Page 91 of The Pucking Coach's Daughter
But I’m panting, and it’s all I can do not to fall over. I hold on to the back of his neck. My fingernails bite into him, leaving crescent-moon-shaped indents.
Without warning, I come.
And I scream.
He catches my mouth, cutting off the sound with his tongue. He tastes my lips, every inch of me, while his hands both move to my ass. His fingers dig in, lifting me with every thrust until I’m seeing stars again.
My orgasm seems drawn out, a never-ending spiral.
And when he comes, he bites my lower lip. Blood fills my mouth. He keeps kissing me, sharing that metallic flavor.
Finally, we both go still.
He pulls out of me, meeting my gaze.
His blue eyes seem almost black.
“Too much?” he asks.
I shake my head wordlessly.
“If this doesn’t confirm you’re my dream girl, I don’t know what would.” His voice is tinted with awe.
He helps me off the hood of the car and turns me around. There’s a flash of his camera—I nearly jump out of my skin—but he just shows me the screen.
My ass. My bleeding ass cheek.
He carved his name into it.
He smirks at me, waiting for my reaction.
I…
I crane around to get a better look. A drop of blood on the T rolls down my cheek, but other than that the cuts are light and almost artistic.
“Are you still drawing?”
I whip back around. He pulls my panties and jeans back up, making quick work of buttoning me back together.
“Are you?”
“I haven’t since I transferred,” I admit. “I didn’t even run for a while. It just felt like a lot.”
“But you’re writing.”
“Not in the sense you’re thinking,” I hedge.
Because I used to write poetry and draw little charcoal images to accompany them, and that journal hasn’t left the bottom drawer of my desk since I first moved in and threw it there.
“Could help you.” He leans down and kisses me again.
I go up on my toes, willing him to kiss me more. Deeper. I wrap my arms around his neck and press myself into him. His arms come around the small of my back. His tongue strokes along the seam of my lips, willing me to open for him.
My body is tingling by the time we break apart.
He reaches around me and snags my sweatshirt, pushing it into my chest. “You might want to keep that on until you get a new shirt.”
I look at my t-shirt.