Page 60 of The Finish Line
Her exposed throat.
Stroke.
Her breathy moans.
Stroke.
The unguarded love in her eyes.
Stroke.
Her perfect tan thighs spread out before me, tight pink pussy glistening.
Stroke.
The feel of her wet heat on my fingertips.
Stroke.
Her pebbled peach nipples.
Stroke.
My first desperate thrust inside her.
Jaw tensing, spine tingling, heat emanating from my every pore, I’m just about to grunt her name when the bedroom door opens, and Beau comes barreling through with Cecelia behind him, her eyes widening when she sees me.
“Oh,” she whispers, darting her eyes away before palming the handle to close the door.
“Don’t you fucking dare,” I hiss, which freezes her movement. I release my angry grip on my cock and stride toward her, leaving it untucked from my cheap sports shorts as her eyes widen a little further with every step I take. When I reach her, I crowd her at the door, gripping her hand from the knob and cover my raging dick with it.
“You.” I wrap her fingers around me, gripping her hand and lead it along my length to stroke. “That’s what I’m thinking about. You.” I bend eye level as her breath picks up and her dark-blue eyes pool. “I saw the wisteria in your garden, and it reminded me of that day. Remember that day, Cecelia?” My cock jerks in her hand. I run her curled fingers along the length of my shaft, and we move together as her full lips part. I lick along her lower lip. “You.”
“Tobias—” She tries to release her palm, and I jerk my chin, tightening it around me.
“I didn’t come here to play fucking roommate.”
Inhaling her scent, I continue to guide her hand down my length, cupping her palm over the head before pulling it back down, a curse full of pleasure leaving me on exhalation as I show her my need.
“I know,” she rasps out.
“Do you remember that day?”
“Of course, I remember.”
“Have you come thinking about that day?”
“Yes,” she replies hoarsely.
“Then you remember how good it felt the second I pushed inside you.”
“Tobias,” she whimpers as I lick along her lips, drawing them into a responsive kiss. She grips me even tighter, eliciting a groan from deep inside of me as we get lost in the past, summoning that morning into her bedroom. Veins thrumming with the need to claim, possess, and destroy her hesitation. I rip myself away to watch the rise and fall of her chest before my gaze rolls down the rest of her.
“That’s a nice outfit,” I grit out as she strokes me without prompt, her purse still hanging from her shoulder. Fingering it off, I relieve her of it while doing my best to restrain the beast roaring inside of me. “You look beautiful.”
“T-thank you.”
I’m tempted to laugh at her reply, but I’m too fucking hard, too needy, and on the verge of making a fool of myself. Years of pent-up longing, of need, of lust, of devotion, of love, threaten to overtake me. I want her too much, I always have, and at this point, I want to punish her just as much as she has me, but it wouldn’t be just. But when she smears the precum over the head of my dick with her thumb, I snap. “Sorry, I’m about to ruin it.”