Boldly by Elise Faber

Chapter Twenty-Three

Oliver

She was wet and hot,and he was desperate to get inside her.

Fuck, but her tits were there, nipples calling to his tongue.

He had his fingers in her pussy, but it wasn’t enough. He wanted more. Needed—

She pushed his hand away, his fingers sliding out of her on a wet sound, and moved down his body as she reached for the button of his slacks, flicking it open, tugging the zipper, yanking the material of his pants wide enough to free his cock.

And then her mouth was on him.

Sucking him deep, bobbing until he hit the back of her throat, her moans vibrating through his dick.

Two strokes and he was ready to explode.

With red creeping into the edges of his vision, his control shattered, his orgasm dangerously close, he tangled his fingers in her hair, lifted her head off him. She didn’t come easy, her lips tight, suction intense enough to push him even closer to the edge.

An edge he wasn’t going to reach alone.

Fingers tightening, he tugged her off, ignoring the pop of sound, how her reluctance to stop sucking him brought him so near coming that his toes were hanging off the cliff, threatening to drag him down into the abyss below.

Her body was still bent over his, her hot breath on his cock.

So easy.

It would be so easy to grab on to those curls again, to yank her back down.

But he needed inside her more than he needed her mouth on his cock.

Using one arm to steady her, he brought his other up, used his fingers to rip the scrap of lace she called panties down her thighs, off one foot. Not bothering with the other, he coaxed her back on top of him, felt the brush of her wet heat against him, started to tug her down.

Then remembered he needed to use a condom.

Fuck.

A bucking movement to extract his wallet, arm tight to keep her to him, fingers trembling as he tore through it, found the plastic square. He tossed his wallet on the seat, tore the condom open with his teeth, and it took him too fucking long to roll it down his length.

And by too long, it was approximately zero-point-six milliseconds.

Okay, so he was less focused on time than on the fact that Hazel was close and so wet he could see her pussy glistening in the streetlights that shone through the windows as they drove by. His fingers tightened, tugging her forward, trying to drag her down.

“On my cock, babe,” he ordered when she didn’t do anything but move forward, drag her pussy over him.

“Okay,” she murmured. And smiled.

And…sank down.

“Oh fuck,” he hissed.

Tight. Hot. So wet he was immediately balls deep.

“Oh,” she breathed, head falling back, her breasts bouncing as she ground down on him. Deep, so fucking deep. Forward and back. Up and down. Hips rocking, tits jiggling, hands gripping his shoulders tight.

His slacks were still on, and he could feel them growing wetter every time she moved against him. Everyone would know exactly what they had been doing the moment they saw him, but he didn’t give a fuck.

Because Hazel on him, his cock buried deep, his hands on her ass, holding her tight as they found their rhythm was the best fucking thing on the planet.

Her hands found his face, and she kissed him until his lungs felt like they were going to explode, rocking against him, thrusting faster by the second, the car’s movement bouncing her against him in a way that would have him hard-pressed to disagree with anyone who said car sex was the best sex.

She broke away from him, head dropping back, hips still moving, and he felt his orgasm cross that imaginary line in his mind, his body. The one that told him it was coming, there would be no stopping it, and he’d better hope to fuck that he got her there and soon because he’d be exploding, and there was no way to head it off.

He wasn’t going to come alone.

Luckily, the universe decided to throw him a bone, because just as he was thinking that, the car went over a bump and she jolted against him, voice breaking, “O-Oliver.”

Fingers into the flesh of her ass, thumb to her clit. “Keep going, babe.”

“I—”

He thrust up into her, orgasm coiling at the base of his spine, threatening to explode outward. “Keep going, babe.”

Please, for fuck’s sake, she had to keep going.

She did. Thank fuck, but she did.

And the universe threw him another solid because the car jolted again. Her breath caught. Her fingers clenched tight on his shoulders, her hips jerked, moans began tumbling out of her throat in rapid succession.

He came.

But even as pleasure shot through him, he dropped his head, his mouth going to her nipple, sucking hard, grazing his teeth over the rosy peak.

“Oh God.”

He pressed hard. Sucked harder.

She bucked.

And she was there.

Tightening around him, squeezing tight, milking every last bit of pleasure out of him. Somehow, distantly, he managed to keep his grip on her hips, to continue thrusting into her, to keep moving her against him.

Up. Down. Front. Back.

She clenched hard.

And came and came and came.

It was the best fucking thing he’d ever seen, ever felt.

Then she collapsed against him, arms wrapping tightly around him, and even though he was fucking wrecked from the best orgasm of his life, his body feeling like it had been surrounded in concrete and dropped into the ocean—sinking, sinking, sinking—he still managed to bring her close, to hold her tight.

To whisper in her ear, “I love you.”

A squeeze of her arms. Her body.

They held on to each other as they tried to catch their breath (at least on his part) and summon the strength to move their limbs (also on his part), and to say something, anything that could capture what he was feeling in that moment.

Complete.

Whole.

Totally fucking in love with this woman.

But all he could do was hold her close, breathe in the smell of her until it was imprinted on his soul, and thank the universe for bringing her into his life.