He looks like he’s eating chocolate cake.
He spreads my legs out even more and keeps slowly fucking me with his finger, his mouth basically making out with my clit.
He’s just as into this as I am and that makes me even hotter as I feel myself getting so close to the edge. My muscles clench and release against his fingers. I gasp and shake. I feel vulnerable and just as if he can read my mind, I feel his other hand gently pry my fingers off the edge of the desk so that he can hold my hand.
Meanwhile his face is buried between my legs, making me feel my blood pulse harder and my heart race.
I can’t take it anymore and I arch my back as I come with a scream, my legs shaking and my muscles clenching.
He stays there and kisses me softly before standing up and looking at me with his deep blue eyes, his chin wet with my juices, and the sight makes me melt.
He is so damn sexy I don’t even know who could create such a being.
I suddenly crave him closer. I need his kiss, so I wrap my legs around his hips and bring him to me, opening my arms up to him like a child, letting him know I need him here.
He bends down and embraces me completely, enveloping me in his warmth. He kisses my neck and showers kisses along my collarbones, my jawline, and then my mouth.
“Please fuck me,” I beg.
I already came but I need him inside me. Now. More than ever.
He swiftly takes off his boxers and slowly pushes inside me, stretching me out and filling me up so much I feel like he’s going to pop put of my stomach.
I gasp because he feels so good. He wraps his arms around me and holds me up at an angle before he starts to slide in and out of me. And it feels so good, hitting just the right spot, I basically come again. He pounds in and out of me and I tilt my head back, unable to control my moans.
He lays me back down on the desk, bringing my hips right to the edge and then wrapping my legs around his shoulders. Then he leans forward a bit, bringing my legs towards my chest, and thrusts deeper and I scream his name again because he is in so deep I don’t even know if I can take it.
His jaw clenches as he keeps pounding into me, little beads of sweat glistening on his collarbones.
I gasp, “God, Racer, I’m there …”
He starts to pound faster and I come, clenching around him, my body pulsating after my release. He scoops me up in his arms and sits down on a leather chair by the window, completely enveloping me in his warmth, his mouth whispering sweet things into my ear. That he’s crazy about me, that nothing turns him the fuck on like me …
It’s then I realize his erection is still pulsing fiercely against my bottom and I look up at him, confused.
“Tate … did you not? Why didn’t you finish?” I ask, confused and breathless, and before I can have a complete freak-out thinking I had done something terribly wrong he just smirks, flashing me that sexy dimple of his and he says, “I’m denying myself until I finish the race. I want to be pumped up and full of adrenaline—and amped to take on the Clarks.”
He then plants a warm kiss on my breast. “And nothing gets me riled up as much as you do.” He winks.
Wow. My mouth hangs open. I simply cannot believe this man has the willpower to fuck me senseless, give me multiple orgasms, and then not let himself finish—all so that he can use all that pent-up energy on the race track.
“Are you for real?” I laugh.
“I’m fucking high on you. On how fucking amazing it is to be me.” He pulls out of me—his dick so thick, long and hard that I can trace the bulging veins running up his throbbing length—and he maneuvers it into his boxers and zips up his racing suit, cracking his neck from side to side. “I’m never coming down from this high.”
“Is that right?” I say, giggling as I watch him.
“That’s right,” he assures, giving me a wolfish grin.
I laugh, giddy.
Sighing, I ease up to a sit, fixing myself up too.
He starts coming over, grasping the back of my head and murmuring at the top of my ear. “You look good enough to eat,” he rasps, sliding his hand over my cheek and pressing his smiling lips to my jaw. He nibbles on me.
“Racer … Racer 2.0 …” I giggle and moan. Lately he just seems like Racer Tate on steroids. A version of him in double the intensity (if that’s even possible) … Racer 2.0.
“Yeah,” he croons, and he starts to kiss me, and I can tell he needs me, that he wants to come inside me so bad, because his kiss is crazy hot.
My lips swell, and it’s a good swell. A great swell. And my heart follows. Something in my chest shudders and grows. I know deep in my gut that something isn’t quite right. He’s a little sexy and reckless and crazy right now, being more territorial, more demanding, tireless. I’m not supposed to like him like this, but the truth is that I do. I should be concerned, making sure he’s okay, but he’s so sexy and charming … and happy. I love seeing him so happy, and it’s impossible not to get caught up in it … in him.
He makes me want him more, want to have him and protect him, and be there for him when he needs me because I always seem to need him.
I embrace him to me and kiss his dimple, whispering, “You’re okay, Racer?” and peering into his gorgeous face.
And gosh, it’s a gorgeous face. Wearing the most gorgeous dimpled grin.
He pecks my lips as he helps me to my feet, his eyes roaming over me, looking at me in a really sexy and territorial way, and I run my fingers along my inside upper thigh, touching the hot little hickey he left me as he says, “Yeah,” keeping his glinting blue eyes on me for a long time.