But his fingers feel too good. Too intense. Too just right. I jerk with pleasure, and then I throw my plans to screw him first out the window. “Babe, I need you inside me,” I tell him. “And I need you now.”
Grant grasps the base of his cock, offers it to me, and I take.
A blast of pleasure singes my body while I sink down, a long, languid slide onto his cock. He stretches me deliciously, and the second I’m there, on him, we lock eyes and stare.
We’re quiet, words fading into the tropical twilight.
We don’t need them.
Feelings rule the night.
His eyes pinned to mine tell me everything.
We feel so good together. Each time we get closer, we push further, we connect more. That’s how I ride my fiancé—taking him deep, savoring these sensations, loving this intimacy as my chest heats and my lungs burn.
Then, I have to talk. “Get up here. Get up here and kiss me,” I tell him.
Grant obeys, his hands curled tight on my hips as our lips crash together in a scorching kiss. He lets go of my hips, and his hands travel up my body, where he grabs my jaw, jerks me closer, and devours my mouth.
All this kissing lights me up.
Arouses me even more.
Fireworks explode as I ride him hard.
We fuck each other relentlessly with words, hands, and bodies. We use everything we have, every time.
Every stroke of his dick in me sends me spinning higher and hotter. I reach for my shaft, autopilot kicking in, driven by the desire to come.
But when I grip myself, he swats my hand away, then grabs hold of my hips, stopping me. “My turn, baby. I want it all with you too.”
With a plaintive groan, I ease off Grant, about to ask how he wants me . . . when he shows me.
He lies flat on his stomach, then lifts his ass. “Fuck me nice and slow,” Grant begs.
“Oh yes, babe. I fucking love this,” I say as I stretch out on top of him, feeling his whole body underneath mine as I angle him just so.
Seconds later, I’m all the way in, his body hugging my cock so fantastically that it’s a Christmas miracle I don’t shoot right now.
I stave off the tempting hit of bliss so I can cover him completely, my chest on his back. I brace on my forearms, thrusting my hips, going deep and deeper still as my man writhes and moans under me. Like this, I’ve got him entirely. His body is mine. His neck is there for me, and I bury my face in that spot that ignites my senses and draw long, fevered hits of his scent.
It goes to my head.
“Don’t think I can go slow, rookie,” I warn, desire hitting in hard, punishing waves.
“Then get me off. Wanna come together,” he groans as I snap my hips. I’m high on this body that belongs to me. The man that I alone can have. The heart and the soul that are my companions.
The pleasure that I alone get to give.
Yanking him up on all fours, I slink a hand under him, reaching for his shaft, and curl my palm around it.
Closing my eyes, I drive into him, stroking and moaning and loving. We gasp for air, trembling and breaking apart.
Soon, he’s jerking in my hand, his body shaking as he reaches his climax, as the bliss of fucking my fiancé for the first time takes me under too.
I let go, chasing the edge, jumping off the cliff right there with him.
***
When I wake the next morning, I can’t stop looking at my ring. Grant can’t stop staring at his either.
I officially have the best life ever.
36
River
A few weeks later
I would never fault my friend for his good fortune.
Still.
What kind of justice is there in the world of hot men, hookups, and relationships?
With an exaggerated sigh, I shake my head as I straighten up The Lazy Hammock bar while Declan and Grant bestow smooches, endless freaking smooches, all over each other. Owen is next to them, kicking back with a scotch, laughing at their romantic shenanigans.
Because . . . what else can you do?
“Please, please, please tell me, oh sexy god of love and gorgeous, captivating men,” I plead. “Of all the hotties in San Francisco, why is it fair for Grant Blackwood”—I gesture dramatically to my business partner—“to land a hot baseball player on literally his first time at the plate?”
They crack up like only the most adorable, disgustingly in love couples can, with hands and arms all wrapped around each other.
“I have good taste,” Grant says with a cocky shrug.
Declan lifts his iced tea. “I’ll drink to that. And I’ll drink to the god of whoever made the Cougars pick you in the baseball draft way back when, so you’d wind up on my team,” he says to his fiancé.