Hard and Fast (Fast Track #2)(29)
Author: Erin McCarthy

Ty squatted down in front of her. She shivered in anticipation, knowing precisely what that meant. He was going to do those amazing things to her with his tongue.

“Keep your hands above your head, but reach over and grab the doorframe,” he told her. “You’re going to need the leverage.”

Hello. Leverage for what? She did as he instructed, amazed at how easily he could get her excited, how a shiver of delight rippled through her body when he moved in front of her.

“Look at that,” he said. “You are so f**king wet it’s on your thighs. That is so sexy.”

Then he raked his finger across that moisture, raised his finger to his mouth, and sucked, his eyes trained on her. Imogen felt an answering kick of desire deep in her womb, her vagina still tender and aching from his thrusts. She actually ached everywhere, was aware of every single inch of her entire body, her skin sensitive, every muscle, every nerve ending tight and poised for pleasure.

“I like that you get nice and wet,” he said. “It’s very satisfying to see it, to feel it, to taste it. It means you want me.”

“I do want you.”

“Slide down the wall,” he said. “Still holding the doorframe. Just slide down, nice and sexy, and spread your knees apart while you do.”

She realized then part of the appeal of Ty’s directives. Imogen had never felt particularly sexy, had never known how to use her body to visual advantage, had never felt comfortable posing and displaying herself. Ty was teaching her, probably without even realizing it, how to do just that. How to take advantage of both the tactile and the visual appeal of her feminine shape and intimate places to drive a man deeper into desire.

So she followed his instructions and bent her legs so that her bare bottom and back slid down the cool wall, holding on to the door for balance. When she was down about halfway, she took a deep breath and opened her knees, exposing herself fully to his view, watching to see his reaction.

It was a good one.

His eyes darkened and he rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb as he drank her in, not looking at her face, but between her legs. He put his hands lightly on her knees and gazed up at her with a look so intense, so hot, that she sucked in her breath.

“I hope you’re flexible.”

Wondering what he had in mind for her, fairly certain she would like it, Imogen still had to admit, “Probably not.”

“We’ll work it out.” Ty lifted one of her legs. “Hold on.” He placed it over his shoulder so that her knee hooked him.

The shift shot her butt up in the air and threw off her balance. “I’m going to fall,” she said, grappling at the doorframe.

“No, you’re not. I’m too close to the wall for you to fall. Stop wiggling and relax.”

“I’m not . . . ahhh.” Imogen forgot what she had been about to say when he bent forward and deftly inserted his tongue inside her. “Oh, my God.”

He moved in and out, quick, swordlike thrusts that had her making sounds she hadn’t even known she was capable of. The soft moistness of his tongue, coupled with its width, tripped off shudders of ecstasy with each stroke. She could feel him so acutely inside her, his nose bumping against her clitoris.

Ty lifted her other leg up, so they were both on his shoulders. His hands were on the small of her back, and somehow between the wall and his grip, she didn’t seem to be in any danger of slipping down and smacking her head on the floor. Not that she really cared, because it was the hottest, most erotic position she had ever been in. It was kind of like riding on someone’s shoulders in reverse. The only way she could be more fully enveloping his face would be if she were sitting on it, and that would not have the added bonus of knowing it was his strength holding her up. Imogen turned her head side to side, held on, and let him do the most delicious things to her with his mouth while she regressed to a time before language, expressing her pleasure through whimpers and guttural groans.

There was no time, no awareness of the room, cold or hot, dark or light, just the feel of him and her taut, overstimulated body. There was just him, just his mouth, his hands, his breathing, his ability to strip away all her thoughts until she was empty except for the acute pleasure, all her focus on one spot, one spot only. The tightness was building in her again and she quieted down, feeling it sneaking up on her, wanting to reach for it, wanting to fall over into that explosion, but Ty pulled away abruptly and eased her legs to the ground.

She blinked at him. Holy shit. He had done it again, and she couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not. “I was about to come.”

“I know.” He reached for her hand and stood up. “Come here. Wrap your legs around my waist.”

“I can’t. My legs don’t work.” She wasn’t lying. Her entire body felt boneless, and her calves were shaking from the strain they’d been placed under. Her inner thighs pulsed and ached in incompletion.

He didn’t bother to argue with her. He just swung her up into his arms with more urgency than gentleness and marched over to the bed. Imogen held on with what little strength she had left while he leaned over and yanked off the duvet one-handed, revealing cocoa-colored sheets, which he deposited her on. She was on her back, sideways on the bed, and he grabbed her knees and yanked her down so that her legs dangled over the side. He stepped in between her knees and pushed inside her.

She loved that moment of first impact, when a man entered her and her entire body moaned and sighed and accepted him, and with Ty, it was even more so. It was primal, possessive, the way he gave that hard thrust, his arms on either side of her, his expression fierce and urgent. Ty was quiet, his lips tightly pressed together, but Imogen couldn’t contain her pleasure as he filled her with steady strokes, and she moaned, letting her legs fall farther apart. Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her hands on his back and felt the movement of his muscles as he worked hard pumping in and out of her.

Then he shifted slightly and hit a spot that had her soft caresses turning into hard, nail-scraping grabs as she held her hands in place. Each time he withdrew, his body moved back as well, sending his back into her grip, and she knew she was tearing up his skin, but she didn’t care. There should be evidence tomorrow, scratches and bruises to show how hot and hard they had come together. “Oh, yes, right there,” she moaned.

“You like that?” he asked, staring down at her with satisfaction.

“Yes. Oh, God, yes, please. Please.” He had found an angle that nudged her G spot, and Imogen almost forgot to breathe as he hit her over and over.