Free The Hierarchy of Needs (The Portland Rebels #2) by Rebecca Grace Allen Page A

she remembered he liked that. Dean bucked up on instinct, head rolling to the side to allow for more. Every time she bit down it sent ripples of pleasure from his throat to his dick.
    Time to show her he still knew how to push her buttons too.
    He yanked her hands from his chest and wrenched them behind her. She didn’t fight him, just whined and rocked a little harder over him.
    Oh yes. There it was.
    Her wrists were small enough to fit in one hand, so he skirted his other one up her back and drove his fingers into her hair, fisting tight. She gasped when he pulled her head back. Dean hummed, loving the intensity of her reaction.
    “That’s right,” he murmured. “I remember what this does to you.”
    He tugged harder, and she moaned. “Dean…please.”
    “Please what?”
    He’d make her say what she wanted. After all these years, she’d better damn well say it out loud.
    “Please touch me.”
    He let go of her hair and her chin drooped forward, her eyes heavy-lidded with lust. Dean released her arms and pressed his thumb beneath her jaw, drawing her gaze up, forcing her to look at him.
    “You sure?”
    Jamie nodded, a rapid movement he didn’t want to question. She ground against him again, seeking more friction, surrounding him with heat. Fuck it all. She wanted him, and his brain was too foggy to figure this mess out anyway, to wonder what it would mean in the morning.
    He carefully drew up the bottom of her dress, hiking it over her hips, then inched his fingers down until they met satin and lace. God, she was still his fucking wet dream, all soft skin and muscular thighs. She whimpered when he lingered there, her hips shifting toward his touch. It was a heady feeling, making her wait, and he kept doing it until she let out a thin cry of desperation. Palms framing her thighs, he urged her onto her knees. Jamie balanced her hands on his shoulders, and Dean checked her face one more time before slipping his hand into her panties and tracing a wet circle over her clit.
    She panted out a curse, hands fisting in his shirt. He watched her movements, the way she rocked forward when he did something she liked. How she gasped when he rubbed someplace sensitive, how her mouth fell open when he got the rhythm right. She cried out in disappointment when he stopped, but her protests died quickly on a high-pitched mewl when he dipped lower and slid a finger inside her.
    Hot. Tight. So fucking wet.
    His cock throbbed at the feel of her slick clasp, but Dean ignored it, enjoying the view of her writhing above him as he pushed in and out in leisurely strokes. He added another finger, twisting, pressing along her front wall until she let out a deep moan. Wetness spilled over his hand.
    “Dean…oh, fuck .”
    The surge of victory made him smirk, and he stroked her sweet spot again. She jerked above him.
    “Holy shit, how are you doing that?”
    Dean chuckled. “Shhh. Just feel.”
    Her forehead dropped against his, her eyes shut tight, breath on his face. He kept at it until her thighs began to tremble, but she wasn’t there yet. He skimmed his free hand up her side, smoothing over her breast to thumb the stiff tip of her nipple. She jolted, her body spasming around the slow pulse of his fingers. Tugging her dress and bra down an inch, Dean nuzzled her breast and looked up her.
    “Ride my fingers, Jamie.”
    She groaned, but didn’t do it. Just opened her eyes again and stared at him as the quaking in her thighs moved up her body. Her arms were starting to shake. He knew she needed more to get there, but the way they were sitting wouldn’t let him get the angle of his hand any deeper, and he wasn’t going to do a damn thing to stop where they were headed, not even to change position.
    “Come on, honey. Do it. I know what you need. I’ll make it good for you.”
    He closed his mouth around her nipple and sucked. Jamie’s head fell back again on a soft moan, and another splash of wetness drenched his palm. Finally she