Page 87 of Tracking Luxe

Hardwired to always fail.

He was harder than the iron throne, it weeped at the tip, eager to go home.

Prowling over her, he locked her in, tense and sweating muscles trembled from exertion, he’d been giving her head for what felt like a week, getting her ready, making her insane to be fucked in the way he needed to fuck, looking down into that pale face with her smattering of beauty freckles across the bridge of her nose, bare pink lips pouted, daring him, taunting him in her silent way she always had.

How long had it been? Months, weeks, days, years?

He felt like he’d always been fucking Addison even when he wasn’t. Even when she was out of his sight he’d been fucking her with the tenacity of someone insane.

No more waiting, he couldn’t. His cock jutted painfully reminding Texas just how long it had been since he’d sank into something warm and soaked, he placed it at the opening of her wetness, notched himself up to drag against her clit.

She inhaled and said his name sweetly.

A crease appeared on his forehead, a cringe to only have silence. He didn’t want her to talk, couldn’t have that voice in his ear, he raced his tongue into her mouth to swallow all her words.

He pressed deep and hard and had her with a mindlessness that completely took him over, sent him somewhere else, where only orgasms and nails raking down his spine made any sense.

He pumped andrammedher pussy full of the cock that obsessed over her. Eyes clenched closed, listening to moans of ecstasy that felt wrong, itwaswrong.

He couldn’t get into her deep enough, it was never enough, frustration clawed at his skull, pushing even harder.

Texas reared back, took a lung full of sweet air and drove forward again, hitting bottom.

The women with the exemplary reputation taking it from the outlaw she was ashamed of, the same outlaw she hated for turning his back on his family.

It was almost comical.

It wasn’t right. It wasn’tright. His skull bristled with the guilt.

He distinguished it somewhere, even as sweat dripped into his eyes, when his back turned to steel and his hips had no rhythm, only feeling the wet clasp of hot sex so incredible the roar came out of his chest like a speeding bullet.

He was making her come.

He shouldn’t. This wasn’tright.

He was coming.

Couldn’t stop.

Hips giving their last uneven drives. She was so fucking wet he felt her everywhere on his bare cock, her lithe ballerina body pressed up against every inch of his.

Couldn’t stop.

Addison mewled his name, he filled her up until she was dripping.

Oh, god.Oh, shit. And then that look flashed through her eyes as they pinged open.

Guilt and shame for her desires.

Growling anger, teeth bared, he wanted to punish her for it, for this need that wouldn’t leave him, fucking idiot, wasn’t he? Weak, so fucking weak.

He was brutal with his last slam, his roar filling his ears.

It was the force of Texas rearing up off his own bed, leaving the mattress completely as he pumped fresh air that hurtled him back into full consciousness, the dream breaking away, leaving him shaken and horny with shudders from his spent orgasm still tearing through his bloodstream.

Lungs felt broken as he heaved for oxygen, falling back to the bed, sheets wet underneath him, he’d spilled his climax all over his belly.

For hell’s sake, a wet dream at his age? The climax had annihilated him from the inside. He was disgusted in himself. Couldn’t even control his lusts in his damn unconscious mind.