Free Reconstructing Meredith by Lauren Gallagher Page B

shuddered.
    Gasped.
    Held her breath.
    Then she exhaled hard, and once again, her orgasm faded before it had begun.
    She still didn’t ask me to stop. I still didn’t stop. The demons Rich had left in her head would win this one over my dead body.
    Just as we had so many times, we made the climb again. Shallower breathing. Crescendoing moans. Trembling, squeezing, shuddering, let yourself go , baby …
    She teetered there, right there, balancing on that fine line between giving in and pulling back, and I encouraged her to inch toward giving in, toward crossing over to that point of no return. I kept fluttering my tongue on and around her clit, kept stroking her G-spot with two fingers, kept going, kept going, a little faster, kept going, kept—
    With a breathless moan, she surrendered. Even with my arm across them, her hips lifted off the bed. Her body writhed against me, and her pussy tightened almost enough to prevent my fingers from moving at all. She gasped and trembled, rocking her hips in time with my hand, fucking my fingers as her own hand gripped my hair.
    I backed off. My fingers moved slower now, and with my tongue, I made gentle, languid circles around her clit without actually touching it. I let her just begin to catch her breath, then carefully moved in on her clit again, keeping my touch light so she wouldn’t get painfully sensitive.
    And just as I’d hoped, that first orgasm crumbled whatever had kept her from letting go, and it took mere moments to make her come a second time. When she did, I didn’t even have time to mentally thumb my nose in her bastard ex’s direction, because my own need for release—my need to fuck her until neither of us could take anymore—overwhelmed me.
    The instant her body relaxed and she released a long sigh, I withdrew my fingers. Moved up. Over her. Above her. Inside her. Deep inside her. Oh, fuck, so damned tight. Her legs around my waist. Her breath on my face. Her mouth against mine. Nails on my back. Oh my God, rocking her hips. Pulling me deeper. Tighter. Tighter . So. Fucking. Tight.
    With a throaty cry, she arched her back beneath me and came a third time, hauling me right to and beyond that brink with her. I thrust a few more times, as many times as this delirium would allow, then shuddered so violently it was almost painful before I collapsed over her. The entire universe went white, went silver, went to fucking pieces all around me and in me and had I been able to release my breath at all, I’d have roared with the sheer intensity of it all.
    It was probably less than a minute, but it felt like hours before I stopped shaking enough to lift myself up on to my forearms.
    “I forgot how much I love what you do with your mouth,” she said, panting.
    I grinned. “Any time you want me to remind you,” I slurred, “just say the word.”
    She laughed. Then she reached up and brushed her thumb just below my eye. “I didn’t make you cry this time, did I?”
    “What?” I reached up, and sure enough, my eyes were wet. I chuckled. “No, you didn’t make me cry.”
    “So you just have something in your eye?”
    “Very funny,” I growled, leaning down to kiss her. “Like your eyes have never watered when you’ve had an intense orgasm.”
    She grinned. “But there’s so much more to brag about if I get to say I made Scott fucking Moore cry during sex.”
    I laughed. “You would brag about that, wouldn’t you?”
    “You’d better believe it.”
    “Bitch,” I muttered.
    “Pussy.” She giggled when I rolled my eyes.
    I tried not to grin. “Why do I get the feeling you’re going to be a bratty sub?”
    She showed her palms. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “Uh-huh.” I gave her the sternest look I could muster, but it didn’t last, and we both laughed. Then I pulled out slowly, sat up, and got out of bed to take care of the condom. As I did, I couldn’t decide what shook more: my hands or my knees. In spite of that