Free Underneath It All (The Walsh Series #1) by Kate Canterbary Page B

and the slight smirk pulling at her lips told me it was what she needed, too.
    “You’re all mine.” I growled against her neck and rocked into her hard, quietly begging her to utter that raw request over and over.
    “Is that what you want?” she whispered.
    I groaned into her mouth, kissing and biting and murmuring that it was exactly what I wanted, that she was what I wanted. Pumping frantically as I neared the end, I laced Lauren’s fingers with mine, our eyes locked, and she whispered those words again, soft and low, and nothing like the bomb she dropped earlier.
    One hard thrust and we were falling from the bed, tumbling to the floor with a thud, a heap of sheets and pillows and blankets cushioning our fall. That didn’t stop the lightning zipping through me, or the explosion leaving my brain blank and muscles numb, or the rolling, pulsing spasm in her center.
    Breathless, I collapsed on top of her, my face buried in the crook of her neck. Everything about Lauren was orders of magnitude better than I imagined when she walked into my office earlier today, and now I knew the taste of her skin, the scent of her hair, and the beautiful obscenity of her mind. “Are you all right?”
    Lauren nodded, and I estimated how long she’d let me stay this way. It was a funny thought, actually; staying rarely crossed my mind. I was usually concerned with getting off, getting up, getting out.
    I pressed my lips to her pulse and rolled, slipping free from the vise grip of her heat. “Stay here. Don’t move a muscle,” I said.
    The short trip to the bathroom was grueling. My legs barely propelled me forward, a gelatinous feeling taking up residence in my muscles. Discarding the condom and running a damp washcloth over my dick bordered on torture. The orgasm wrung me out, and I needed some down time in the form of my head on Lauren’s soft belly and my fingers tracing the lines of her body, and with any luck, her hands in my hair. Boobs were also excellent pillows—hers in particular.
    I found her standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows, gazing into the harbor. It was the type of image photographers and painters waited entire careers to capture, and it was here, for me. She looked over her shoulder, licked her lips, and beckoned me closer. Heat spread through me like a fever, and I was stirring to life at the sight of her lush curves bracketed by the night sky.
    Maybe I didn’t need that snugglenap as much as I originally thought.
    “When did you start on your long,” her eyes dropped to my crotch as I approached, “list of dirty things?”
    “When you opened the door to the church hall. Your ass. In that skirt.”
    “That skirt makes me look short and boxy.”
    “I respectfully disagree, Miss Halsted.” I swatted her ass and pressed myself against her back, bringing my arms around her waist.
    Even shorter without the ass-kicking heels, Lauren’s head rested low on my chest and my cock made itself comfortable against her back. Reaching between us, she gripped me, caressing lazily. “So tell me: what went on the list first?”
    “An ass as fine as yours should be worshipped by taking you from behind.”
    “What did you have in mind?”
    “Kneeling, your back against my chest, so I can hold your tits,” I hissed, her fingers shifting lower, cupping my balls. “Because I’ve been thinking about them since yesterday. And facedown, hands tied.”
    “I think I like that list.” Her strokes increased, and though I didn’t think it was possible to come again so soon, I was teetering on the brink. Wrapping my fingers around her wrist, I stopped her movement and pressed her hand to the glass.
    “Don’t move,” I whispered against her ear. A condom snatched from the bedside table, I was sheathed and leaning into her, her body against the window.
    “Your rebound time is impressive.”
    I pressed my mouth to her shoulder. I didn’t know whether I wanted to bite her or kiss her or just fucking howl against her skin,