by Meghan Quinn
I stop his hands from squeezing and glide his fingers to my nipples. “Pinch them. Make me feel. Take me somewhere else.”
Without replying to my demand, he grunts and snaps my hands to my side, the straps of my bra tickling my skin, heightening my senses. He reaches behind me and with one flick, my bra comes undone and slips off my body. Even though my breasts were already out of their confines, I feel more exposed.
Thinking he’s going to go back to my breasts, I prepare for his hands but instead, he runs his fingers along the waistband of my thong, digging into my sides, and sliding awfully close to where I’m desperately wet for him. My breath hitches when his hands splay across the front of my torso, his fingers dancing where I ache, to where I’m burning with need. I feel like I’ve wanted him for so long, even though I’m only recognizing it. Him. It’s him. I’m not simply horny. It’s Racer. He sees me. Wants me. Needs me.
“You’re so soft,” he murmurs while pressing kisses along my shoulders. “So fucking silky. I could caress your skin all fucking night and be a happy man.” And he does just that; he doesn’t touch me where I want him to, where I think I’ll explode, but instead he relishes in the way my skin feels under his fingertips.
Across my stomach, down my thighs, across my ass, up my back, to my arms, across my collarbone, to my arms again, followed by my stomach. It’s a circle he keeps on repeat while relentlessly pressing his lips against every erogenous zone along my neck, shoulders, and ears. Goosebumps are deathly high on my skin, my body’s on fire, and my clit pounds uncontrollably. My stomach bottoms out with each pass of his hands that don’t touch my arousal and then flips upside down when he barely skims my panty line or the underside of my breast.
It’s torture.
Magnificent torture.
I reach behind me and grip the back of Racer’s neck, latching on to something. I play with his hair, letting him know just how much he’s affecting me, how much I want him to continue. I grip tighter when he passes over the underside of my breasts again, moaning with his tense fingertips.
Barely able to speak, I breathlessly say, “I’m so wet, Racer. For you, I’m so wet for you.”
“Fuck, Princess,” he groans as his pelvis carefully starts to grind into me. “You can’t say things like that to me when all I want to do is take my time.”
“Please don’t. I need you, Racer. I need you now.”
Without saying a word, he glides his hands up my stomach and cups my breasts. I moan louder than expected and melt into his chest for support. Every inch of me is focusing on two things: the way Racer is squeezing my breasts and the unyielding pounding in my clit. Never have I known this level of pleasure. I’ve never felt such a strong burn inside me, a need so heady I may cry if I don’t find release. I want release. I want him.
And when I think he will never give it to me, he pinches my nipples with his forefingers and thumbs. I cry out loud and lean my head against his shoulder, my hands holding on to the back of his neck for support. “Yes,” I cry and he pulls and rolls my nipples, never giving in, always taking. “Touch . . .” I take a deep breath as he pulls again. My eyes snap shut, my body trembles, and for a moment I think I may orgasm, with one more pull . . .
“Touch . . . me.” He pinches harder and I scream his name. I’m pulsing, a heartbeat of pure white-hot pleasure in my core knocking to be released. Tension builds, blood flows to one part of my body, and a lonely tear leaks out the side of my eye when I don’t think I can take any more pressure.
“Please,” I beg, as I try to hold on. My resolve is breaking, there isn’t much more I can take.
And then he moves one hand down the front of my stomach. With each pass, my clit pulses harder. My thong is soaked. He did this to me; he brought me to the point where I’m balancing on the apex of one hell of an orgasm. I need him to blissfully push me over.
His breath against my skin is like a warm blanket as he continues to travel his hand downward until it’s lifting my thong and touching my pelvic bone. He pauses causing me to cry out. Please don’t stop now. Please don’t do this to me. I don’t think I can take any more.
He softly kisses my cheek, forcing me to turn my face. We meet halfway, and the moment our lips connect he presses two fingers inside me. I gasp into his mouth, and I’m silenced with his tongue. His tongue and fingers working in unison; he works me, sending me into a frenzy of sexual bliss. With two fingers inside me, he presses his thumb on my clit and applies pressure while his lips mold with mine. He’s such a good kisser; his mouth should be illegal. I could get lost in his lips for hours.
He starts to pulse his thumb and when he curves his fingers upward, I stand on my tippy-toes as I moan into his mouth. My vision starts to tunnel black, my feet go numb, and all I can focus on is what this man is doing to my body.
One thrust, two . . . three, and oh God!
“Yes,” I cry out, moving my hips on his hand. “Oh God, yes.” I fall apart and come on his fingers, my orgasm ricocheting through me until I can no longer stand. My legs wobble and before I can even think about falling to the floor, Racer is scooping me up into his arms and taking me to the bed.
A white, fluffy comforter surrounds me as I try to catch my breath from one of the most powerful orgasms I’ve ever experienced. Who is this man? How did he know every fantasy I’ve ever had? How can he give me . . . that?
Racer stands above me, his erection straining his pants. His shirt is tossed aside, and he rakes his hand through his messy blond hair as he takes me in with those devastatingly sultry eyes of his. In his work gear and boots, his backward hat, and treasured pencil behind his ear, he is all male and obscenely hot. But this side of him? This side of him is sexy sinister, suggesting wicked things in our future. And I’m ready. So, so ready.
The muscles in his chest ripple as he leans forward and grips both sides of my thong. He doesn’t give it a second thought when he pulls my underwear off, leaving me completely naked. He pockets my thong and stares down at me, pulling on the back of his neck. He smiles wickedly.
Even in my lust-induced haze, I ask, “Why are you smirking like that?”
“Because”—he leans forward and hovers over me on the bed—“you’re so fucking gorgeous and about to get fucked every which way. I hope you’re ready.”
I bite my bottom lip and say, “I hope that’s a promise.”
“I can guarantee it is, Princess.”
To solidify his promise, he bites down on one of my nipples and pulls up on it. On a gasp, I lift my chest to his mouth as he nibbles and then releases me. “You’re so receptive. I fucking love it.”
He pulls away and leaves me on the bed breathless. I watch as he reaches into his bag and pulls out a box of condoms. He sets them on the nightstand, and if I wasn’t desperate to have him climb on top of me, I would tease him about how sure he was about this weekend. But I have no strength, so I leave it and watch him undress instead. Which is not a chore.
When he removes his shorts, I’m greeted with the finest man I’ve ever seen in a pair of boxer briefs. His skin is smooth and tight; his shoulders are broad, strong, powerful; his pecs flex with every move he makes, reminding me that I’m about to be with a dream man. When my eyes trail down, I’m reacquainted with the abs I’ve seen on many occasions when he lifts his shirt to dry sweat off his brow, but this time, I get to stare. Admire. Touch. The V that cuts his waist defines his body, pointing all my attention to the erection pushing at his briefs.
He bites the corner of his lip as he stares me down, his eyes blazing. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, he brings them halfway down, teasing me as his arms flex in anticipation. I’m about to lean forward and pull them down for him when he slips them off and pushes them to the side.
I stare.
I stare so hard.
Standing in front of me is pure male perfection, from his predatory heated stance, to the thick and long penis between his legs, and even the smirk on his face. I have no other option bu
t to stare, to take him all in, to memorize this moment, because I doubt I’ll ever see someone as perfect as him in my lifetime.
“You’re making me harder by the way you’re looking at me, Princess.” His voice . . . it’s rough, scratchy . . . needy.
“Is that even possible?” I answer quietly as my legs instinctively part.
“Seems like it.” He nods at the box of condoms. “Put one on me.” The demand sends shivers through my veins because he didn’t ask. He growled it, and hell if that didn’t make me more wet. More ready.
I tear open a packet as he steps toward me. Instead of putting it on right away, I decide to tease him a little. I place my hands on his thighs and smooth my palms over the strength in them. His cock jolts in front of me and as I edge closer to him, pre-cum glistens his tip. Leaning forward, I press my tongue against the head of his cock. He groans, but I keep my hands still, only letting my tongue barely touch him. I flick my tongue back and forth, causing him to groan and steady my head with his hands.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his breath heavy.
“Giving you a taste of your own medicine.”
“You’re going to make me come if you keep that up.”
I smirk up at him. “Isn’t that the point?”
His eyes go dark and a growl pops out as he lifts me up and tosses me on the bed. He quickly follows and hovers over me. My hair fans out around me and he grabs a chunk of it, twirling it in his fingers. “No way am I coming in your mouth. I’m coming inside you,” he whispers inches from me. “I’m going to come inside you while you’re wrapped tightly around me, my name rolling off your tongue.”
His lips descend onto mine. At first he’s soft, gentle, exploring as his hand plays with my hair, his erection casually rubbing along my leg. It’s so carnal, my mind doesn’t quite know where to focus. I want him inside me, I want him to kiss me deeper, I want him to pull harder on my hair.
Moving my hands to the back of his neck, I pull him in closer and swipe my tongue across his. A feral growl escapes him and seems to set him on fire. Mouths open wide, our tongues tangle, search, seek for release. He pulls on my hair a little harder, and his cock moves toward my entrance. I spread my legs farther until he’s now resting between them. I move my hips, seeking his length. When it hits my slit, I buck up and feel the long smoothness of his cock run along my throbbing clit.
“Oh, yes. God, yes,” I moan into his mouth as my body melts.
“Christ.” He tenses. “So fucking wet. So goddamn wet and hot.”
His tongue retreats from my mouth and starts working its way down my body where he nibbles on my nipples, biting harder than I expected. Holy shit . . . this man. I dig my fingers into his back with every bite and pull. On the last one, my chest lifts off the bed as I use him as an anchor. “So good,” I cry, wishing he would spend hours worshipping my breasts. Before I can ask for more, his head disappears between my legs and his tongue is running along my clit.
My legs fall completely open and my hands grip the sheets beneath me. He presses down on my inner thighs, keeping them wide as he buries his face between my legs. Using his entire mouth, he kisses me up and down, flicks his tongue along my clit, and sucks it in with such magical precision that I’m panting, sweat coating my skin, a darkness of pleasure looming above me. Never. Been. This. Good.
I’m going to come . . . again.
“Racer,” I start to breathe out heavily, “I’m going to—”
“Not yet.” He pulls away, takes the condom I unwrapped for him, and sheathes himself. “On your stomach, Princess.”
“Wha—” Before I can finish my sentence, he flips me onto my stomach and hovers above me.
On either side of my head, his hands prop him up as he leans down over me to speak into my ear. “You like your hair pulled, don’t you?” I nod, not ashamed to admit it. “Good, because I’m going to need something to grip on to as I bottom out in that sweet pussy of yours.”
He lifts his face from my ear and presses his lips down my back, his tongue running the length of my spine along with little nips from his teeth. When he gets to my butt, he pauses for a second and then kisses my tailbone. It’s a sweet, intimate move that has me panting, gripping the sheets, waiting. Wanting.
“Lift this beautiful ass up for me.” His body is no longer over mine, instead he’s directly behind me, and surprisingly without embarrassment, I lift my butt and angle it high in the air. “Fucking sexy.”
His hands smooth over the roundness of my butt, almost in a massage-like motion as I feel him pull me closer to the edge of the bed where he stands. One of his hands runs up my back, along my spine, and tangles in my hair. Carefully he pulls back so my head is lifted from the mattress. My entire body is arched from my position, and I couldn’t be more ready.
The touch of his sheathed cock presses against my entrance and as I breath out a long breath, he enters me . . . slowly.
From the urgency of him flipping me on my stomach, I thought he’d be fast, that he’d fuck me right off the bed, but he’s delaying gratification in the best way possible.
“Fuck, you’re tight, Princess,” he mutters as he continues to bury himself inside me. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I squeak out. “More, give me more.”
He grunts and moves in deeper until I feel him fully inside me. With one hand gripping my hip and the other in my hair, he pauses and catches his breath. “You feel good, so fucking good.” I move my hips, trying to urge him but he holds me still. “Give me a second, beautiful. Let me—” I move again and he grips my ass tighter. “Fucking hell, hold on one second.”
“Can’t. Please . . .”
“Hell.” He pulls back on my hair some more, leans over and pinches one of my nipples. “Hold on, Princess.”
With a grip on my breast, he pulls out and then slams back into me. The power behind his thrust shakes my bones, sends shivers through my nerves, and causes my toes to tingle. This isn’t going to take long at all.
His fingers are relentless on my breasts: plucking, squeezing, pinching. His hand in my hair never lets up: pulling, tangling, yanking. His thrusts shake me to my core: hard, powerful, deep.
This is nowhere close to making love.
He is fucking me, and he’s fucking me hard.
I want this to last forever. I want to capture this feeling and hold on to it. He’s so robust, overwhelming, consuming. I’m lost. I’m lost in this man’s touch, his words, his grunts, his cock buried so far inside me I’m confident I will never catch my breath.
He pounds into me as sweat coats my skin, and my vision starts to blur. Throbbing, everything is throbbing. With every thrust, his groans become louder and louder, my cries grow until finally he buries himself so deep I fall over the edge.
Everything around me goes black as a searing wave of ecstasy washes over me. I fall; I fall hard as Racer thrusts three more times and then quietly grunts my name, my full name. Hearing it roll off his tongue in the moment of sweet bliss makes my heart flutter too damn hard.
“Fuck, Georgiana,” he breathes out. “Fuck that was . . . perfect.”
I couldn’t agree more. I just hope that wasn’t a one-time thing. I’ve never felt so full . . . or satisfied.
In a haze, I hear Racer take care of his condom and quickly return to bed where he turns me over, greets me with a lust-filled smirk, and then scoops me into his arms only to lay us back down in bed. He covers us up and holds on to me tightly as he rests his cheek on the top of my head.
“Georgie . . . Fuck. I’m lost. We fit. We fit so fucking well. Not letting you go now.”
Not letting you go. I feel exactly the same. He told me he’d fuck me into forever, and he did. Was it his physical strength that made that so good? Was it his stamina? His lust for my body? He’s right. We fit, all right. It was perfect, and I want more. But in this moment, in his arms, I want this. I want to be held.
“You do like to snuggle,” I tease, loving the way I feel protected.
“Told you I did.” And he doesn’t say that in a smug way. He seems just as amazed and surprised as I am.
I dance one of my fingers across his chest casually and listen to his heartbeat slow down. “This still doesn’t mean you’re my boyfriend.”
He chuckles, and I love the deep rumble he makes. “I’m not worried, George. I have all weekend to change your mind.”
Does that mean he actually wants to?
He snuggles me closer and plays with a strand of my hair. All weekend? If I wasn’t so stubborn I’d be asking for the title right now. Begging for it actually.
Because one thing is sure, Racer is a man I will never forget. It’s possible he may have ruined me. That’s the effect of absolute bliss. That’s the effect of an unrestrained Racer McKay.
Chapter Nineteen
RACER
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Last night, fuck, it was amazing. It was more than amazing, it was . . . indescribable. Never in my life have I connected with another human being like I connected with Georgie. The oenomel Georgie I cherish swept me into her little world, peppered kisses all over my body, and gave me a piece of her I wasn’t sure I would ever have.
And I didn’t want any of it . . . That’s what I told myself going into this weekend. Don’t get wrapped up in the woman. Don’t let yourself lose track of what this is all about. But hell, sitting next to her in the car, being awkward toward each other, I needed it to change. Once I opened up, I was a goner, especially after I saw understanding in her eyes.
I lectured myself on staying away but I can’t. I’m drawn to her. I’m enchanted by her sweet and caring side and then mentally walloped by her sass. The pushmi-pullyu is addicting, the sense of raw magnetism we feel for each other, the fights, the fucking . . . the cuddling, shit.
I want it all.
“Are you ready for this?” Georgie holds on to my hand for dear life, wearing a white sundress, high-heeled red wedges, and a giant look of concern . . . for me.