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Authors: Sommer Marsden
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out, he put that condom in her palm and watched intently as she rolled the length of latex onto him. It seemed like a million years since she’d shared her bed. Sophie knew that was almost laughable given the other night, but that was how new this felt. How captivating.
Tate smiled down at her, pushed her chest with tented fingers, and tipped her back. Crawling between her legs and parting her thighs, he stared down at her. ‘What a pleasant surprise you were,’ he said.
She damn near came with the words. If that made her girlish, so be it. She was a girl. She felt girlish. She felt connected, and yes … alive. Suddenly, her stupid assignment didn’t scare her at all. Obviously, that would pass, but for now, she went with it.
‘Spread your legs a bit more for me, Sophie,’ he said and Sophie did what he asked. She thought she’d do damn near anything he asked.
Chapter Eight
She held her breath as he entered her. Somehow doing that made everything brighter, sharper, more intense. Her body wanted to arch up to meet his, but Sophie held herself flat, let him take her in his own sweet time. She always acted – always did – and in this instance she wanted to just be. It was almost laughable. Her Zen sex approach. But something in this man inspired her to let him do it his way. To experience what he was offering.
His hands found her wrists and he braced himself there. Holding her down but also touching her. He had her trapped, in a sense, and yet the touch felt more of an embrace than anything. It stole her breath. When she gasped from it, he found her mouth with his and kissed her, his tongue still tasting of his sweetened green tea.
‘I love that sound you make.’ He chuckled. A half grin played across his handsome face. She knew it only because her eyelids kept refusing to stay shut.
‘It’s because –’ She broke off her statement as Tate rotated his hips a bit to the left, paused, shifted to the right. The sensation – the insane friction – of that moment stole her words, not just her breath.
He watched her face – reading her – and knew what he was doing to her. She could tell by the way his smile broadened and his face grew darker with desire. Tate shoved his hands under her bottom, levering her just so. That extra bit of incline pushed him right to the flush and tender places deep inside her that made her gasps turn to moans. She sounded like a cliché, but fuck, that was so not important at the moment.
His fingers curled to her backside, his fingers sinking deep into the curviness of her ass. He thrust hard, and Sophie tried to take a deep breath. Failed.
His rhythm grew faster, but it was more the dark attention of his gaze that did her in. When was the last time a lover had watched her that way – studied her reactions and her pleasure?
Maybe never.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ she muttered without realising it.
He grinned down at her, hiked her a bit higher, drove in a bit deeper. His breath washed over her breasts, warm like a summer breeze. Everything about him was warm, from the breath in his lungs to his gaze.
‘I thought that’s what we were doing.’ He laughed, rotated his hips, and watched her face as she came. He watched every bit of that orgasm rush over her, kept his gaze on her as she arched up involuntarily into his grasp, her nipples pebbled and her skin following suit. Watched her sink her fingers into the white sheets and toss her head. He watched it all, she noticed, as her eyes opened and closed of their own volition, propelled only by her sudden pleasure.
‘Yes,’ she said, nonsensically.
He let himself crush down on her. His chest smashing to her chest, the breath rushed out of her in a delicious flood. He kissed her gently, then rougher; his hands skated over her shoulders and slid down her arms.
‘Yes,’ he echoed. ‘Turn over for me, Sophie. Will you do that? Hands and knees?’
A rush of excitement plummeted to her stomach. She nodded,
Tate smiled down at her, pushed her chest with tented fingers, and tipped her back. Crawling between her legs and parting her thighs, he stared down at her. ‘What a pleasant surprise you were,’ he said.
She damn near came with the words. If that made her girlish, so be it. She was a girl. She felt girlish. She felt connected, and yes … alive. Suddenly, her stupid assignment didn’t scare her at all. Obviously, that would pass, but for now, she went with it.
‘Spread your legs a bit more for me, Sophie,’ he said and Sophie did what he asked. She thought she’d do damn near anything he asked.
Chapter Eight
She held her breath as he entered her. Somehow doing that made everything brighter, sharper, more intense. Her body wanted to arch up to meet his, but Sophie held herself flat, let him take her in his own sweet time. She always acted – always did – and in this instance she wanted to just be. It was almost laughable. Her Zen sex approach. But something in this man inspired her to let him do it his way. To experience what he was offering.
His hands found her wrists and he braced himself there. Holding her down but also touching her. He had her trapped, in a sense, and yet the touch felt more of an embrace than anything. It stole her breath. When she gasped from it, he found her mouth with his and kissed her, his tongue still tasting of his sweetened green tea.
‘I love that sound you make.’ He chuckled. A half grin played across his handsome face. She knew it only because her eyelids kept refusing to stay shut.
‘It’s because –’ She broke off her statement as Tate rotated his hips a bit to the left, paused, shifted to the right. The sensation – the insane friction – of that moment stole her words, not just her breath.
He watched her face – reading her – and knew what he was doing to her. She could tell by the way his smile broadened and his face grew darker with desire. Tate shoved his hands under her bottom, levering her just so. That extra bit of incline pushed him right to the flush and tender places deep inside her that made her gasps turn to moans. She sounded like a cliché, but fuck, that was so not important at the moment.
His fingers curled to her backside, his fingers sinking deep into the curviness of her ass. He thrust hard, and Sophie tried to take a deep breath. Failed.
His rhythm grew faster, but it was more the dark attention of his gaze that did her in. When was the last time a lover had watched her that way – studied her reactions and her pleasure?
Maybe never.
‘Fuck, fuck, fuck,’ she muttered without realising it.
He grinned down at her, hiked her a bit higher, drove in a bit deeper. His breath washed over her breasts, warm like a summer breeze. Everything about him was warm, from the breath in his lungs to his gaze.
‘I thought that’s what we were doing.’ He laughed, rotated his hips, and watched her face as she came. He watched every bit of that orgasm rush over her, kept his gaze on her as she arched up involuntarily into his grasp, her nipples pebbled and her skin following suit. Watched her sink her fingers into the white sheets and toss her head. He watched it all, she noticed, as her eyes opened and closed of their own volition, propelled only by her sudden pleasure.
‘Yes,’ she said, nonsensically.
He let himself crush down on her. His chest smashing to her chest, the breath rushed out of her in a delicious flood. He kissed her gently, then rougher; his hands skated over her shoulders and slid down her arms.
‘Yes,’ he echoed. ‘Turn over for me, Sophie. Will you do that? Hands and knees?’
A rush of excitement plummeted to her stomach. She nodded,
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