Trashed / Page 30

Page 30


And then his fingers find me, and I gasp as he rubs a fingertip against my clit. He circles twice, three times, and then delves his fingers into my opening, and I’m sucking in a harsh breath as lightning rips through me. My hips lift, and he circles, and lightning strikes again, and I’m moaning, then he delves in and finds a spot deep inside me that has me gasping a whimpering groan and lifting my hips clear off the bed.

And then I’m coming again just that easily, that quickly, grinding against his fingers and moaning and I feel him over me, rip my eyes open and fix my gaze on his pastel green eyes, and I know now is the moment, now—

I’m spread open, his cock is a hot and hard pressure at my entrance, and he’s watching me intently. I whimper as he inches forward just a little, whimper from the aching burn of accommodating him. Oh, it hurts. It hurts. I’m breathless from the pain, but I’m still coming, his fingers are at my clit and circling to milk the waves of orgasm from me but it can’t bury the burn.

I’m filled. I can’t take it, can’t take it…he’s on me and over me and in me, and I’m full to bursting, crazed by the sensation of being entered, penetrated, pierced.

But it’s not frightening. His eyes are gentle and sure, watching me, and I think he has to know this is my first time, but if he does he hasn’t said anything and I don’t think he will.

He’s not even fully inside me yet, but he stops, his face showing the strain of holding back. Now that he’s stilled, my muscles have a chance to learn him, to stretch, and the burn fades, or morphs into something else, something hotter and deeper.

“Okay?” he rumbles.

I nod. “Yeah. Yeah. God, yeah.” I palm his butt, pull at him. “More.”

And I’m not saying that for any other reason than I want more. The ache and the burn and the looseness of post-orgasm is turning into something powerful inside me, and the intensity of his presence above me, his eyes, his hand fisted in the pillow beside my face, his other hand now finding my boob and rolling my nipple to make me gasp, it’s all conspiring to make me desperate for something, for more, for him.

For this.


I’m having sex.

With Adam Trenton.

He leans on an elbow, supporting his weight on one arm, the other still toying with my nipple. His mouth finds mine, and his hips move toward mine, and he’s pushing deeper.

He pulls back with his hips, and then surges forward and I feel a brief, sharp, pinching spasm of pain, like something tearing, but it’s so quick that by the time I gasp, he’s all the way inside me and the pain is gone, not even a memory and he’s sliding back out and his eyes are on mine, a curiosity in them.

I kiss him, lifting up and wrapping my hand around the back of his neck, pulling myself toward him to push my tongue into his mouth and he’s moving now, slowly, and it’s so good, so good, a burn and a stretch and a fullness and a sense of utter completion, being filled with Adam as he moves, draws out, pushes in, and the burn is pleasure now, such pleasure.

He’s going slowly, and each withdrawal makes me whimper from the loss of him, and each surge to fill me makes me groan with relief to have him back inside me.

“Oh god, Adam.” I can’t help saying it. I want him to know I like this. He has to know, from the sounds I’m making, but I want to say it. “So good. You feel so good.”

He buries his face in my neck and pushes deep, and I gasp a shriek at the depth of his thrust, at the surge of ecstasy of having him so deep. “You’re so fucking tight, Des. God, you feel perfect.”

He withdraws, and I move without thinking. I wrap my heels around the backs of his thighs and pull him back toward me. “No, I need—oh god…”

“What? Tell me what you need.”

“You. Deeper. More. I need more of you, Adam.” I blush furiously to hear myself talk that way, to say that, but he growls and leans back to sit on his heels.

His cock is stretched away from his body, and I wonder how comfortable that can be, and what he’s doing, and then…oh—oh Jesus. He rises up onto his knees, takes my thighs in his hands and slides his hands under my ass, lifts me, drags me toward himself. And oh god, I’m absolutely stuffed with him, he’s all the way in me, surely he can’t go deeper—

But then he grips my hips and holds me aloft somehow and I don’t know how he manages it, but he does, and he drags his hips back, pulling out, and I knot my fingers in the sheets beside me, my mouth falling open, eyes widening, and then he thrusts into me.

“FUCK!” I scream, my entire body jolting, my hips driving on their own into him, and Adam’s chest rumbles, his fingers dig into the flesh at my hips and he pulls me into him.

“Fuck me, Des, you feel so good. I wanna make this last, but you feel too good.” He pulls back again, slowly, and then glides in, quickly and smoothly.

I know what I want now; when he pulls back again, I wait until he’s about to start his inward thrust, and I roll my hips toward him, meet his thrust, and when our bodies clash together, I gasp breathlessly from the dizzying, heady ecstasy that thrills through me. He’s so deep, now, pushing into me until I can’t physically take any more. He thrusts, and my clit smashes against his body and I’m shaking, and then he pulls out and I groan at the emptiness, and he’s growling now with each thrust.

His whole body is tensed, as if he’s exerting all his significant power to hold back. Each thrust in is measured and careful and slow, and I realize this is because he is holding back, being gentle and careful.

I don’t want gentle or careful, not totally. I don’t think I’m ready for Adam to totally unleash, but I want him to loosen just a little, at least. I move with him, grind against him, and he starts to move faster, so I move faster with him, and I can almost predict his motions now, and I’m greedy for him, needing him more fully, needing all of him, needing his heat and his weight.

I feel the upwelling of pressure, the coiling heat, and I know full well what that means: I’ve got an orgasm coming, and I want it. But I want even more to feel Adam come, to feel him explode, to feel him take his own pleasure.

So I rock against him, wordlessly urging him faster, and he mirrors my increased tempo, and even begins to increase it on his own. His eyes close and his hands grip my hips more tightly, almost painfully, but I like it, I like the little signs that he’s losing control. And now he’s growling nonstop, grunting, really, and I like the sounds of his exertion too, like the low throaty rumble of his voice as he begins to grind against me now, not thrusting and pulling back but rolling, pushing deeper and deeper.

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