Damn.
Is it fucking pathetic that the minute she walks into the lobby of the hotel every part of me stirs to life? My heart. My dick. My fucking breath.
The skirt and cowboy boots she’s wearing only encourage every fantasy I’ve ever had of her. The ones that have been on repeat in my spank bank since I left home.
It’s been ten long days. Ones filled with the high of returning to this game in peak form and the lows of sleeping in an empty bed every night.
Looking around, she adjusts her carry-on bag on her shoulder. A man walks by and turns his head to get a second look.
Move along, prick. She’s mine.
I pick up my phone and type: Hey Betty Crocker, turn to your right. I’m in the back booth.
She smiles when the text hits her cell before making her way toward the swanky bar. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust to the darkened atmosphere but the moment she spots me, her lips curl up in that shy smile of hers before heading my direction.
I watch her hips sway. The shape of her legs. The bounce of her tits. And every part of me demands I get up and waste no time taking advantage of all those and more, but hell if I don’t want to savor her too.
“Is this seat taken?” she asks, eyes devouring me despite the coy smile on her lips.
So that’s how she wants to play this? Bring it, Kitty.
“It depends. Is it?” My eyes run up and down the length of her body and my dick hardens at the knowledge of just how addictive everything is underneath.
She angles her head to the side and stares at me for a beat. Grey eyes telling me so much more than her lips are saying. “That depends on what you have in mind.”
My laugh is rich but strained. “Oh, I’ve got a lot of things in mind, sweetheart, but I’m a man of action. I prefer to do things instead of simply talk about them.”
“And what type of things do you . . . like to do?” Her voice is breathless. Her nipples hardened against the fabric of her shirt.
“Why don’t you take a seat and find out?”
She looks at where I pat on the seat beside me and then back to me. “My daddy taught me to never talk to strangers.”
I chuckle as I lift my brandy to my lips, eyes locked on hers over the rim of the glass. “And mine always told me how important it was to make new friends.”
She breaks character for a moment—smile widening, head shaking—before she holds out her hand and carries on the charade. “Kitty. Nice to meet you.”
“Easton. Believe me, Kitty, the pleasure is all mine.”
She slides into the booth next to me and we stare at each other for a few seconds, eyes saying what our bodies are begging for.
“Hi,” she finally says.
“Hi.”
“What brings you to town?”
“I play baseball.”
“Like big bats and balls, type of baseball?” She feigns innocence and fuck if she’s not adorable.
“Something like that.” I chew the side of my cheek enjoying this game.
“Do you always drink before you have a game?” She nods to my tumbler.
“Only when I’m celebrating.”
“And what exactly are you celebrating, Easton?”
I swear to God, the breathless tone to her voice is like fingernails scratching ever so slightly over my balls. It’s so damn sexy. “We’ll get to that in a moment,” I murmur propping my elbow on the back of the booth. I run my finger over my bottom lip. I need something to occupy my hands since all they want to do is touch her. “What about you? What brings you to town?”
“I’m a baker.”
My laugh is loud but she keeps character. “What is it you bake, Kitty?”
“Brownies.”
“Brownies?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you know I happen to love brownies?” I say as I give in to the temptation and touch her. My hand to her thigh, and hell if touching her doesn’t make me want to speed this game up despite the promise to myself to take it slow.
“You do? What is it exactly that you love about them?” I stare at her lips as she speaks and imagine them wrapped around my cock. The red lipstick leaving its ring as a mark.
“I like the batter,” I say and glance around the restaurant to make sure we’re out of sight range, because I can’t hold back anymore. She’s here, beside me, playing this coy little vixen and damn if I’m not going to act on it.
What man wouldn’t?
“The batter?” She shifts a little, much like she does in the cab of my truck with her knee bent on the seat and her body angled my way.
And of course I look down. Have to. Tanned, toned thighs greet me. My mouth waters. My dick hardens. My control tested.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur as I place my hand right where I want to run my tongue—up the inside of her thigh—and slide it up, her skirt bunching with it as I go.
Her body tenses, and I love that she wants me as badly as I want her. Skype sex is fun. Getting off watching her get off is hot. But it’s not the same. It’s not this. The touch. The scent. The reaction. Not in the least.
“I like to dip my finger in it.” Fuck. Me. My fingertips rub ever so softly over the seam of her pussy and all I feel is the heat of her skin. She’s not wearing any panties. Her breath catches. Her fingers tighten on the tablecloth. Her legs part a little wider. “Then work it around the edges of the bowl so it’s covered in the batter.” I slide my finger between her lips and groan when I find her wet. Her mouth parts. Her thighs tighten as I dip my finger into her. “And then I like to put it in my mouth. Suck it all off.” I run my finger up again so it hits her clit. Her hands fist now. Her hips lift ever so slightly so her thighs hit the underside of the table and beg for more as I do exactly what I said. Pull my hand away and put my finger in my mouth.
Fucking hell.
Her taste. It’s enough to drive a sane man crazy. Add to that the look on her face—pure sex—and I know our charade is over.
I lean forward and press my lips to hers. A teasing taunt of a kiss that gives me a hint of what I’ve been missing and reaffirms that I need the rest. Right now.
“I do believe I want more of that batter, pretty Kitty,” I murmur against her lips.
“Being as you’re a man of action, I suggest you take what you want.”
“Not here,” I say, loving how her eyelashes flash open. “This place is too respectable for the things I plan on doing to you.”
“Oh.”
“You asked what I was celebrating, now it’s time for me to show you.”
I throw some bills on the table, grab her carry-on from the seat, and with her hand in mine, attempt to walk as inconspicuously as possible with a hard-on the size of Texas.
We step into an elevator and the minute the doors close, I’m on her. Lips and tongue and hands and body. We’re a mass of want and need and desire and greed. Pressed up against the wall, it’s like I can’t get close enough to her. My hand is under her skirt. My tongue is between her lips. Her hand is cupping my cock.
The elevator slows at my floor. The car dings. We shock apart as if we’re about to get caught. Luckily when the doors open there is no one there. With her hand in mine, we make our way to my room. We don’t speak. Routine movements seem difficult when I’m high on the goddamn taste of her.
I think in actions. One at a time.
One foot in front of the other.
Key card. Green light.
Door handle. Twist it.
And the minute the door clicks behind us, we continue what we started. We’re a frenzy of clothes coming off and lips trying to meet in between.
We’re a litany of broken phrases. My God. I’ve missed you. Hurry. I can’t wait any longer. That feels good. Oh God. Now. Right now.
Fuck this slow shit.
I’m taking no prisoners.
My fingers are in her pussy. Her nails are digging into my shoulders.
Her orgasm is my end game.
My tongue sliding over her. Teasing her clit. Working her hub of nerves. Then sliding into her. The taste of her my own fix.
The scratch marks on my back the only trophy I need.
My dick sliding between her tits. Then her lips wrapped around it. Sucking it. Working it. Her nails teasing my balls.
A free-for-all.
Pushing her thighs back. Burying my dick into her. Working her over until her muscles tense. Her pussy pulses. Her moan fills the room.
A race to the finish.
The rush of pleasure. The surge from my balls to my dick. My vision goes spotted. My head grows dizzy.
Her name on my lips.
And then when we recover, we’ll start all over again. Maybe then I can go slow. Maybe then I won’t feel so out of control. Maybe then I’ll get my fill of her.
Then again, maybe not.
It’s Scout, after all.