Page 20 of The Wildest One

“I’m saying, I think I owe you for what you just did to me.”

He ignored me, rolling the condom over his shaft.

Since we’d met, Beck had called me perfect more than once, but that title really applied to him. In fact, I didn’t think he could be more perfect—a theory that was confirmed as I took in his beautifully thick, powerfully long dick, his mushroom head bubbling with pre-cum.

“You can suck my dick later. Right now, all I can think about is putting it inside you.”

He gave his cock several pumps and tugged me toward the very end of the dresser, tucking my legs around him and putting me in a position that aligned him with my entrance.

“Kiss me,” he demanded.

My wetness was even on the strands of his mustache.

“But I’m all over you.”

“And?”

He punched forward a little, giving me a sample of his size. It was just a hint, a tease of his crown, nothing more.

“I can’t even imagine what it would be like to taste myself.”

“I want you to find out.” His lips hovered above mine, but they didn’t touch me.

“But—”

“Tonight is going to be all about things you’ve never had or tried.” He brushed his thumb over my clit. “Like what I just did to your pussy—that was one. Kissing me while your cum is all over me—that’s two.”

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and as I locked him in my grip and attempted to reply, “I—” he drove all the way into me, his lips slamming against mine at the same time, stopping me from responding.

But what he couldn’t prevent was my moan.

The loudness of it. The way it vibrated against his mouth. The way it slashed through my chest and cut through the air.

Oh God, he felt incredible.

Especially when he twisted his hips, rotating within me, hitting walls that didn’t know they needed friction, but they did.

He stayed just like that, giving me small pulses while he ravished my lips, keeping me from voicing words so all I could do was make sounds.

And I let out plenty.

Because the more he kissed me, the more I tasted the flavor of Beck Weston, the less I cared about what was on his beard or where his mouth had been, and I could only focus on him.

The pure pleasure he was giving me.

That only continued to get better.

He leaned back just enough to hiss, “Fuck yes,” and he held on to the base of my neck, his fingers tightening as he thrust in and out of me. “You’re so fucking tight, Jolie.”

“And wet.” I couldn’t believe I’d spoken those words, but I also couldn’t believe how wet I was. How wet he’d made me. How wet he was still making me.

“Damn, this feels good.” His strokes turned harder.

His forehead pressed to mine, his breaths hitting my face, the smell of him as good as his taste.

My arms unraveled from around him and went to his pecs, cherishing each muscle and the outline of his abs, the grooves between each one swallowing my finger. “Beck!”

“Do you want me to slow down?”