Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
“Looks like these might be too sensitive,” he whispers.
“Uh-huh,” I swallow an aroused knot.
He’s placing electric kisses against my neck, my jaw, my collarbone, and I shudder as each one pricks my nerve-endings. I pulse between my legs. Donnelly, Donnelly, Donnelly. His name is trapped in my throat.
My free hand flies to his waist. Holding on. I’m holding on. I’m ready.
And then he tells me, “I’m flipping you over.”
Right. He has to check out my back and ass for potential tattoo placements. Or is he going to enter me from behind? Can both be possible?
I’m on my belly now, and I stretch my arms upward like I’m sunbathing in the nude. A few billiard balls knock into my legs, the sensation cold unlike the heat of his hands. I crane my neck, doing my best to look at Donnelly.
He’s knelt on the pool table. To avoid a head-on collision with the chandelier, he bends towards my body.
“Zero tattoos on this side,” he says, sliding his hands down my shoulder blades. “Blank canvas.” I strain my neck just to watch him assess my body. He seems entranced by every inch of my slender back, which curves toward my tailbone, then rises into the slope of my bare ass. Exposed in my thong.
“What about getting one on my spine?” I ask, loving the idea of a large back tattoo. “But big.”
“You want big?” His brows hoist, a carnal look in his eye. It’s a dangerous look that I covet and crave.
“Mmm-hmm,” I nearly moan, and Donnelly sinks down on me. I feel the firm muscles of his chest and abs against my back, and I dizzy as I face forward. His strong arms glide over mine, sheathing me with his body like we’re in a solar storm together and I can’t be exposed to the elements. It’d make a hot fic.
I mentally jot this down for a short story later.
His lips brush my cheek, then ear. “I’ll give you big.” He grinds forward, letting me feel his hardness against my ass. Fuckfuck. He pushes again.
“Yes,” I cry. “Please.”
He moves one arm off mine, just to hook a finger in the band of my thong. I think he’s about to yank them down, but he draws my panties higher up my hip. The fabric teases against my swollen pussy.
I moan into the table. “Donnelly.” My pulse is out of control now, the anticipation rattling me. “On my ass,” I rasp. “One on my ass.” I hope I’m making sense.
“You want a tattoo here?” He gets me. Donnelly slaps the side of my ass, and I mumble out pleasured yeses. He grabs the flesh, soothing the sting, and I dig my ass back into him.
A choked groan escapes his mouth, and he mutters my name into my ear. With his two hands, he cups my hands together above my head, and he flexes his hips, rocking forward. It would be deep, penetrative sex…if he actually penetrated me.
I arch back into him. Pleaseplease. He grinds forward, forcing my hips flat on the table. Oh…God. I throb and clench. The pillow from our tattoo session got knocked on the floor, but I don’t think I’d even need it propped under me. I’d rather Donnelly take hold of my waist and angle me himself.
…I wonder if he has done this to me?
Brain itch. I can’t see any piece of this memory though. A new kind of frustration mounts.
While he simulates sex from behind, I writhe beneath him. The friction is torturing me in the best-worst way. I sense his muscles contracting, and it’s clear we’re both losing it. His kisses are more ravenous against my neck, and he has a handful of my hair. I’m reaching back and trying to yank down his pants.
I want him inside of me.
I expose his ass.
I feel him reach down between our bodies. I hope he’s adjusting himself so he can push inside me. Instead, he rubs my clit.
I twitch and moan out his name. “I need…please.” It’s killing me.
He’s whispering against my ear again, telling me to breathe this time. Am I breathing? My hips lift. I grip the wooden edge of the pool table. Take me, take me, take me.
I’m on birth control.
He already knows I take a pill every night. So this wouldn’t stop him from just slipping in, but he’s not pushing inside of me. I don’t feel that abrupt fullness.
As I cast a quick glance back, I see a flicker of resistance in his eyes. Nonono. It’s suddenly clear he’s not about to fuck me for the first time (that I can remember).
Before disappointment surges, I shut my eyes and listen to the pulsating, needy ache between my legs. I don’t want to only come by his fingers. I need more.
“Can you put the pool cue in me?” I ask so quietly, but I no longer question whether he can hear me. I know he can.