Not the Rebound Guy by Abby Knox (best classic romance novels txt) 📕

word. “Baby, you don’t have to…if you want to just use your hands…oh my fuck…”

She doesn’t use her hands. Well, she does. But also her ravenous mouth. And her wet, hot tongue. And her throat. If anything will give us away, it’s me, dampening my snarls by biting down hard on the picnic blanket. The ache grows at the same time as my pleasure. All I want to do is come hard down her throat, but the build-up is so enjoyable I don’t want to come just yet.

We ease into a pleasurable rhythm, my fingers tangled in Eliza’s wild hair as her head bobs up and down. I can’t say that my body relaxes or that I’ve overcome the urge to howl her name, but I close my eyes and let my mind drift into a zen-like state of pure pleasure. Finally, her expert mouth sucks and teases so thoroughly, I nut into her mouth. I stroke her hair while she finishes me off, the sexy slurping noises somehow making me come harder, longer.

“Fuck!” I growl quietly, spilling what’s left of me into her.

She releases me from the grip of her sweet mouth, then her devious face appears above the blanket. I reach out and grasp her face with both hands. “You don’t have to kiss me if you don’t—“

“Shut it,” I whisper, then roughly claim her mouth with mine again. She’s awakened the dirty boy. The preview is over. The main attraction is about to begin.

Chapter Eleven

Eliza

Garrett lifts the security tape and sweeps me inside his house.

“Are you sure this is okay? I thought your house wasn’t livable.”

“We aren’t gonna shack up here. I’m just gonna fuck you on my sofa.”

Why do I get the feeling he wanted to finish that sentence another way? Somehow, I can hear instead: “We aren’t gonna shack up here, at least not until my house is finished.”

I’m fogged up in a haze of horniness and happiness, and I let myself entertain these thoughts. Would that be so bad? If I stayed? Just to try it out? At the moment, I don’t care how insane this sounds.

He switches on a living room lamp, revealing a room full of unfinished drywall, a bunch of tools, stacks of new floorboards, and a table saw. Garrett tumbles us both onto an old sofa, tugging me onto his lap to straddle him while we kiss.

“I missed this,” he says.

“The drive was literally five minutes,” I whisper.

“Too long,” he says, going back to owning my mouth, his hands having their way with my breasts, then my ass, then my breasts again, as if he can’t decide which he likes better. I’ve never felt so spoiled or known a man to be so enthused about my body. I like it.

After we’ve built up too much heat to put off the inevitable any longer, I scoot back far enough to help him get rid of his flannel and undershirt. I take a second to admire that skin, all those ridges, angles, and lean muscle, rangier than I always thought was my type. I like something to grab on to, but I feel exhilarated as I run my hands over his hard edges.

“We need to get rid of this,” he says, hiking up my shirt, deftly unhooking my bra.

I hold my breath and let my shirt and bra fall to the sofa cushions.

I know he’s already felt every intimate part of my body as we tussled in the dark, in the back of his pickup. But everything feels much more vulnerable with the lights on, even a dim one. I don’t know what his reaction will be. Jared never wanted to do anything with the lights on.

“Look at you,” Garrett says with ragged desperation. Surely he can’t be that turned on when he just came five minutes ago. I’m not accustomed to someone gazing at my curves, studying my breasts while stroking them. He looks awestruck, which feels like a bit much. I know I’m pretty, but come on. Still, I don’t hate this. “Look at you,” he repeats, then makes a hungry, growling noise that causes a fresh wave of wetness between my legs.

What is it that he says? Live in the moment? All I want to do is sit on that cock, but at the same time, I can’t say no to what he’s doing to my breasts. His adoration of them is touching, sensual, making me more and more desperate to be filled.

Finally, we get around to shedding our jeans and underthings. Together, we sheathe his hard cock with the condom he’s removed from his wallet. He pulls me close again, and I angle upward, slipping the tip in.

Let him stretch me out.

The eye contact is almost too much, yet I can’t look away as I slide all the way down to the hilt.

Instantly I know, this is not just fucking. It is, but it isn’t. Garrett has a way of making every moment exactly what it is but still communicates volumes.

His hands feel warm on the skin of my lower back while his eyes study my face, my chest, my stomach. We’re still for a moment while we both take notice of this feeling—me seated on his cock, the girth of it making me feel whole and adored. Garrett lavishes every inch of me, running his rough palms up my sides, over my breasts, across my chest, and along my neck before pulling my head down for another deep, sensuous kiss. There are profound, churning leagues under the calm seas of Garrett.

The motion then begins. He thrusts up in one long, slow, and hard push. He must have the core strength of a fucking gymnast; I swear his hips lifted off the couch.

He knows what he’s doing. He pushes into me like he’s claiming me. I grind down to meet him with every thrust, but he’s setting the pace with these long, athletic strokes that take my breath away.

“I thought you were in a hurry,” I say