Page 20 of Fore Better or Worse (Return to Starlight Bay #16)
Chapter twenty
Leah
T he door to the hotel suite clicks shut behind us. In an instant, Hays has me pinned against it. Though I know in vivid detail exactly what is about to happen, my breath still catches when his hands capture my wrists, stretching them high above my head, just like I wrote.
Countless romance novels describe moments just like this, but none of those descriptions come close to the reality of how my entire nervous system is short-circuiting from a single point of contact. A sole act of control.
His body presses against mine, the expensive navy suit doing little to hide the hard, muscular physique beneath it.
The fabric rustles as he shifts closer, trapping me with his hips and chest. He’s made it impossible for me to move, but his delicious heat erases any coherent thought.
His cologne, that same intoxicating scent from the boat, fills my senses.
“This is exactly how you wrote this, me pinning you against the door,” he murmurs against my ear, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down my spine. His thumb traces along my throat. “But you didn’t mention how your pulse would race right here.”
Heat spirals through me. He’s memorized every detail of my fantasy. His lips brush against my neck, featherlight kisses that tease their way to my mouth, which he claims in a fiery kiss so intense my heartrate explodes.
His hard cock throbs against my belly, thick and promising.
A moan escapes my lips, and he pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, his own green-blue gaze burning with desire.
“I’m going to make you forget every other man who’s touched you,” he growls.
“I won’t stop until you’re screaming my name. ”
I try to catalog the sensations, the texture of his stubble, the heat of his breath, but thought becomes impossible when he trails kisses down my jawline, nipping at my skin.
I wiggle against him, seeking more. One hand still holding me hostage, the other slides down my arm to cup my breast. His thumb grazes the nipple through the silk, and I gasp, arching into his touch.
“You like that, don’t you?” His eyes darken as he watches my reaction. “I can’t wait to see you squirm beneath me, begging for more while my face is buried between your thighs, just like you described.”
My thong is officially soaked.
He continues his exploration, his hand hiking up my dress, the cool air a stark contrast to the heat of his touch. The callouses on his palm skim my thigh while his fingers tease the lace edge of my panties. “Are you wet for me?”
“Yes,” I admit, my teeth grinding.
He glides his fingertips lightly over my panties, and I gasp. Fortunately, he can’t resist for long. Barely a second later, he slips one beneath the scrap of fabric and finds my clit. I jerk against him, a sharp hiss escaping me as my eyes squeeze shut and my head falls back against the door.
“Eyes on me,” he commands, his voice sharp. I force them open, meeting his intense gaze. He rewards me with a slow, sensual smile, his finger continuing its torturous dance. “Good girl,” he purrs.
I’m almost certain a praise kink wasn’t in the scene I wrote, but if I didn’t include it, I should have because, coming from Hays, it’s hot as hell.
He leans in, his lips capturing mine for another searing kiss. His finger moving in rhythm with his tongue, stroking, teasing, driving me closer to the edge. Then he pulls away, his breath ragged. The bastard.
Releasing my wrists, he runs a finger under each of the spaghetti straps of my dress, wiping my own moisture over one shoulder.
He leans forward to press a kiss to the trail, then follows the path with his tongue as he slips the straps off each side and shifts back so the dress can fall to the floor and pool at my feet.
I stand exposed in my heels, the air conditioning sending a shiver through me as his gaze drops to my brand new, black-lace crop bustier and matching thong. Courtesy of him.
“You are fucking gorgeous.” With a rakish glint in his eyes, he twirls his finger in the air as if he wants me to spin around. Such a simple command, but it makes me feel like the most desirable woman alive. I obey, turning slowly, feeling as sexy as hell under his intense scrutiny.
“And here’s where I go off-script,” he murmurs as I face him again, the raw need in his eyes confirming I’ve succeeded in driving him wild.
He reaches down, lifting me as if I weigh nothing. My legs wrap around him, my hands grabbing hold of his shoulders. The hard muscles of his body flex against me as he carries me down a hallway, past a full kitchen and sitting area to the bedroom.
He lays me on an oversized bed with a duvet so soft it must be a million thread count Egyptian cotton. Then he tries to sink down on top of me, but I have other plans.
I press my hands against his chest, halting his descent. His eyes widen.
“My turn to improvise.” The words come out bolder than I expect, but this man makes me feel as if I can do no wrong. “After all, you wanted me to be able to taste things properly this week.”
“Fuck, Leah,” he murmurs. “You are a dream come true. But fair warning, with a mouth like yours, I won’t last.”
“Would you say,” I start, coming to my knees as he props himself up on his elbows, “that you might be…”
I leave him hanging as I don’t bother with any of his clothes, rather, going straight for his zipper. The sound fills the silent room before I free his impressive length. My mouth goes dry at the sight of him, thick and hard and ready for me.
“…premature?” I finish as I take him in my hands, reveling in the velvety softness of his skin. I meet his gaze, holding it as I bend and slowly lick the tip, circling with my tongue.
“God, yes,” he pants, his fingers tangling in my hair as his hips jerk. “You’re about to make me earn that reputation in record time.”
The thousands of romance books I’ve read didn’t prepare me for the powerful feeling of reducing this cocky athlete to trembling need.
I smile as I take him into my mouth, my hand gripping the base of his shaft.
He lets out a guttural moan, his head falling back onto the pillow.
Smears of my lipstick cover his jaw and neck from earlier. The sight is incredibly erotic.
I suck hard, my cheeks caving in, and sure enough, his body tenses, his breath coming in short gasps. But after a few more strokes, just as I think he’s about to come undone, he pulls me off him, his chest heaving.
“Soon enough, darling,” he says, his voice rough, “I’ll let you take your sweet time sucking me. But tonight, I’m not coming until I’m buried deep inside you.”
In a swift motion, he flips me over onto my stomach, his strong hands gripping my hips and pulling me up onto my knees. He comes up behind me, hooking his fingers into the waistband of my thong, and wastes no time tugging it off. I lift my knees, helping him, my body trembling with need.
He raises the scrap of fabric to his face, inhaling deeply. I glance over my shoulder just in time to see him tuck it into his pocket.
“This,” he growls, distracting me by trailing a finger down my spine over the lace of my bustier, “is sexy as hell.”
“It comes in four other colors.”
“I hope you bought them all.”
“Not yet, but I will.” If this is what happens when I wear them.
“Good girl,” he purrs, and my thighs clench at the praise.
He bends over me, his breath hot against my skin as he trails kisses over my ass, and then lower, licking me once from clit to ass. I jolt, my cry muffled as I bury my face in the duvet.
He straightens, and without bothering to undress, he lines up and thrusts into me, hard and deep. The sensation is all-consuming, my body stretching to accommodate him. He stills for a moment, his breath uneven.
Then he starts to move, each stroke deliberate and powerful. My body rocks with the force of it, my hands twisting in the sheets. He builds a rhythm, his pace increasing, his body claiming mine in a way that’s primal and raw and perfect.
“You like this, don’t you?” he growls, his fingers digging into my hips. “You like being fucked hard.”
“Yes,” I cry, my body on fire as every coherent thought dissolves into pure sensation. I push back against him as my pleasure builds. My focus narrows to the place where I’m meeting each thrust with a hunger that matches his.
One of his hands snakes around my waist, his fingers finding my clit with unerring accuracy. He starts to circle it, his touch featherlight, teasing me even as his thrusts grow harder, more demanding. The tension within me coils tighter and tighter.
“Come with me, Leah,” he growls, his voice a low command. “I want to feel you come apart around me.”
I can’t hold back any longer. With a cry that’s loud enough to be heard down the hall, I come undone, my body convulsing around him, my inner muscles clamping down on him like a vise.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Yes.”
And then his body is jerking against mine, his cock throbbing within me as he finds his release.
We ride out the waves of pleasure, but he doesn’t pull away.
Instead, he wraps his arms around me, holding me tight against his chest as we both struggle to catch our breath.
His suit is disheveled, his expensive cologne now mixed with the scent of sex and sweat.
He presses his face into my hair. “Say yes to me, Leah,” he whispers against my ear, his arms tightening around me. “Marry me.”