Brave Enough by M. Leighton Page A

“Were you thinking about having me here? About having my cock in you, stretching you tight?”
    He thrusts his finger deep inside me, the pad of his thumb rubbing my clit with the action. Reflexively, my body ripples around him. My knees nearly buckle, I’m so close to orgasm.
    â€œOh, it’s like that, huh?” he murmurs, crooking his finger inside me and slowly dragging it out. “I think I have just the thing for you.”
    I don’t ask what he means. Honestly, I don’t care as long as he doesn’t stop touching me. Today has been torture without him, the memories of his touch enough to drive me mad with desire. I’ve never
needed
someone’s touch this way. But I
need
Tag. I needto feel him inside me. I need to feel him wrapped around me. I just
need
Tag.
    Gently, Tag turns me to face him. He bends down in front of me and hooks his arms through and around the backs of my thighs. I gasp when he pulls me off my feet. I feel like I’m going to fall backward; I wasn’t prepared for him to pick me up. But I don’t fall. Tag turns as he stands and presses my back into the cool shower wall, pinning me there with my legs wrapped around his head.
    I don’t have time to question what he’s doing, because the moment I feel his tongue spear into my crease and circle my clit, my climax rolls through me like thunder. All I can do is hold on, my fingers fisting rhythmically in Tag’s silky black hair. He works his mouth over me, his tongue, his teeth, prolonging my orgasm until I’m breathless and the room is spinning every time I open my eyes.
    Before the spasms have subsided, Tag pulls my wet back down the wet wall, readjusting me in his grip until my legs are wrapped around his waist and his face is mere inches from mine.
    â€œI hope you saved some for me,” he says softly just before he takes my mouth and slams his cock into me.
    He swallows the loud moan that escapes my throat upon his penetration. Never has anything felt so good as Tag buried so deeply inside me. There is only a flash of discomfort as I still stretch to accommodate him, but it’s gone as quickly as it came, leaving only intense pleasure behind.
    My body wrings his length with his every thrust, and with every thrust he triggers more wringing. It’s an endless cycle of orgasmic delight that ends with Tag’s desperate whispers in myear, whispers that promise he’s going to come and that he’s thought all day about coming inside me again.
    His words thrill me. The idea that he wants to pour himself into me this way, the idea that I hold a piece of him deep inside my body is so intimate, so erotic I wonder if I’ll be able to think of anything else for the rest of the night.
    When Tag finally releases me and lets my legs slowly straighten, he cups my cheek in his big palm and kisses the corner of my mouth.
    â€œAll through dinner, I want you to think about me, about how my warm come is still way up inside you. And I,” he says, tracing my upper lip with the tip of his tongue, “I will be thinking about this shower, about how you came on my face with your back pressed to the wall.”
    I’m already getting breathless again when he takes my lips. His kiss is a mixture of satisfaction and promise and something fierce, like he wants to mark me as his own before I leave this room. It reminds me of what he said about seeing his muddy handprints on my body. He’s possessive, and for some reason, as antiquated as the thought is, I like it. I want to be possessed by him. I want to be his and no one else’s. And I love that he seems to want that, too.
    Yes, I needed this. I needed
him.

FOURTEEN
    Tag
    I hadn’t planned on joining Weatherly, her father and her would-be fiancé for dinner. I figured there would be enough of a blowup without my help. In fact, Weatherly and I didn’t even discuss it. We didn’t exactly have food on our minds as