Page 113 of The One Month Boyfriend (Wildwood Society)

I arch off the bed and make a noise, hands sinking into his hair as his hand lets my thigh go, his palm sliding inward until his thumb is stroking my lips and now it’s his turn to make that noise because I’m pretty fucking wet right now. Then he’s sliding his slick thumb over my clit and I make a noise that’s part grunt and part sigh and part barnyard animal, and I swear to god he laughs against my nipple.

Then he releases it with a lick and looks up at me, and even in the sunlight his pupils are huge, eyes dark with lust.

“There?” he says, grinning.

“Yeah,” I whisper and he keeps rubbing, circling, driving jolt after jolt through me.

He shifts slightly, the rhythm pausing for a second, and then his fingers are knuckle-deep inside me and after a second my whole body jerks as he finds the right spot and then his whole hand is moving with the same rhythm and I swear to God, I’m going to dissolve. Just turn into goo, right here on this bed, because Silas is very fucking good with his hands and I had no idea.

He kisses me again. My lips, my neck, bites my nipple and then swirls his tongue around it. I’m thrusting back toward him, one hand around his cock, one leg half-wrapped around his hips. I want to shout and beg and plead, and I can’t even form enough thoughts to figure out for what. Just more. Of this. More and more and more.

But then his lips are at my ear and his fingers are slowing and I’m fighting another whimper by biting my lip so hard I can taste blood.

“Can I fuck you?” he asks, thumb still lazily circling my clit.

My mouth is dry as the desert, and I swallow.

“Yes,” I whisper. A single brain cell flares, briefly, back to life. “Condom?”

“Of course,” he says, but he’s already pulling his fingers out of me, wrapping his hand over my thigh again, opening the drawer of his bedside table and rooting through it.

And rooting through it.

“Goddamn it,” Silas mutters as he pulls the whole thing out, haphazardly tossing it onto the mattress and digging until he finally comes up with a foil packet. He holds it up, grinning at me, and for some reason I laugh. He shrugs, rips it apart with his teeth, and rolls it down his long, thick cock. When he sees me watching he strokes himself a few more times, hips thrusting toward his hand, and fuck. Fuck.

“Yeah?” he says, and his voice is slow and teasing and gravelly, a smile tugging at his lips even as he holds himself over me with one hand and slowly fucks his other fist. I watch, brainless, almost happy to let him come this way.

Almost.

I get a hand and a knee under him and in one hard, fast motion, I shove Silas onto his back, locking my knees on either side of his hips as he lets out a surprised huff only now he’s grinning, his cock bobbing in front of me.

I grab it, stroke it. I lean over, one hand next to his head, press my mouth to his and swallow his moan.

Then I sink onto him, and I swear to God Silas shouts and I probably would, too, if I could make any noise at all because fuck, he rocks up into me, pushing even deeper and I grab the headboard, the air rushing from my lungs, my eyes sliding shut.

“Oh,” I manage to say, and Silas instantly stills, fingers digging into my hips, breathing harsh.

“Are you o—”

“Yes,” I grit out as I push back onto him as hard as I can because holy fuck, I need this. It’s been a long time since I was with anyone and there’s no sex toy in the world that can substitute for another person gasping and swearing between your thighs while you ride them as hard as you can. At some point my glasses slide off and everything goes blurry, Silas gripping me so hard it’ll probably leave bruises, his hips rising off the mattress to meet me.

It’s hard and fast and so, so good. I swear a lot, probably say please a couple of times, and definitely leave fingernail half-moons in Silas’s shoulders as he buries himself deep as he can in me, over and over again.

When I move one hand to my clit, Silas groans. His hair is stuck to his forehead with sweat, the muscles standing out in his arms and shoulders as he holds onto me, eyes wild and lips parted.

“God, Kat,” he gets out. He’s staring at my hand on my clit like he’s mesmerized. “Yes. Fuck. Show me how you—”

I come before he can finish his sentence, pleasure opening and swallowing me before I even know it’s coming. I bite my lip and whimper, gasp. Silas arches up into me and holds me down as I grind my hips into him, helplessly, dragging his cock against those hyper-sensitive spots inside me while my vision goes white around the edges.

“Holy shit,” Silas whispers, like his voice is about to break. “Jesus, that was—you’re—”

“Good,” I manage to say, somehow slurring that one word.

Then he’s sitting up. His hand is in my hair and he’s dragging me toward him for a desperate, messy kiss, his tongue in my mouth and his cock still buried in me. I’m boneless as he rolls me over onto my back and I barely manage to wrap my legs around his hips as he thrusts, one elbow next to my head and one hand on the headboard before he comes with a garbled stream of oh God fuck yes yes more Jesus good yes.

We don’t move. Silas rests his head in the curve between my neck and shoulder, my hand in his hair, as we both try to catch our breath. I think I’m trembling. I’m definitely sweaty as hell and I feel kind of high.

After a moment, Silas pulls out and rolls off and I take a deep breath, utterly wrung out. I can feel a drop of underboob sweat slide off my ribcage and onto the bedsheets, and I have never cared less about anything in my life, ever.