Heart pumping

This erotic story excerpt from Bulletproof by Amanda Faye is published with permission.

Erotic sexy story from Bulletproof by Amanda Faye

She’s a doctor determined to save lives. He’s a cop determined to save hers. A run in with gangsters throws their lives together, just when they were least expecting it.

“You know,” he says conversationally, his hand roaming over my belly, but not quite reaching the thatch of curls between my legs, “I’ve never had a girl in my bed before.”

I snort at that, because never has a lie been so obvious.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, I’ve been in your bed every night for the last five days. Last time I checked I was a girl.”

He laughs against my back, something dark and sultry that coats me like velvet.

“No. This bed. I never had a girl in this house before.”

“I find that very hard to believe.”

His other hand has joined the first, and his lips start trailing down and over my throat. His thumb tweaks over my nipple, until its pebbled and hard and aching to be sucked. Then he repeats the process on its twin.

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“It wasn’t for lack of trying, believe me. But my grandparents lived in the apartment Gabby lives in now, and Issa wasn’t even born yet. The other two were spaced out just enough, that between the group of them, they were the best cock blocker you’ve ever met. They could have made an Olympic sport out of foiling my attempts to get a girl in my room.”

Michael’s dick is pinned between us and has grown thick and engorged against my back. I reach behind me and take it in my hand, stroking him once, then twice, before bringing him to my folds. His intake of breath is sharp and cutting, and I know without having to ask that this is why he came here tonight.

He’s as frantic to be inside me, as I am to feel filled by him.

His hunger for me is a heady feeling. It makes me dizzy, my heart pounding out an erratic rhythm.

“Do you want me?” I ask him, feeling drunk on the power I wield over this proud and mighty warrior.

“So bad I can’t breathe,” he gasps against my ear. “I had to touch you. To feel you alive and thriving underneath me.”

 He takes my wounded arm gently in his grasp and entwines it around his head. My fingers dig into his hair, and I hold on as if it’s the only thing keeping me from drowning. It makes my body arch and bow against him, and he catches my lips with his. His breathing is harsh and urgent, but his touch relays a tenderness that steals my breath away.

I reach for his dick with my other hand, and I coat him in my wetness, before the tip of him teases my entrance. He groans out my name, the name only he calls me. His dick is thick and throbbing between my legs. But I know he won’t go any further, until I give him the okay.

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“Then take what belongs to you,” I whisper against his lips, and moan when he sheaths himself inside me. It’s not as deep at this angle. Not like it has been in the past. But then he takes my knee and pulls me open, draping my leg across his hip, and suddenly he bottoms out inside me, and my oxygen and my soul flee my body to make room for Michael.

Only and always Michael.

We rock against each other, the urgency of our earlier couplings gone. In its place is a fluidity of lovers lost united. A quiet desperation to be one, until we’re forced to separate again.

His fingers find my core, and he touches me where we’re joined as one. His fingers coat in our slick, as he feels himself enter me over and over again. His rhythm never changes. It’s even, and steady, like the beat of his heart hammering against my back. We’re partaking in a marathon tonight. It’s not a race to the finish.

His mouth covers mine completely. He sucks on my tongue, my top lip, and then my bottom. He works me with his teeth. He slips two fingers into my mouth, and we suck them clean together, before he lowers them back to my clit and drags them through my folds. I’m teetering on the edge, and instead of pushing me over, he continuously holds me back.

Michael works me like a master works a piece of clay, always pulling away when my body coils to fire under his touch. Tears leak from the corners of my eyes, and I realize I’m crying and gasping all at once when Michael runs his fingers slowly over my clit.

When I finally fall apart around him, it’s like an ocean cresting at high tide, rather than the explosion that I was expecting. Every time I think it’s passed, another wave flows through my body. I don’t scream. I don’t yell out his name. Instead, I let Michael hold me against him, and breath my oxygen from his lungs.

Michael’s own orgasm is beautifully violent.

His muscles quake and his body bows. He covers me completely, pinning me against his bulk. It feels like he’s trying to climb inside me, and maybe that’s what he’s doing.

He whispers something against my lips, but his voice is broken and shattered, and I lose the words in the pounding on my own heart.

Sweat is quickly cooling against our skin, and he knows when my trembles turn to shivers. His grip, while never gone, loosens against me considerably, and between a grasp of his hand and a kick of his foot, he covers us with the blanket.

I don’t think my pulse will ever return to normal. My own breathing sounds loud against my ears. I rotate in his arms, and his chin is resting on my shoulder.

“I love,” Michael pants, his voice hitching in pain. “I loved,” he tries again, so quiet it’s almost an echo. Then his panting turns to gentle huffs, and Michael is asleep in my arms.

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