“Oh my God. Oh my God. You’re everywhere at once. I can’t…” He sinks his teeth into me and I whimper, something sparking in my chest when he licks the spot and makes a gruff, protective sound. “Please, I need you.”
Jason eases his fingers out of me and I cry out, panting, aching as he rises to his knees, unbuttoning his board shorts and shoving them down. “I can’t remember when I didn’t need you,” he says, looking me over head to toe, as if deciding where to start his meal. “I love the way you scream when I fuck you, but we can’t have that tonight. I should cover your mouth and take it slow, but you’ve been working me up for months. Slow isn’t happening the first time I take you in my bed. I’ve been lying here tortured.”
“I’ll be quiet,” I sob, scrambling to my knees, not totally positive if I can keep my word. Jason is the only one who has ever made me scream. Or slap another human being, for that matter. And this afternoon, I had control over exactly none of those things. I’m out of control and that lack of restraint is already proving addictive.
I raise my arms up over my head, feeling wild and uninhibited. With a quirked lip, Jason whips my dress off over my head and we face each other, kneeling. Inevitably, my attention is drawn to his huge erection, where it protrudes from the opening of his shorts—I can’t exactly miss it since the thickness is bridging the distance between our bodies, the head resting on my belly, making a damp indent. Taking it in my grip makes me moan, because I can feel the ripple of anticipation that passes through him, the veins beating where they run up the sides of his hard flesh. Wanting me.
“You’re thinking of climbing me again, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I breathe into a laugh.
He smiles in a way he’s never done in front of me. I know what brings it on. I’m indulging his need to be needed. I have no choice. It’s the most authentic impulse I’ve ever experienced. Needing this man. He takes care of our protection, then slaps his ridged stomach, causing moisture to build between my thighs. “Do it, baby.”
There’s nothing ladylike about the way I walk forward on my knees and loop my arms around his neck. I’m laboring to breathe as I pull myself up, watching his nostrils flare as I wrap my legs around his waist, putting myself on level with his mouth. His shaft flush with the wet material of my panties. “Like this, Jason?” I murmur, meeting his eyes through the sweep of my eyelashes, because apparently I’ll never get rid of this demure streak. It’s too firmly ingrained. And that’s okay. Pressed to this man, I’m nothing but the sum of my parts and he’s aware of them all. Likes me better for them.
Jason’s flesh swells against me, a shuddering breath leaving him to ghost over my mouth. “Why don’t we see how long you can stay prim and proper…” His hands mold my bottom in a rough grip, sliding me from root to tip along his smooth arousal. “While I’m riding you up and down my cock. Never a hair out of place on my Naomi, huh? You don’t know how often I thought of making a mess out of you.”
I think of the first time I saw Jason shirtless, cleaning his boat with the cigar stuck between his teeth. How our stark differences and the errant thought of opposites colliding made me weak, hot. Now I know it turned him on, too. “I don’t like messes,” says an old version of myself, chin lifting. “I like neat and polite.”
His big chest rises and falls. “That right?” I try to keep my features schooled as he reaches behind me, guiding his flesh between my thighs. “Why don’t we find out for sure?”
He uses the head of his erection to push aside the swath of nude cotton and tucks himself inside of me. One inch, two, before wrenching my hips down the rest of the way, filling me completely with a male grunt. An ocean of waves crashes in my ears, pleasure yanking on undiscovered ropes inside of me. I throw myself forward and whimper into his shoulder, not checking the impulse to bite him. Because Lord, Lord…there’s nothing like having him occupy me. That moment of creating one person from two. It’s real. And he wouldn’t want me to hold back. No, he’d be pissed about it if I did.
That thought almost curls my lips into a smile, but it disappears into an O when Jason uses his hold on my bottom to lift me, lowering me down at the same time his hips pump hard.