Page 107 of Trusting You

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Page 107 of Trusting You

She starts moving it, up and down, and I’m following the pace, hips bowing, but the dry friction is making it uncomfortable.

Carter bends her head and spits, offering a natural lubricant that has me doing everything in my power not to ram down her throat.

I look down and blink. She must see the confusion on my face, because she asks, “What? Does that gross you out?”

“The exact opposite, actually,” I grind out. “But…”

She tilts her head, the picture of innocence that I just want to fuck out of her, over and over. “But what?”

“I thought, uh…” I’m deeply aware of her hand, still tight on my cock. “I thought you might be a virgin.”

Carter peals out a guffaw. “You…huh? You did?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Am I that prudish to you?” She asks it in a way that’s more amused than mad.

“No, not at all.” Fuck. I’m backpedaling. I’m scrambling for words, and this gorgeous girl is ready to jerk me off, and I’ve initiated awkward conversation. “It’s—well, you’ve been kind of skittish…”

And now I’ve referred to her as a horse.

She laughs again, but it’s a light sound, not a humiliating one. “It’s been a while, is all. A long one. And I’m not…as talented…as you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, with full knowledge that my dick has been made into a slip-and-slide, by her, and she knows what to do with that fucking hand. “I’ve been dreaming about that mouth of yours around my dick. How you’d leave your lipstick marks on it.”

Even in the shadows, I see her expression darken with desire. “You have?”

“Hell, yes,” I say. “So why don’t you show me.”

She smiles, and it’s with confidence. Hoo-ya.

And when Carter bends down, she leaves her eyes on mine.

Fuck. Yes.

Each movement forward, each movement back, she doesn’t tear her gaze away.

Not as talented, my ass.

I grin, meeting her with thrusts, watching her take all of me. And when she purrs, lets loose a little, delighted sound at how I fill her mouth—that’s it.

I bury my hand in her hair and pull out, but not because I want to stop. Oh, hell no. Because I need to bury myself in her, right fucking now.

Carter squeals when I toss her onto her back, her body so light, firm, and toned in my hands. I cover her with mine, my face up against hers, and I kiss her, long and deep. Her lips are swollen, from both my kisses and my dick, and I groan.

She spreads her legs underneath me, tightens them around my hips.

“Right now, Locke,” she says against my mouth. “Right now, before I lose it.”

I don’t need to be asked twice. In one maneuver, both of us so slick, wet and hot, I go deep. Carter cries out, her nails carving crescents onto my shoulder blades. I lift onto my hands so I can see her better, so I can spot each and every firelight in her gaze as I pound, circle and urge her into another orgasm.

I look down, where we’re connected, a few times. I want to see all of her, imprint every single movement and sound into my memory.

She’s the one for me.

I pause, frozen mid-thrust, at the errant, unwanted thought.

“What?” she says, her voice more breath than sound. “What is it?”

I shake myself out of it. “Nothing. I’m good.”

“Okay,” Carter says, but she’s still unsure. I have to hammer any uncertainty out of her. Out of me.

So, I do.

We work together, she and I, both of us finding the perfect pace, the smacks of our bodies turning us on, and when I come, I see her face. I watch her go half-lidded when she orgasms, and I curl my lips before taking hers and pouring the sounds of this new intoxication into her mouth.




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