Page 38 of Coach (Heartstrings of Honor #4)

Unsure where this was going, I complied . . . slowly.

A calloused hand planted itself between my shoulder blades as its twin wrapped around and held my stomach. Then he shoved, bending me over. My arms flew out and braced against the back of the couch. “Uh, Shane—”

Whatever I was going to say choked out, as the hand gripping and pressing me vanished, only to appear a heartbeat later, spreading my cheeks apart.

“Oh, fuck—” was all I could say before Shane’s face was buried inside my butt, his tongue spearing with the force of a Spartan spear, swirling and licking and lapping and . . .

“Jesus fucking Christ,” whooshed out of me as his tongue somehow found Stephen Tyler proportions, tickling my lungs or some other organ accessible via the asshole.

His hands squeezed, fingers dug. I could feel the marks forming on my skin, knew they would linger long after this moment—and the thought of wearing his marks sent another uncontrollable shiver up my spine.

Then he sat back, the warmth of his tongue slipping away.

I heard him spit.

Then his tongue returned, hungry and teasing and determined . . .

As his hand, now coated in saliva, reached around and gripped my pulsing shaft.

“Oh, fuck, Shane.”

He stroked slowly, teasing my head, making sure it was coated thoroughly with his spit. Shock waves of pleasure drove through me as the stroking and spearing and teasing wrapped me in a host of sensations and clouded my rational mind .

Shane let go and stood. “Don’t turn around,” he ordered. “I’ll be right back.”

I stared out the crack in the curtains covering his living room window.

There were no neighbors near enough to see or hear a thing.

Glimpsing his front yard and the workshop barely visible in the corner of his property, I saw a thick forest bordered the far end of his land, and the nearest home was several acres away and separated by tall wooden privacy fencing.

I realized we could dance naked in the field out back and there wouldn’t be another person within a mile to see it.

That thought, pleasant as it might’ve been, would have to wait, as Shane’s presence filled the space behind me. I made to turn, but his hand gripped the back of my head, forcing me to continue facing away.

“You’re mine, Mateo Ricci, all mine.”

“I like the sound of that.”

He grunted in a way that told me he wasn’t smiling, at least not physically, though I was fairly certain he shared the excitement thrumming through me at what we were about to do.

And then he slipped his cock into my ass.

“Oh, mother fucking holy shit!”

It was just the tip, covered in a thin layer of rubber or latex or whatever the fuck dick gloves were made of. He didn’t shove it all in, but neither had he prepared me—not at all. And fuck, if the tip of his dick didn’t feel like sliding an aircraft carrier into my body.

“Breathe,” the word whispered into my ear, his hot breath a caress across my skin. “Relax and give yourself to me.”

I tried.

I really tried.

He squirted lube—the lube I hadn’t been able to see him carry into the room—and I felt wetness dribble down onto his cock and across my ass.

“Mmm,” he crooned. “So slick and hot.”

Okay, that rumble made my dick twitch so hard I thought it might try to break free and race through his yard.

Then he pushed.

“Oh, hell!”

Ever so slowly, more of him edged inside me. His hands gripped my hips, pulling me toward him. All the while, the man who rarely spoke guided us together with his voice.

“Let me inside you, Mateo.”

“Open up for me.”

“Give yourself to me.”

“I want all of you, Mateo.”

Well damn, if he hadn’t shifted from a brick wall into a Hallmark movie—the sexy, raunchy kind only available after midnight.

“I’ve wanted you since the first day you walked up to my display at the fair.”

My mind spun. Seriously? I hadn’t thought he even liked me.

“I wanted to kiss you and suck you and fill you with everything I have.”

God, if he kept talking like that, I was going to explode.

And then I realized something. He was all the way inside me, his hard torso pressing into my butt as his cock buried deep within.

“You feel that?” he asked, as if I couldn’t feel the orca who’d just flapped against my colon. “You took all of me, and I’m a big boy. That’s my Mateo. Good boy.”

Good boy? Oh, Lord. Is he—

“My boy, aren’t you? Say it. Say you’re my boy.”

“I’m—”

He slid back.

“Don’t pull ou—”

And slammed back in.

“Oh! Damn! I’m your boy! I’m your boy!”

I chanced a glance back to find the fucker grinning from ear to ear. His fingers gripped my hair, palm pressing against my scalp as he forced my eyes forward and slid back . . . then in again . . . then out and in again.

I surrendered to the pleasure, to the exquisite pain, to the mammoth-sized man tunneling his way into me, despite my logical brain still trying to puzzle out what he meant by me belonging to him, being his, being his boy.

He thrust again and again, and fuck, he filled every part of me. I could feel him in my legs and chest and stomach and . . .

“I’m going to pull out and turn you around now,” he said. “I want you to lie on your back on the couch.”

“Okay,” I said, feeling more empty than my body had ever felt when he pulled out.

Once repositioned on my back, Shane stepped around, propping himself on his knees and lifting my legs over his shoulders.

I’d seen him shirtless. Hell, I’d seen him naked.

Still, I wasn’t prepared for the wall of muscle and sweat staring down at me.

He was stunning, seriously stunning, and the flame in his eyes, the single-minded intensity boring into me, made me wonder if he hadn’t meant the bit about claiming me.

“I want you inside me . . . please.” And damn, if I didn’t sound like I was begging.

He grinned, an expression that might’ve frightened anyone else, though I knew better .

With one hand, he guided his cock back inside me. I watched as his chest moved forward, abs bunched, brow scrunched. I saw that blaze flare as nerves fired and bliss grew.

I wanted to keep watching, to memorize his body and face and eyes and . . . everything . . . but my head fell back and eyes squeeze shut. My hands flew back, gripping the cushion behind me, stretching my torso before him. His own hand reached down and raked from my pecs to my abs.

Then I felt him lean over, careful to remain inside me, and warm lips pressed to mine.

The room spun.

My heart exploded.

His hands gripped the sides of my head, and he slowly—so slowly—drew back and slid in again, never releasing my lips, kissing me, passionately, in the way lovers do.

Lovers.

Not one-night stands.

He was making love.

The realization was almost more than I could handle.

Something deep within cried out for me to push back, shove him aside, run for the door.

I knew it was too soon, far too soon to have feelings or want to claim or take or give.

Hell, I barely knew this guy. As much as I liked him, was insanely attracted to him, we’d only known each other for weeks, and most of that was platonic client-woodworker shit.

Nothing about what we’d done suggested anything more than—

“I’m so into you, Mateo. Your eyes and body and, damn, that fucking accent. You could just talk, and I’d want to tear your hole apart.”

Oh, wow.

What the fuck?

“I’m not a psycho,” he whispered between kisses, his thrusting reaching a comfortable rhythm that needed to be recorded and sold. “I don’t like most people, but I like you, want to know you, want to see you more.”

All right, that wasn’t bad. I could get into that. Maybe he wasn’t as nuts as—

He nibbled my earlobe, and I forgot what I’d been thinking.

“What do you like?” he breathed in my ear.

“I . . . uh . . . that.” He arched up and hit a sensitive spot. “Right there, damn it!”

He held himself up and shoved deeper. My whole body jerked, and I had to fight the urge to writhe beneath him. Again and again, he pounded that spot, that place inside me that made me forget my own name.

“Shane, God, Shane,” I wheezed .

He growled.

His thrusts sped up, their intensity growing, deepening, becoming rougher and more primal. My eyes opened, and I saw this monstrous man driving himself into me. His eyes were closed, his brow as taut as I’d seen it.

“I’m getting close,” he said, sweat rolling off his forehead onto my chest.

I reached down to grip myself, but he slapped my hand away, taking my cock in his grip and stroking me like he was milking a reluctant cow.

“Oh, fuck. I’m not going to last long if—”

“Mateo!” He threw his head back and shouted so loud I was sure the neighbors in the next county heard him. “Fuck!”

His stroking grew frantic, friction and lube heating my skin beyond the brink. I reached up, gripped his chest, then his arms, wrapping my fingers around his biceps. The touch of hardened muscles and his frantic thrusts sent me over the edge.

“Shane, I’m coming!”

A wave of white shot out, coating my abs.

Still, he pushed.

I shot again. And again.

My asshole clenched, gripping his cock like a vice, and I watched as his abs drew into bricks.

“Mateo! Fuck! ”

I felt him come into the condom, felt his heat, his life, pour into me—well, into the rubber inside me.

Still, the thought of it added to the waves of pleasure, the aftershocks from my release, as he pushed a few more times until the last of him was spent, and his exhausted, slick, blazing hot body fell atop mine and stilled.