I wiggle into position, panting hard.

He reaches between our bodies to peel off his tight, black rocker leathers completely down his thick, muscular legs. I hurry to push my undies down my hips, struggling to kick them off as he sheathes his cock with a condom.

He lifts me and my body twitches and quivers as he lowers me down on him, penetrating me, inch by inch. I groan again, shoving my hands under his shirt and pulling it up over his head so that he’s naked. He inhales deeply when he can’t go any farther. He feels so thick that all of a sudden, I’m ready to burst.

I suck on his nipple as he fondles my breasts in the most delightful ways. His teeth sink into my earlobe and tug as he starts thrusting, the delicious drag of his cock stimulating all my nerve endings.

Our mouths become voracious, and his sudden rhythmical thrusts tell me he means business and I’m open. The way he grabs my hips and moves me on him, setting the exact rhythm he wants, is like I was made just for him to fuck and god, he’s so . . .

So much stronger than before. Bigger than before. Thicker than before.

I can’t think . . . can’t breathe . . . he’s hot, hard . . . ooh, god, I need this. I never knew how much until his arms are tight like clamps around me. And he’s inside my body. His tongue flashing into my mouth.

Nothing else matters but this—his breathing, my breathing, his grunts and my groans, my body wrapped around his. I’m wrapped to his body, my arms, legs, even my neck, curled into his, my whole body clinging to him. He knows just what to do, with his mouth, his lips dampening the skin on my neck, my jaw, my ear, then meshing with my mouth.

“You feel so . . .” I bite back the word “right” and instead push my lips hard to his. Our teeth gnash, then he pulls free and stares into my face with burning eyes as if he’s high on me, plowing me fast and faster, watching me gasp as my breasts bounce.

He rasps, “Come,” and comes hard and fast as it starts for me. His cock jerks inside me three times, and the breath hisses out of him as his muscles clench and tighten against me. He grasps me to his body and continues pumping as we shudder together.

It takes us minutes to recover, neither of us moving. I’m still clutching him, but when I realize how clingy I must appear, I lift my head from the crook of his neck and open my mouth to speak. Mackenna presses his finger to my lips. “No, babe,” he says, his voice both tender and chastising.

My brain is still buzzing. Feeling lusty and strangely playful, I open my lips again, and I bite down on his finger with a smile. He clenches his jaw and his eyes flash, almost like he’s remembering the other times I did that. Then without warning, he leans over and bites down on one of my fingers too. Like old times . . .

Ouch! I playfully protested. You’re going to snack on my finger? Really?

Oh, stop complaining. Here, take mine . . .

A strange emotion tightens my chest, and it hurts. Gently, he rubs his finger against my tongue, and I do the same.

“You taste like sweat,” I say, with a mock grimace.

“You taste like sugar,” he husks out, his lids heavy.

I pull my hand free and he continues gazing at me, waiting for me to say something. I’m trying to pull up my walls, but I’m failing miserably. “I . . . ,” I begin.

“Don’t ruin it,” he says, setting his forehead on mine and sighing, “but you’d be surprised to know what I’d give to hear this mouth tell me how it really feels about me.” He rubs the mouth he’s speaking of with his thumb ring and my nipples harden again.

“I expressed it with vegetables, remember?” I say, unable to rein back the lust in my voice.

“Hmm, yes, a memorable experience.” He gives one last nibble to the tip of my finger, holding it by the base and kissing the pad before letting me go.

It was such a genuine act of tenderness, I surprise myself when I nuzzle his throat, still feeling oddly playful as I drop one last kiss to his lips, wanting to surprise him by saying something he’d never expect to hear. “I really like the way you come.”

He grabs my head and looks at me in shock. “You being serious right now?” He searches my face.

I lick my lip and love that his eyes fall there. I’m feeling the best I’ve felt in a long time as I peer up at him through my lashes. My body is lax against his and I feel . . . good. Happy. Content with the world. He smells like a man—like the only man I’ve ever been with. He smells of my memories and my dreams, and my childhood and teens. Of the boy who drew me out enough to make me feel carefree.

He frames my face and searches my expression with complete intensity, his textured voice prickling across my skin. “I don’t just like the way you come, baby—I get off on it. The way you fight your orgasm but it takes you over and you can’t keep your eyes open. The way you can’t bite back the sounds you make, and you grip me like you don’t want to let go. Do you feel me?” he demands in my ear, clutching me close. “I’m stiffening up inside you and you’re still slick and hot, like a fist around me. Do you feel me?”

I close my eyes and shudder as he begins caressing me under my top with one long-fingered hand, relaxing against me as he slides down against the metal door and we stay there for a while.

A flick and the scent of tobacco filters through my daze, and I angle my head to see the tip of a cigarette glowing in the dark as he gives it a hit. He expels the smoke quickly and offers it to me. “What is it?” I ask, narrow-eyed.