“Ian!” she cried, shoving both hands into his hair. To push him away, to draw him closer… She didn’t f**king know, didn’t f**king care. She did both in equal measure, mussing his thick hair just the way she’d imagined, and it was in every way as delicious as she’d hoped it would be.
His mouth released her with an audible pop. Gabby nearly collapsed, relief and disappointment swooping through her. Relief because she didn’t think she could take any more, disappointment because she probably would have come if she had.
He pulled her down beside him so that she lay facing him, wearing nothing now but her panties.
Ian still wore his jeans and his boots. Imagining him leaving them on while she freed his c**k and rode him spiked her heart rate even further. There was little time for imagining anything, though, because his hand slipped between them, his knuckle tracing a light path down her belly until it reached the lace of her panties. Her hips surged instinctively toward that touch.
He cupped her through her underwear, drawing a long sigh from her and an answering groan from him. Gabby spread her legs as much as she could in her position.
“So wet,” he murmured, the first words he’d uttered since she’d told him to stop talking. And it was okay. She didn’t mind if he talked like that. And the way he rubbed her…yeah, she didn’t mind if he kept doing that either. Especially when he moved the panel aside and…
Ohhhh. She said it as she thought it. His blunt fingers trailed through her wetness with excruciating gentleness, caressing, circling, avoiding all the places she needed him most but building that need with an evasive precision that had her writhing. “Ian.”
“Gabriella,” he returned, and he almost sounded amused. “I think your name is beautiful.”
“It’s too long,” she breathed, the last word broken as one of his fingers penetrated her. The sensation was so acute she reached down and grabbed his wrist. Her muscles constricted around him, trying to draw him deeper even when he had nothing more to give. She moved her hand from his wrist to his bulging cock, rubbing through his jeans. That would give her every inch she needed. And then some.
Trying not to disrupt the wonderful things he was doing between her legs, she set about releasing him from the confines of his jeans. He shuddered as she worked, and once his heavy length was in her hand—good God!—he blew out a breath as she gave him one long stroke after another. He began moving his finger in her rhythm, adding another and stretching her wider when she hooked her leg over his hips.
“Oh God,” she gasped, giving him a squeeze that drew a similar comment from him. Gently, he withdrew his fingers from her and pulled her over him again, positioning her so that her clit was nestled against his thick c**k through the damp cotton panel of her underwear. She rubbed against him, leaning down to kiss him. Showing him the rhythm she would want when he was inside her. Wonderfully, gloriously inside her.
Until his hands caught her hips and showed her a thing or two about rhythm. Short bursts of energetic thrusting, then long, slow drags she could already practically feel igniting all the right spots inside her. “Yes,” she whispered, and nibbled his bottom lip. It would be so easy, so easy, to just pull her panties to the side and slide over him. “Ian, I’m so ready. Please.”
His hands slid to her ass and pulled her up the length of his body so fast she almost toppled over him. What was he…? Oh. Oh. Even through her underwear, his hot breath branded her, and she grabbed on to the headboard to keep her balance. His lips closed over her clit, keeping the fabric between them. From behind where he held her, his fingers dipped in to rub at her entrance, and she really didn’t think she could get any wetter for him. He pushed shallowly inside her again as his teeth closed over her panties and pulled at them.
God, but she was about to erupt. Her knuckles had to be whitening with the force of hanging on. When the wet warmth of his tongue hit her right where all the sensations centered, she jerked back. “I don’t want to come yet,” she groaned.
“Then don’t,” he said, pulling her back to him. “Don’t come, Gabriella. Don’t.”
How could she not? His tongue found her again. Slow, wet, circling licks. She sobbed with pleasure, her arousal hitting peaks she didn’t think she’d ever known. He growled his unknowing victory at getting her there. One of his hands left her hips to cradle her breast, thumbing the aching nipple as she licked her lips and tried to stave off an orgasm she wanted more than anything in the world.
Her muscles jellied. “I can’t…” she rasped, and he stopped, pulling her down his body to kiss her. Letting her taste herself on his lips. From head to toe, she shook with weakness, putty in his hands. Those hands went down the back of panties and shoved them lower—and somehow he divested her of them. She was too frenzied with lust to care how. For all she knew, he might have ripped them. Gabby only had the sense about her to mutter, “Condom,” and after a few agonizing moments, he was dragging her back in place on top of him, keeping her off the bed so the friction of the mattress wouldn’t murder her raw skin.
He reached down, and she felt him positioning himself at her entrance. “Yes,” she said, distantly hearing her own voice and the excitement in it. Her body reacted on its own, pushing down on him, but he caught her and held her and made her take his brutally slow ascent. “Ian, oh God, Ian…”
His harsh breath in her ear was the only response he gave her. Was he as carried away by this as she was? He had to be. Had to be. His c**k stretched her so perfectly, so, so flawlessly, almost as if he had been made for her. Her body was alive in a way she’d never known.
Again, she felt small in the face of this, in the sheer power of their fusion, in the pleasure threatening to swamp her at any moment and carry her out like a riptide. Just when she thought he couldn’t go any deeper, he did. Just when she thought he wouldn’t make her wait any longer for the full power of his thrusts, he would. She was draped over him and at his mercy, the exact way she’d wanted to be. She tried to move, tried to show him how much she needed him to move, but her attempts were futile and pathetic.
All it took was her final, defeated utterance of his name.
His hands tightened on her; his hips drew back. She groaned into his neck as his c**k nearly slid from her wasted body. When she had but an inch or so left of him, he gave it all back. All of it. And she awakened. She rose up on her arms, staring down at him, full of him, consumed by him. There was pleasure to be had in his glorious body, and by God, she was going to take it and make it hers.
Dropping her mouth to his in a furious kiss, she lifted and dropped, lifted and dropped, taking him in, pushing him out. Tightening her muscles and stealing his breath. He joined in her rhythm, this time not fighting it, not showing her his own. His hands fisted in her hair, his body jerked and shuddered as she rode him.
“So good,” she whispered against his lips. “You feel so good, baby.”
“Fuck,” he groaned. “You’re gonna make me come.”
She didn’t care; watching him find his release would be almost as satisfying as finding her own. Almost. She rubbed her entire body against him, and even with him thick and pumping hard inside her, she couldn’t seem to get close enough.