Page 22 of Wildfire (Owl Creek #1)

I pull Cole's shirt over his head as his hands push mine up over my bra before he shoves the black lacy cups aside to release my breasts. His mouth covers my nipple, sending a shock wave right to my core, making me buck in his lap.

My hands probe his back, clawing at his muscles as he rolls my nipple over with his tongue.

My body is lit up from tip to toe as he moves his mouth from one nipple to the other, and all I can think is that I need him inside me.

I want to feel myself stretched over the cock that is rock-hard under me.

Over the girth I am grinding against as he teases me to the edge before pulling me back again.

He works my shirt and bra off and then gently lays me back on the couch as I still straddle him. My center feels the absence of him the moment we are no longer crotch to crotch.

He runs a finger down the center of me, stopping at the button of my jeans and carefully releasing them.

As he fingers the zipper down and opens up my fly, I watch his handsome, square-jawed face.

This man is so careful and kind, yet he has a devilish look in his eye I've never seen before. That look is for me.

Wetness is pooling in my black, silky panties. He cups my core before lifting my ass to tug down my jeans. The feel of heat from his hand sends another wave of pleasure up from my center to my nipples, and they respond to his attention.

I try to pull him to me. I want to feel his chest against mine.

I want every inch of my skin to make contact with his, but instead, once he pulls off my jeans, he looks at me.

My knees are bent on either side of him as he sits between my legs.

My clit is throbbing, aching for him to take me, but instead, he begins running a finger down the inside of my thigh.

The throbbing hitches another notch, and my breath becomes short and clipped.

I'm not going to last long with him touching me—any part of me.

Cole runs his finger down my other thigh, this time letting it come to a stop as it meets the edge of my soaking wet panties. He dips a finger underneath the fabric and strokes me. I buck again as a moan escapes my throat.

In the past, I was always in control. I could always hold back the most profound pleasure until the end to prolong the feeling, but I don't think I can do that with Cole.

My flesh is throbbing and aching as he teases me with his finger.

Never touching my center, never plunging himself inside of me. And watching. Always watching.

I've never been with a man who wanted to see how his touch affected me. Who cared about how I felt. I can orgasm pretty easily, so most of my exes were just happy that I was an enthusiastic fuck. But not Cole. He checks everything he does for my reaction. He checks to make sure I am feeling good.

He scoots off the couch and sits on the floor next to me, with his hand lingering on my center.

Then he gently swipes a finger across my center again, this time pushing one finger in and pulling it back out before pressing it against my bud.

His touch is like a button being pressed.

Bolts of electricity shoot up both sides of my torso like the two sides of the nerve in my core send out warning signals— this one will be a doozy.

He rolls my bud with his finger, dipping inside and getting himself wet before running it over me. I reach out again to try to pull him on me, but he resists. Moments later, he ducks his head down and runs his tongue up the inside of my leg, and I think this is it.

I'm a goner.

He reaches up to my hips and rolls my panties down, finally pulling them off of me so I am bare in front of him.

Open and ready. And despite knowing that making love to him is going to make it hurt like hell to leave, I want it.

I want him. I want to feel every part of him on and in every part of me.

I want to feel like it did when he was in my arms, and we were rocking together as he released his fears.

Because what he doesn't know is that I was releasing mine, too. It was as if we were syncing up and letting go of whatever thoughts and beliefs held us to the past. To the places that birthed us and formed us.

And now I want to give myself to him. To open up and let myself have him, even if it is just for this one night.

Cole runs his tongue along the edges of my core as his thumb finds my bud again. His hot breath warms my cells until I feel fluid in his fingers. Malleable.

He pushes some fingers inside me just as his mouth encloses my bud, and I am transported. It's like I am floating on a cloud as his hands and mouth work me until my back is arching high off the couch and my toes are curled up so tight they ache.

"I want you inside me, Cole."

A groan escapes his chest. Deep and animal-like.

I find the wherewithal to use my hands, and I reach for the waist of his jeans to unbuckle them.

Instead, he pulls his hands and mouth away and then stands in front of me.

All muscle. All man. He undoes his jeans, pushes them down to his ankles, and then drops his boxers.

Light from the kitchen dances across his chiseled frame. He stands above me as I run my hand up and down his leg, admiring his physical form.

"I'll grab a condom from the bedroom."

"Move as fast as possible." I pant as I watch his perfectly sculpted ass retreat into the other room.

He is back in a flash with his erect cock bouncing as he steps over our clothes to kneel over me on the couch.

I watch him rip open the condom and roll it on.

I have never ridden bareback before, but damn it if I don't secretly want it right now. I don't want anything in between us.

He positions himself between my folds as I rock back and forth. My hips are under his spell, and I can't stop myself from trying to press him into me. Once he is lined up, he slowly presses forward, stopping after the head of his cock is all the way inside me so I can adjust.

Yeah, he is big.

I feel my insides spasm as my body reconfigures to fit him, and it is a deeper pleasure than I have ever known. My vag is doing cartwheels with him inside me. He presses himself deeper inside, gripping my hips to pull me down. Again, my body adjusts to him, and again, I feel spasms in my core.

Once he is sheathed to the hilt, we start rocking to a rhythm, much like the rhythm of a song.

Only this is a song for the two of us, our own melody.

My body is meeting him thrust for thrust as the pace quickens and the urgency grows.

The only thing that exists is us. The only thing that matters is us.

I feel my body racing toward a climax, but I want to feel him longer. I don't want this to end. But before I can shift position to try and slow down my orgasm, it is as if some jet fuel is added to my system, and I rocket into the stars.

Cole keeps a slow pace as I ride the orgasm, and then he flips me on my side and drives me into the couch.

His thrusts are deep and primal and pull the animal out of me as I screech and moan.

He reaches a hand down and massages my bud as his pace quickens, pulling another orgasm out of me just as he drives himself as deep as he can and releases his load.

He collapses on top of me, panting and sweating, and we tangle our legs and arms together again. He plants a few kisses on my head before his hooded eyes meet mine.

"You're perfect, Wildfire."

And that is the last thing I hear before I close my eyes.