Page 62 of Menace in Vegas (Pucked Up Hearts #2)

62

CONNOR

I hook a finger under the strap of her sundress, tugging it slowly down her flushed shoulder, letting it slip like a secret against her skin.

She swallows hard as I reach behind her and unzip it with cruel, deliberate precision.

“Connor,” she warns, but her voice is breathy and weak.

She’s already unraveling, and I haven’t gotten started.

The heat coils between us, thick and suffocating, stealing the air from the room.

Her dress falls to the floor in a silent pool of fabric, leaving her in a pair of lace panties that were clearly not designed for survival in this bungalow.

She’s slick with sweat.

With want.

With need.

I grip her hips and pull her flush against me. “Still too hot?”

She glares. “Shut up.”

I grin, brushing my lips over her collarbone, tasting her. She tastes like salt and temptation.

“Say it, baby.”

She releases a shuddery breath, then flashes that wicked grin. “Not hot.”

“Liar,” I growl against her throat and lift her, tossing her onto the bed.

I crawl over her slowly, the ceiling fan swirling overhead while the tension wraps tighter around us.

Her skin sticks to mine, damp and desperate. Her chest rises fast, her eyes wide and blown, her wild hair splayed across the pillow like a storm.

She tries to glare at me but fails.

Her body already arches for me, begging without words.

I kiss down her throat, across her chest, tasting everything. “You’re burning up, sweetheart.”

She fists my hair, tugging so hard I groan. “Then fix it.”

Oh, I plan to.

But I’m going to torment her in the process.

I take my time.

My mouth and hands don’t rush. They explore. Teasing and devouring every inch of her until she’s writhing beneath me, cursing and begging for more.

I kiss her—slow, deep, claiming.

She opens for me like a prayer.

My hands roam every inch of her slick skin.

She’s trembling now. Moaning.

When I suck a nipple into my mouth and roll my tongue, she cries out, her fingers clawing at my back.

“Connor.” It’s a plea. A command. A broken devotion.

“Shh,” I rasp. “I’ve got you.”

My hand slides between her thighs. She’s soaked. Hot. Pulsing just for me.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” I murmur, slipping a finger inside and curling it.

Her hips jerk. Her head hits the pillow.

I add another finger, slowly tormenting her.

She grips the headboard like she’s going to break it. Her mouth falls open as I fuck her with my fingers, watching her unravel.

“Connor, please?—”

I pull away, ignoring her cry of frustration, and settle between her thighs.

“You want it?” I ask, teasing her with the head of my cock.

Her eyes are wild. “God, yes. I need you.”

That’s all I need.

I slam into her in one thrust, burying myself to the hilt.

She gasps—no, she sobs my name—and wraps her legs around me like she’ll never let go.

I still, barely hanging onto my control.

Once I calm down slightly, I begin moving, fucking her hard and deep, like I’m staking a fucking claim.

Each thrust punches a cry from her lips.

She claws at my shoulders, drags her nails down my spine, urges me deeper.

The headboard knocks against the wall, the fan spins uselessly above, and the air is thick with sex and sweat.

I reach down, rubbing her clit, watching her come apart beneath me.

She squeezes me like a vice and comes with a scream that sounds like it might destroy her throat.

I bury myself one last time and let go, coming hard with a growl that sounds more animal than man.

We collapse together, bodies tangled, slick and spent.

The curtains sway in the ocean breeze. Sunlight spills across the bed, but nothing can outshine her.

I don’t pull out. I stay deep inside, arms wrapped around her, our hearts beating together.

“Still hot, baby?” I whisper, teasingly.

She groans. “I hate you.”

I chuckle against her damp skin. “You love me.”

She exhales a soft laugh, boneless and ruined. “I really, really do.”

Her eyes meet mine, so damn clear and certain. “I love you, Connor. You’re my life.”

And just like that, I’m wrecked all over again.