Twenty-four

Dean couldn’t wait another minute to be inside her. But he had to take precautions. He reached over on the bedside table for his wallet to retrieve a condom. He intended to come inside her this time.

Her body was still limp and flush from her climax, so he was surprised when she sat up and grabbed his wrist.

“Not yet.”

She took the wallet and condom from his hand and set them down on the table.

Oh God, please tell him she wasn’t having second thoughts. . . .

“On your back, sailor boy.”

She wasn’t. He had an inkling of exactly where this was going, and his nerve endings buzzed with anticipation and something resembling fear. His instincts were flaring like a fire alarm. His body was fighting what he knew was coming: complete and utter helplessness.

But he did as she asked. Did she have any idea how sexy it was to be ordered around like this? Probably. She looked really, really pleased with herself when she moved over him. Her fingers trailed absently over his stomach, but he was aware of every movement. His skin went off like a firecracker every place she touched.

“I don’t have a lot of experience with this, so you’ll have to let me know if I’m doing it right.” Her fingers were already skimming under the band of his shorts, and his cock was doing its best to meet them, straining hard toward her hand. But when she made her little confession, he popped right through. She noticed, smoothing her thumb over the plump head. “I don’t know. You’re kind of big.”

There was no “kind of” about it. And if he wasn’t gritting his teeth, fighting to fucking breathe while she knelt over him naked and played with his cock, he’d tell her so.

She traced her finger down the long length of him.

“Not sure how deep I’ll be able to take you down my throat.”

He swore. He’d never taken her for a dirty talker, but he was happy to be mistaken. Fuck, this was good.

“You feel a little warm in there. Should I take your shorts off?”

She didn’t seem to expect him to answer. Probably the straining of his body and the muscles standing out in his neck gave her the heads-up that he was in no condition to talk.

She slid his shorts past his hips, and his erection bobbed free. The cool air wasn’t much relief.

Her naughtiness faltered a little bit. Their eyes met, and he could see her hesitation.

As he said, no “kind of” about it.

“Um. Wow.” She wrapped her hand around him, getting a feel for his girth.

He gave her an encouraging lift of his hips. Or maybe it was a begging lift. Semantics were past him right now.

She started to stroke him. Long and slow. Just enough to settle him down a little and bring a drop of come to his tip. She smoothed it over the fat head before lowering her body over him.

Those little kisses along his stomach made the already tight bands of muscle turn rigid. He was struggling for control.

When her mouth was poised an inch from the tip, his muscles started to shake with restraint. He wanted to push himself into her open mouth so badly. The pressure at the base of his spine was so intense . . .

Oh, shit. He didn’t know if he could handle this. But he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life.

Finally that little pink tongue flicked out to lick him. The feel of her tongue circling the blunt head nearly made him come. He pulsed once or twice and fought to pull back.

“Poor baby,” she cooed. “It looks like you want to come real badly, but you’re going to have to wait until I get you in my mouth. And that might take some time. I want to suck every inch of you.”

The pounding intensified. Oh God, yes. Please. He was about to start begging.

But he didn’t need to. She ran her tongue down the bulging vein, before bringing her mouth over him and covering him. She sucked and swirled. Flicking her tongue in the sensitive slit as the drops seeped out. The sounds she was making were driving him crazy. She started to pump the base with her hand as the suction and milking increased with her mouth.

She’d lied. She had plenty of experience because this was fucking perfect. His hands were in her hair as her head bobbed over him, sucking faster and harder and taking him deep in her throat.

He didn’t have a chance. She forced him over the edge, and he went off like a pipe bomb.

He had no idea what he said as he cried out his pleasure. But it involved swearing and God, and how good she was. His mind went black—or red. Whatever color the pinnacle of pleasure was when you hit it. That was what it was.

But it wasn’t the pinnacle. Not even close. As he was about to find out.

He should be dead. He should be tapped out. Done for the night. But the night was young, and she made him feel like he was fourteen.

When she lifted her head and slid her tongue over her upper lip like a well-satisfied cat, Dean reached for the condom.

•   •   •

Annie was feeling pretty proud of herself. It was a heady feeling holding a man like him in the palm of her hand—or, rather, her mouth. She didn’t need to ask whether he’d liked it. It was obvious. He’d loved it.

And so had she. She’d never been all that into it before. It usually felt more like quid pro quo. You go down on me, I’ll go down on you. Not this time. She’d been into it. Really into it.

It had her hot all over again.

She wasn’t the only one. She was surprised to see him still half-hard and reaching for the condom.

She took it from him, and by the time she’d finished putting it on, there was no half about it.

She didn’t usually get worked up about dick size, but man . . .

Straddling him again, she reached down to take him in her hand. She could barely wrap her fingers around him. “Anyone ever tell you that you’d have a hell of a career in porn?”

He lifted an eyebrow with a surprisingly boyish smile. He was always so serious; it made her heart squeeze to see him so relaxed. “I wouldn’t think you would approve of the industry.”

“I don’t,” she said with a cheeky grin. “It denigrates women. I was thinking gay guys.”

He laughed. “Men can’t be denigrated? Not very PC of you. But I’ll keep it in mind. I’m temporarily out of a job, you know.”

She assumed he was referring to the charter business. But she liked that he could joke and go along with it rather than say something derogatory. She had no doubt he was as straight as an arrow, but he was confident enough in who he was not to need to “prove it” by objecting to her premise.

Every time she tried to fit him in a neat little package—conservatives and the military weren’t exactly known for their enlightened opinions about homosexuality—he did something to surprise her.

“Forget I said anything,” she said, still holding him in her hand and stroking him. “It would be too big a loss for womankind.”

At least an eight-inch loss, but who was counting?

The time for teasing had passed. His jaw was clenched and his body was straining as if he was fighting for control again.

She could feel the pulse of pounding blood in her hand.

His gaze was heavy and hot as it met hers. “Ride me, sweetheart. I want to watch you as you fuck me.”

Surprisingly Annie wanted that, too. She wouldn’t describe herself as adventuresome in bed—missionary usually fit the bill—but he was proving otherwise.

Or maybe it was the casual factor. Maybe it was the no-strings-attached part that was oddly freeing?

Whatever the case, she used her hand to guide him into her as she lowered her body on top of him. Slowly. Savoring the tightness. The stretch. The heat. The inch-by-inch filling.

Until finally she was fully impaled.

Or so she thought. But then he took her by the hips and lifted his own at the same time with a little hitch that made her body twinge. She gasped at the feeling—the rawness of sensation.

It was magical. There was no other word for the closeness, the sense of being connected with another person so intimately and perfectly.

He held her like that for a moment, looking into her eyes with an intensity and emotion that she dared not try to name. But it burned and pounded in her chest.

If she didn’t know better . . .

Stop. Don’t get confused. It doesn’t mean anything. It’s just attraction.

She closed her eyes, breaking the connection, and started to move. Lifting up and down, slowly at first, trying to get the most out of every stroke.

He let her set the pace. His hands moved from her hips to her breasts. He was squeezing, kneading, plying the turgid tips with his big callused fingers.

She wanted to go faster, harder. The slow strokes grew more frantic as the gentle ride became a wild gallop. She had to hold on to him, her fingers digging into the solid ball of muscle in his arms and shoulders.

He was talking to her. Telling her how good she felt. Telling her how hot she was. Telling her how much he wanted her to come. How much he couldn’t wait to come inside her.

He was leading her to him. Lulling her to completion in a dreamlike fantasy. Wrapping a sensual web around them both.

His stomach muscles tightened as his hips lifted to meet hers. He held her hips again to bring her down harder. Deeper. She could feel him big and thick and hard inside her. Pulsing.

She was almost . . .

Right when she’d reached the peak of sensation, he brought her down hard against him and ground himself against her. She cried out her climax just as he did. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

Nothing could have been more perfect.

Their eyes met and there was no mistaking the connection or the emotion. It was right there between them. So palpable she could almost touch it.

And there was nothing casual about it.