Reborn by Nicole Camden

taking her with his mouth because he so badly wanted to take her body. She tasted like tequila and lime, like a perfect beach afternoon, like a glass of whiskey and a good book.
    She gave as good as she got, her jaw opening wide, her tongue dueling with his, all the while their bodies straining to get closer and closer. Max gripped her the way a drowning man in a river grips a tree limb to keep himself afloat, until he couldn’t take one more second.
    He ripped himself away from her, boosting her back onto the bar with one hand while with the other he reached for the waistband of her leggings and tugged them roughly down, taking her thong panties with them.
    The leggings and panties caught on her combat boots, so he roughly turned her over on her stomach on the bar, aware on some level that she wasn’t protesting, that she was encouraging him, her breath fast and rough. He spread her thighs, enjoying the lush feel of her, using his palms to hold her apart so he could see the pink of her, smell the salty slick scent of her arousal.
    Her pussy was swollen . . . wet . . . irresistible; he knelt down again and worshipped her with his mouth, searching deep with his tongue with the initial foray and then gentling, searching with the tip of his tongue for the little pearl that would make her come.
    She used her arms, pushing on the bar to arch herself farther back, pressing herself against his face while chanting, “Oh fuck, yes. Fuck, yes.”
    She tasted sweet; the skin on her thighs was soft but resilient, her muscles bunched and tight as she strained for release.
    “Fuck me now,” she demanded, and that was one order he didn’t mind obeying.
    In one smooth motion, he straightened and ripped open the fly of his jeans, grabbing her hips and pulling her back and down toward his cock. Using his thumbs, he spread apart the cheeks of her ass, watching as the head of his dick speared her thick, wet pussy.
    Lille gasped as she felt Max push into her entrance.
    “Wait. Condom.”
    “Fuuuck.” His fingers pressed bruisingly into her ass, but then he pulled back and suddenly his hands were gone. She gripped the bar harder now that he wasn’t supporting her weight, nearly collapsing into a giant lust puddle.
    She didn’t have to hold on for long. She heard the crinkle of tearing foil and then his hands were back, taking her hips while his dick found its way back home. He was big, stretching her, and she whimpered because it had been a long time since she’d felt this rising excitement. After a while, with Paul, it had been a chore, something she did because she was supposed to . . . but this, this was a rising, curling ache between her legs. She wanted to wriggle and shove and demand that he move faster, harder, fuck her hard. He was in control now, her hips controlled by his big hands, her legs restrained by her leggings on her lower calves. He couldn’t spread her legs very wide, so he was working himself in, using the moisture he’d so generously deposited with his tongue.
    “God,” she gasped, dropping her head and glancing behind her as he shoved his full length inside.
    He paused, looking at her.
    “What are you waiting for? Do it.”
    He did, pulling back, dragging his thick length out of her sensitive tissues. She moaned, desperate for him to shove it back in.
    When he did it was like the one and only time she’d tried surfing. She’d fallen off the board into the waves and they’d caught her, tumbling her, dragging her back and forth, until she was desperate for a breath, her heart racing, her lungs struggling as she fought and fought. He dragged her back and forth, his hips pistoning, and she wanted to capture and hold him, take him, and then suddenly her body was gripping him of its own volition, squeezing and milking him while she shuddered and moaned.
    He came shortly afterward, roaring and bruising as he jerked against her.
    They collapsed into a sweaty, breathless heap onto the recently cleaned