Page 75 of The Worst Best Man

“Yep. Okay. Yeah,” she said, her voice husky.

He didn’t need reassurance. In moments, she was back to begging as he fingered her in ways she’d never experienced. That thumb. Those magic fingers. The feel of his thick shaft probing her through the material of the briefs he’d yet to remove. His heavy breath that she could not only hear but also feel against her bare skin.

There was only so much build up a girl could take before she exploded.

Frankie cried out into the pillow on a particularly masterful crook of his fingers. She was going to explode and take the entire apartment building down.

Aiden groaned, low and guttural. “I feel you getting ready to come.” He leaned down and bit her on the shoulder.

That quick slice of pain was all it took to snap her like a guitar string. She let go and hurtled into the orgasm. This? This was otherworldly, and Aiden was her new universe.

Chanting praise, he continued to pump his fingers and thumb into her and she shuddered and trembled through her release.

Aiden played her body like a maestro.

She felt his weight shift behind her, sobbed out a plea when he pulled out of her. And then she heard the foil wrapper.

He stroked himself against her, priming his cock, and Frankie spread her knees just a little wider, inviting him in. It took nothing more.

Aiden notched the crown of his dick against her, gripped her hips, and drove into her.

Decadently full, Frankie welcomed the invasion. The noise he made at the back of his throat drove her wild. Frankie reared up, arching her back.

He closed his fist around her hair and used it to hold her still while he began torturously slow, measured strokes. She was so glad she hadn’t insisted on gelato.

His other hand was never still, stroking and squeezing her flesh as if he wanted to explore every inch of her body. Aiden’s grip on her hair disappeared, and when he gripped her by the hips, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and looked back at him.

He looked like a god lost in the throes of passion. His jaw was clenched. The cords of his neck stood out against the strain. His eyes were hooded.

“I love when you look at me like that,” he gritted out the words.

“Like what?”

“Like I’m the center of your universe.”

That connection, gaze to gaze, held them prisoner. His pace quickened imperceptibly at first before speeding up, faster and faster. His thrusts were so powerful they were forcing her forward until finally she was flat on her stomach accepting his full weight on her back.

“Aiden!” she called out his name. The climax building again inside her was terrifying.

He grunted softly into her ear, lost to the wild rhythm.Take, his body told hers. And Frankie was only too happy to obey. He was crushing her to the mattress, giving her no room to move. All she could do was take the pleasure he was delivering.

Aiden slid his hand between her legs, cupping her exactly where she needed his touch. “I’m coming, and I need you with me,” he told her.

He slammed into her—once then twice—and, on the third thrust, held as he shouted victoriously. She met him there, her walls closing around him as her body fell into spectacular freefall. “Fuck, Franchesca. Baby,” he groaned against her ear.

It only made her come harder. His cock pulsing inside her, his labored breathing against her neck, the weight of him on top of her. Her fingers were white knuckled on the sheets even as the waves began to mellow.

He fucked her until she was done and vibrating beneath him, and then he collapsed on top of her.

“I know I’m crushing you,” he said, “but moving is not an option right now.”

“It’s fine. I’ve accomplished all I’ve set out to do sexually. Dying like this is totally acceptable,” Frankie said into the pillow. “My mom will be so proud.”

“Speaking of your mother—”

“Aiden, you’re still inside me. I don’t like where this is going.”

He laughed softly against her neck. “Am I still invited to Sunday lunch?”