They all but climbed each other. Her arms went around his neck and he pulled her up roughly against him, his hands slid over the satiny heat of her skin, over the delicate blades of her shoulders, the nip of her waist, sliding down into her shorts to cup her cool, smooth butt. He groaned with a shocking surfeit of pleasure.
He was awkward and greedy and practically shaking with the effort of asserting some sort of control on all that unleashed lust.
She was shaking, too. “Oh, God, yes, J. T....” She whispered this against his mouth.
And she tasted amazing, dark and sweet and hot and set. She kissed with carnal strategy and so did he, each curl of the tongue, each brush of their lips designed to make each other crazy hot. They both knew what they were doing and they were good at it, and if they weren’t wild before they started, they were beasts now.
In her ferocity she was hurting him a little. But he liked it. He was likely hurting her a little. It only seemed to spur them on. They were both so hungry they’d forgotten how to calibrate and it was all urgency and take take take. She came at him so hard he nearly staggered backward.
He slid his hands beneath her butt, lifted her up against his swelling cock, and they ground together gracelessly groin to groin, and her head went back on the most erotic gasp he’d ever heard. He buried his mouth in her throat beneath her ear, where the skin was tender and satiny and her heart was beating hard as a kick drum, and he licked, then laid his lips there and her head fell back.
And he carried her like that three feet to the old slab table and laid her down.
He hovered over her for a moment of near quiet, and he propped himself above her on his arms and kissed her, more softly now. He was like a drunk man. Her fingers wound through his hair, traced his ears, dragged lightly down his throat and it was like her fingers were magic wands lighting fires everywhere in him.
He touched his tongue to her nipple, then drew it into his mouth and did fancy twirls with his tongue and then sucked until she was writhing from the pleasure. His other hand savored the silky give of her other breast, his thumb chafing the hard peak. Never let it be said he couldn’t multitask.
He knew how to get the job done fast. And the job was to make her wet and begging.
She arched upward, groaned and slid one bare foot up between his legs, and dragged it hard and surprisingly dexterously up over his bulge, and stroked by way of encouragement.
“God,” he swore.
He was going to lose his mind.
“Take them off.” Her voice was ragged.
He didn’t know whether she meant his or hers, but he started with hers. He dragged her shorts down over her legs, and with them came a practical pair of underwear. Two birds with one stone! She gave a little kick and they were on the floor. He kicked them aside.
She was completely nude and lying on that table like a feast and he leaned over to kiss her and murmur, “This is going to be fast.” Part apology, part promise.
“It had better be,” she rasped.
He got his own jeans unfastened and open and his cock sprang free, and then he dangled his fingers in the dark blonde, neatly trimmed fluff between her legs and then slipped one finger into the slick heat of her, dragged it over her hard again.
She moaned low, and it tapered into something like a despairing laugh. “J. T.... I swear... I’m so close...please...”
And then he tucked her calves against his rib cage and she locked them around his waist, and he was inside her in a swift thrust. His head fell back and he swore hoarsely at the staggering pleasure. He was sure nothing in this world could ever feel as good as his cock sheathed inside the tight heat of her, right now, in a falling-down house in the middle of the woods.
There was no finesse attempt. He was dying for it and she was begging and it was, as he’d promised, fast. He drew back, dove in again, and she hissed at the pleasure of it. And then plunged and thrust with a speed his eighteeen-year-old self would have been proud of, and he was going to come with almost embarrassing speed, he couldfeelit, hovering like a presence about to yank him from his body right into the stratosphere. He kept his fingers on her in a steady rhythm, too, and judging from the moans torn from her this pleasure was nearly impossible to bear, which was reasonably true for him,too.
And then her body whipped upward and her head fell back and he could hear the raw soundless scream of his name and her fingers clutching the edge of the table as if to brace for an earthquake, as she pulsed around him, absolutely coming apart as she came.
And then he was right there with her, his head thrown back, and he roared like an animal, racked with wave after wave of white-hot pleasure.
When it was over, it was, in fact, like the aftermath of a real earthquake.
The part where everyone looks around and says, “What the hell was that? And how did we survive?”
Sounds sifted into his awareness again. Singing birds outside. Her breath. His.
He leaned forward to kiss her mouth lightly. Her hot, swift breath mingled with his. He rested his head lightly on her sternum. She was damp with sweat. He could feel her heart hammering beneath his cheek.
“You okay?” he murmured.
“I’m good. But you’re breathing pretty hard there, J. T.”
He laughed. “That was a sprint. You got to do most of it lying down.”