrusts his hips as I use one, then two, and then three fingers to warm up his arse and get it ready for my cock. He’s so beautiful. His eyelids get heavier, but he keeps them open, his gaze fixed on me. My heart and stomach quiver, and my cock aches. I need him.

“Hurry up and get inside me,” he says.

“Needy.”

“Yes, I am. I need you to fuck me.”

I chuckle, glove myself up, and slick my hard length with plenty of lube. “Ready?”

“Yes!”

I pull him onto my cock, revelling in his desperate whine as I push inside him.

“Fuck, that’s good. Fill me. Fuck me.”

I hold his ankles against my shoulders, throw my head back, and snap my hips back and forth quickly and firmly. I grunt through the exertion. Archer moans, whimpers, and swears. I could fuck him like this until we both come and be happy and sated, and it would be wonderful.

But then I glance down, and my heart stutters and the rhythm of my hips falters.

He’s twisting the sheets with one hand and stroking himself with the other. He looks fucking gorgeous, his gaze focused on me. I stop thrusting.

“You okay?” he asks between pants.

“Yes.” Only, I want more than this frantic pounding. I want to be able to feel his body beneath mine. I want to be able to kiss him.

I shift position and push him up the bed so I can kneel between his thighs. I lie over him, my heart pattering wildly against his, and press a tender kiss to his lips.

“Jacob?”