He’s hot and glistening with sweat, his face ruddy, his brow furrowed in concentration.
I should leave him alone. Let him work.
But he’s so incredibly beautiful. So utterly masculine. So intense with those taut muscles all strained with exertion.
On a whim, I reach for the hose, spike the pressure, sneak across the stall and call his name.
Then I shoot him with the water.
“What the—” He whirls around, his mouth open and shock in his eyes.
At first, anger radiates off him, which only makes me redouble my efforts, accidentally spraying him in the face. Whoops!
“That’s it,” he sputters, a laugh bursting out of him.
Thank God, he’s amused.
“You’re in trouble, little girl,” he yells, wiping his face with his one arm and chucking a huge sponge at me with the other. It lands with a wet plop across my thin white tank top and slides down.
I gasp. It’s fucking freezing. Goosebumps break out along my arms, my nipples pebble, and I shiver again.
But I don’t get a chance to retaliate because he snatches the hose out of my hands and shoves it down the front of my shirt.
“That’ll teach you,” he says in my ear, pressing my back to his chest.
“OH, MY GOD!” I squirm. Fight. Fling my arms. Screech with laughter while the frigid water shoots down my shirt, through my shorts, and along my legs, puddling at my feet.
The whole time, he holds me to his hard body while I flail.
Tiny Dancer glances back at us with a bored expression while I freak out and squeal.
“You are a very bad girl.” His voice rolls through me, singeing the parts of my skin that brush against him.
“You should definitely punish me.” I can barely get out the words because I’m laughing and out of breath and so turned on, I might burst.
I try to wiggle out of his hold, but his grip tightens as he lifts me up, and despite the blast of water tunneling down my clothes, when my ass grazes the huge erection in his jeans, I groan and thrust back.
Need fires through my veins, and just like that, we’re a tangle of eager hands.
I don’t have to tell him how I feel. He knows.
The hose drops to the ground and we stumble to the side of the stall, where he pins me to the smooth beige wall.
“Wanna fuck you so hard,” he groans against my ear, his voice gravelly.
“Do it.” Please, God, do it.
One hand dives under my shirt and bra, palming my sensitive skin, kneading and pinching, making me gasp in delight at his roughness. The other snakes under the leg of my shorts.
The rumble of his chest tells me he likes what he finds when he slicks a finger against my skin—me swollen and wet and so ready.
Back and forth he teases while he seals his mouth to my neck. He sucks and licks and bites me, all the while grinding his cock against my ass.
We’ve had amazing sex. Sweet sex. Sultry sex.
But this is different.
This feels out of control.
Desperate.
Impulsive and wild.
His breath is ragged and his fingers dig into my skin, and he’s telling me how he can’t wait to fuck my pussy. How I make him so hard. How I’m the only woman who’s ever made him this crazy.
“Hurry,” I gasp, needing to feel him.
He releases me, and I whip off my tank and shove down my shorts. The clink of his belt hitting the floor is the last thing I hear before he’s on me again.
My damp back makes a slick sound when he yanks me to his sweaty chest, but the feeling of his hot erection, full and thick against my thigh, makes me arch my spine.
“Hold on to this. Don’t let go,” he commands.
Bracing my hands on a bar just above my head, he explores my nipples and my waist and the wet valley between my thighs. All while I hold on to the warm metal.
But the sweltering heat of the barn makes it hard to breathe, and watching his movements along my body makes it harder still. Watching his hand move under my panties. Seeing his forearm flex and contract while he works me over, the pounding of my heart resonating from somewhere beneath the pad of his coarse fingers.
He knocks my legs farther apart so he can breach my opening. I’m already so close to the edge, his touch has me crying out.
“Remember, don’t let go.” His voice is tight.
I’m nodding even though I’m confused why he’s stepping away, but when he dips to his knees in front of me and grabs my ass, pulling my thighs to his face, all I can do is moan and writhe.
From this angle, I can see every movement of his tongue as it parts my lips and licks up my center. The erotic movement of my hips as I ride his face. The searing pleasure in his eyes as he watches me come apart.
My body is still twitching with delirium when he positions himself behind me, slides himself against my folds—once, twice, three times—and drives into me with one epic thrust.
Fuck me standing. It feels too good, too intense, and my knees quake.
“Hold. On.”
And then he’s hoisting my thighs over his, and I tilt forward, barely clinging to the bar. Except I don’t want him to stop. Don’t want him to put me down. My knuckles are turning white, but I won’t let go.
I feel like we’re doing some crazy acrobatic move I read in Cosmo once, maybe the Wheelbarrow or the Superwoman? But my torso is more upright, and at this angle, my thighs are snug against his hips as he tunnels in and out of me, and that tension, all that delicious pressure that has me strung tight, makes my core clench and strain against his huge intrusion.
But before I can analyze how I’m feeling so good, so euphoric even though my arms are this close to slipping off the bar, I’m coming again and screaming, shuddering around him.
“Oh, fuck, baby.” He grunts as his cock swells and jerks inside me.
Gasping and panting, we barely keep from tumbling to the ground. Just as my hands slip, he hugs my torso tight, leaning me against the wall. Gently, he puts my legs down, and with a wicked smile, I realize he’s still twitching inside of me, so I nuzzle back and let him finish.
“Tiny Dancer got an eyeful,” I joke, loving how he’s nestled against me, arm slung around my chest, his face tucked into my neck.
When he doesn’t respond, I reach back and thread my fingers through his hair, but I’m met with silence.
With a groan, he slides out of me, and I wince at the bite of pain between my legs, but hell, I’d take being sore any day if it means sex that hot.
I watch as he takes care of the rubber I didn’t even realize he’d slid on earlier. I’m on the pill, and he knows that, but he’s been meticulous about using condoms.
We’re quietly putting on our soggy clothes, and I’m wondering why he hasn’t said anything, when he reaches for me and clears his throat. “Are you okay, baby? Was I too rough?”
Smiling, I reach up to stroke his face. “I love every kind of sex you have to give me. Feral happens to be my favorite.”
A chuckle vibrates his chest. “I love having you here. You and my kids are the best part of my day.”
My stomach quivers, every part of me lighting up from what he just said as he leans down to kiss me.
It’s sweet and soft and a complete one-eighty from what we just did, but it makes me want to take an emotional snapshot of this moment. Of us and his gentle touches in the half-lit barn. Of the tender look in his eyes that tells me more than any words he’s uttered. Of the full-bodied wave of affection welling up in me for this man.