Breaking Through

She wrapped her hands around his neck and slid along that rock-hard shaft. With every inch she became more lucid, and by the time he pushed her ass up Miranda was ready for him. She slipped her hands back into his hair, this time in the fluff at the back, and grinned at him as she began to push against the mattress to bounce over him.

‘Do you have any idea how dirty I feel right now?’ she said in the face of the expectation that was written all over him.

He groaned. ‘I was wondering how long it would take before it set in that you’re not the good girl you think you are.’

‘I never said I was a good girl,’ she countered, shunting over the thick head that plugged her, ‘but there’s something about you that makes me feel incredibly naughty.’

‘That’s because I’m a very bad man and a terrible influence.’ He said with a breathless rasp. ‘I’m not your type. I should leave, but if I do that I’ll drive myself crazy wondering how good to me you can be.’

‘Maybe, but you’re my bad influence right now,’ she murmured, and pressed her lips close to his ear. ‘So big and hard for me, and I’m so wet. How’s that for good to you?’

He clamped down and dug his fingers into the spheres of her ass. She realised she’d rendered him speechless with her body and her words. In moments he had gone from that grinning fiend to this grunting, rutting beast. He rolled her onto her back, keeping hold of her ass as he pumped her.

As the force of his body driving into hers became frenzied she remembered those marks on his ass and closed her fist in his hair. The harder he thrust against her, the harder she twisted.

Miranda egged him on, a filthy cheerleader chanting words into his head. With his grip keeping her down, his upper body crushing her, her voice and her hold on him were the only weapons left in her arsenal, and she made him bleed.

‘You gonna come in my tight pussy again?’ she hissed into his ear, and set him off like a bomb.

He curled his fingers into the flesh and spread her open as he pounded into her and lost the rhythm of his thrusts. He dragged her into the chaos with him, and once more Miranda was left breathless as he pushed the air out of her lungs with every thrust.

She held onto him, lungs burning from want of breath, as Simon became an engine running out of gas, then deflated completely and flopped away from her.

‘Jesus’ was all he said, his gaze vacant as he looked up at the light fixtures above their heads.

Miranda squirmed next to him and slung her arm over his sweat-dappled chest. Her head fizzed, but at least she could see straight. Simon rolled his eyes and blinked, and after a moment he gave himself a shake.

He turned his head to her and gave her a goofy grin. ‘So much for my plan to pace myself.’

‘Really? That was your plan?’

‘It was, and usually I’m pretty good at it, but as soon as you started with the dirty talk I couldn’t help myself.’

He sucked in a deep breath, and as his broad chest lifted Miranda couldn’t resist running a flat palm across the expanse. His heart still thumped and his breathing was still erratic, but otherwise he looked absolutely spent. He groaned when he tried to roll over, and cursed as he tried again.

‘I know I talked big, but I don’t think I’m going to have it in me for another round,’ he told her.

Miranda shook her head. ‘Me, too. Or, three. It was three, right?’

He reached out and gave her hip a pinch. ‘Four, thank you very much.’

‘Oh, no, thank you, Mr Reeve,’ she tittered as he pulled her close.

For a moment they only breathed together, her hand splayed on his chest and his on her waist. It was nice, and for a moment Miranda entertained the idea of just closing her eyes and letting him stay there with her throughout the night.

Simon quirked a brow, and Miranda’s stomach flopped as though he had read her thoughts and decided that now was the time to bolt.

‘You don’t watch the news much, do you?’

‘Why? Are you a serial killer?’

‘No, but …’ He struggled up onto his elbow and seemed to be struggling for words. ‘I was all over it about a year ago. Do you remember the Connell Davis scandal?’