#SSceneC2017 : SA McAuley vs Sharon Kay @AuthorSAMcAuley @SharonKayNovels

Isaac lingered, taking his time with Poe—touching, licking, tasting. Teasing. Poe curled his fingers into Isaac’s hair and gently pulled, silently begging for Isaac’s lips to envelop him completely. Isaac laughed, low and throaty, and licked at the base of Poe’s cock, then swirled his tongue up and around the head. Poe arched into the touch without thought, pushing himself deeper into Isaac’s mouth.

This feeling wasn’t new—getting lost in the hot, wet heat of another man’s mouth—but somehow it was more. So much more since it was Isaac pulling those needy moans from his throat, Isaac wrapping his hand around the base of his cock and spurring him forward, careening him toward that edge with abandon. Isaac stilled Poe with a hand to Poe’s hip, fingers digging into Poe’s skin, teeth catching on the head of his cock, alighting every nerve in Poe’s body until all he could think about was Isaac.

Poe was already oversensitive, his hole stretched from Isaac driving inside him only moments ago. But he didn’t want Isaac to stop or ease up on him. He needed to be taken by Isaac over and over again until every memory of every other man was wiped away into a long-forgotten haze, more dream than reality. He stifled a cry as Isaac took him deep and swallowed around his shaft, Isaac’s throat vibrating with moans of pleasure.

Isaac slipped a lubed finger into Poe’s ass and pumped it slowly in time with the movement of his lips and tongue. Poe surrendered to the moment, to the languid swipes of Isaac’s tongue on his cock. Isaac was torturing him. Knowing that the slowness with which he fucked Poe’s ass and tentatively bobbed his head along Poe’s length would drive him mad.

Isaac sucked Poe in deep, hard, and found that spot inside him that blackened his vision and stole his breath, catapulting him to the edge, then Isaac withdrew completely, leaving Poe a writhing mess on the rumpled sheets.

“Fuck, Isaac. I need more. Please. More,” Poe begged, his grasp on Isaac’s head pulling his lover back to his aching cock.

More. He needed so much more. More heat, more friction. More of Isaac’s touch. More reassurance. It was only in these moments—so intimate, so overwhelming—that Poe could believe Isaac’s return to him was real.

Isaac swallowed him down to the hilt and Poe arched off the bed, unable to hold back the oaths of worship that fell from his lips. Isaac was everywhere around and in him all at once—his scent, his skin, his breath—and Poe was wholly alive. Free and yet owned completely. Loved.

He was consumed by Isaac’s touch. A willing slave to Isaac’s command. Isaac sped his pace, added another finger, sinking them deep into Poe’s ass until Poe could no longer restrain the bucking of his hips. He was so close, a scorching fire racing through his veins, a burn that only Isaac could stoke to uncontrollable heights. He was breaking apart, deconstructed with Isaac’s hands, with his mouth. With Isaac’s reverence of his body. There was no way to fight the assault and he didn’t want to. He craved this loss of control and trusted Isaac to shatter him then bring him back from the brink. He knew Isaac would have the power to pick up those pieces and resurrect him into something stronger.

Poe chased the contrasting sensations of Isaac’s fingers and tongue, Isaac’s hand on his hip branding him with pain and possession. He was Isaac’s. His. How could he have ever doubted that?

Poe cried out Isaac’s name and let himself go, spilling into Isaac’s mouth, his hands gripped firmly in Isaac’s hair, his body wracked with the intensity of the release. Isaac didn’t pull away until Poe was still again, his body sated and mind wiped clean of everything except the man entwining his fingers with Poe’s as Isaac slumped onto the bed next to him.

“You don’t wanna get undressed by the water?” Rosie’s voice husked, driving his lust as she hooked her thumbs under the straps at her hips.

“We’re not gonna make it to the water, babe.” He yanked his T-shirt over his head as she shimmed out of that thong.

God, she was beautiful. Did she even know how much? He vowed to savor her later. For now, his lust was wildly out of control. She pushed too far. And if this was her idea of teasing, taunting, pushing—she could do it every damn night. He’d be on board.

He threaded one hand to her nape and pushed her back to the warm steel of his truck. With a firm grip on her hair, he kissed her.

He devoured her mouth. Her body was hot against his and her hands roamed his shoulders, his back, like she couldn’t get enough. He dragged his free hand up her hip on a slow path to her nipple. He’d observed enough about her already to remember how sensitive she was there.

She shivered, though the night was still fucking humid. He stopped at the lower curve of her breast.

“Cruz,” she whispered.

“Yeah?” He didn’t move his hand. Instead he sucked at the spot where her shoulder met her neck.

“I…touch me,” she murmured like she could barely get the words out. “Please.”

He raised his hand slowly, skimming his palm over her tip.

She gasped. “God, yes.”

He repeated it on the other side. She was panting now. He pulled back to just look at her, so out of control. He’d take a mental snapshot and remember this for a long time. His sexy country girl, about to lose her mind. About to let him fuck her up against his truck in the middle of the damn woods.

Abruptly he dropped his hand to the vee of her thighs. A moan tore from her throat. He slid his fingers lower, finding the slick evidence of her readiness for him. “So fucking wet,” he murmured, stroking her body back and forth. “You’re ready for me.”

“Yes,” she said, though he hadn’t asked a question.

He grabbed his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a condom. Holding it in his teeth, he made quick work of his belt and zipper.

She stared at his erection pushing against his boxer briefs. She flicked her eyes to his, then dragged her hands down his sides. She gripped the top edge of his underwear in her slender fingers, and tugged down. Inch by sensual inch. She gazed at him as if she were opening a present. The top of his shaft was exposed and she traced a finger along where it met his groin.

“One day Cruz, this won’t be my finger.” A stroke, light as air but heavy with promise. A rumble built in his throat. She was playing with fire. “It’ll be my mouth.”

His vision hazed and he freed his aching cock. Who would have ever thought sweet Rosie would be the queen of dirty talk? He couldn’t even wrap his head around all the nuances of her. He fell in deeper every time they came together.

He tore open the condom and rolled it on. Setting his hands on her hips, he lifted her up and leveraged her against the truck. She clutched his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his hips.

His cock bumped her heated flesh, making them both groan. “Rosie,” he growled, and positioned himself at her entrance. With aching slowness he slid her down.

She closed her eyes and blew out a breath. “Feels so good, baby.”

And why did her calling him baby feel so damn right? Hell.

He pushed up until he was balls deep in her sweetness. Nothing had felt this good, this wild before. He needed more, needed her, all of her, like he needed to breathe. He withdrew almost all the way and then sank deep again with a hard thrust.

Her body slammed against his truck. But she held his shoulders and scratched along his neck, tracing a path into his hair.
He plunged out and in again. Her breasts bounced, and he knew she’d get hotter if he played with them. With one hand under her ass, he brought the other up to tug one taut tip. Her lips parted on a soft sigh.

He couldn’t stop his rhythm if he wanted to. Her pussy milked him, every part of her squeezing him in a sultry heat. And her face—god, what had she said about not having a poker face? A myriad of expressions crossed her face: lust, surprise, need, delight.
Glancing down to their connection, he was fascinated by how her body took all of him. She maintained her hold on his shoulders and worked her hips, her face a mix of concentration and sex glow.

He dropped his hand to her mound, inching lower. She gasped, but her jaw dropped. “God, Cruz,” she moaned.

His fingers slinked lower, getting slick between her legs. He stroked her clit as he thrust inside her. Tiny sweet moans fell from her lips and she moved with him, rocking, pushing down on him. “I’m close,” she whispered around thrusts.

“Me too, babe. Hang on.” He gripped her ass tightly and unleashed the reins of his lust, pumping as hard and fast as he could. Every stroke only intensified the sensation, bringing him closer to orgasm. And at the same time the knowledge lurked that this was different. She was different.

She gasped and her body quivered as she came, legs trembling and hips grinding. Clutching his neck, she leaned in to bite his shoulder.

Fuck. No one had ever bitten his shoulder.