Plain Jane & The Hotshot by Meagan McKinney

She whispered his name over and over like a chant.
    An intense climax suddenly crashed down on her, the pleasure bending her almost double and immediately making her hungry for more, even as she gasped for breath.
    He slid his briefs down and placed her hand on his rock hard length to feel his need throbbing. He was powerful in her hand, saber-curved, excitingly hard.
    She was so anxious for him it chilled her. Sheopened her legs wide in the night air, and a moment later all she knew was incomparable pleasure as he slid into her, no teasing, but going in deeply the way she wanted, filling her with nothing but man.
    He moved against her, his breath hard and fast, as if he was holding himself back. His hard body rubbed along her soft chest, creating a frisson of eroticism that had nothing to do with her loins.
    Taking her mouth in a last heated kiss, his pumping became increasingly faster and furious. She jockeyed along to wherever he went, her own pleasure coming in waves that seemed to never end.
    Unable to take it much more, she cried out at the pleasure, moving her hands to his hard-flexing gluteus muscles, and encouraging him to keep driving deep and hard.
    She had no idea how many times she climaxed before he spent himself in several final, hard plunges, crying out her name and then spasming violently in the powerful aftermath of his orgasm, as if his body circuits were overloaded.
    She herself had never climaxed so quickly and repeatedly with any man, and yet, feeling greedy as he’d wanted her to, she secretly wished he would not stop even after his release.
    He seemed to understand her muscles holding him in, silently asking him not to slide out of her, and suddenly her need excited him to full arousal again. Almost without any pause, he began the pleasure rhythm again, hard and ready.
    She lost all track of time after that, rising again and again to peaks of almost unbearable pleasure, then almost blacking out in a daze before one of them would start all over again.
    It was literally pure, mindless pleasure. The two of them were one, and nothing else existed.
    But at the back of her mind, like the tag end of some pop tune, she kept hearing a warning voice. All she could understand, however, was its urgent tone, for the words themselves were lost in the pounding of her heart.
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    â€œI don’t believe it.”
    Nick’s voice sounded thick with sleep, almost drugged.
    â€œIt’s 3 a.m.,” he told her, kissing her eyelids open. “We’ve been here almost six hours.”
    Six hours, Jo thought with little reaction at first. A moment later, however, she sat up, buttoning her shirt and shivering in the damp chill.
    â€œSix hours,” she repeated, suddenly feeling like a teenager who had missed curfew. “I guess we…lost track of time.”
    They both laughed self-consciously at her silly understatement, and he kissed her. Instantly, despite the mild ache between her legs, she wanted him again. But the thought of what possibly waited up at the cabins cooled her ardor.
    Shivering even more as nervousness was added tothe cold, she took his extended hand and rose to her feet, quickly straightening and buttoning her clothing.
    He must have read her thoughts, judging from his next remark. “They’re probably all asleep, you know. Which doesn’t mean you won’t get razzed tomorrow. I know I will. The guys in my crew don’t miss a thing.”
    â€œYou’re right,” Jo decided, feeling brave. “I’m sure Hazel would tell them I was with you, anyway, so I’ll just sneak quietly into bed and face the music tomorrow.”
    They set off hand in hand, following the switch-backing blacktop road that wound its way up to Bridger’s Summit.
    â€œYou sorry?” he asked.
    â€œAbject with remorse,” she deadpanned, and they both laughed again, stopping to kiss.
    In truth she felt that her feet weren’t even touching the ground.