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He now got it.
But he wanted to know more about the woman who came from “shitty beginnings” and what drove her to scrape that shit off.
He waited to see if she’d spill any details but she didn’t. Instead, she nursed the wine she had a tight grip on.
By now, between the Kush and the fermented grapes, she should be mellow as fuck. Most likely ready to crash in that big bed of hers.
She sat up and moved to the edge of the lounger, facing him. Just studying him. Her mouth opened and he waited...
“I want...” She released a breath and her mouth slowly closed again.
What? What the fuck did she want? More wine? Another hit on the joint? His beard between her thighs?
He had this strange need to give her whatever she wanted, whatever she asked for. He glanced down at the blunt. Had it been tainted or something?
Since when did he want to cater to a woman?
Since never. That was when.
Maybe this woman was more intoxicating than any premium Kush.
Fuck. She was staring at his lips. Like she had the munchies and she wanted to snack on them.
Was she drunk? Did she even realize what she was doing? Because his dick sure did.
“You have really nice lips.”
He grinned, though he was unsure where she was going with this.
“A nice smile, too.”
His grin widened.
“It’s sort of sexy.”
Sort of? He’d have to disagree with that.
“Bet women just fall into bed with you when you direct it their way.”
It was one of a few weapons in his arsenal, but... “You didn’t.”
“You swear you didn’t know who I was that first night?” Her words weren’t slurred, so that was a good sign she wasn’t trashed. Yet.
“Had no idea. Just spotted a beautiful, confident woman struttin’ across the bar. Now that’s fuckin’ sexy.” His way with words was another weapon to charm the ladies.
“And you were confident enough to approach.”
“Can’t get a yes, if you ain’t willin’ to risk a no.”
“Did you really think I’d say yes to a one-night-stand with you?”
He never said anything about a one-night-stand. Though, he had to start somewhere. And, usually, one night was enough.
When she stood, disappointment pulled at him. He wasn’t ready to end the night. He’d liked the easy conversation they’d been having. He had taken it as a good sign when she had willingly joined him without a stun gun in her hand.
His eyes went wide when she didn’t head toward the door but toward him instead. She didn’t pause next to his chair.
Fuck. No. She. Didn’t.
She fucking climbed onto it instead and straddled his lap.
Straddled his fucking lap.
Even through his jeans, he could feel her heat against his dick, which twitched in response. Deacon was pretty sure that response was a resounding, “Fuck yeah!”
As she wrapped one arm around his neck, he began to ask what the fuck she was doing, but she sealed her mouth over his, muffling his question and capturing his moan. Her fingers dug into the top of his braid, not only pulling his scalp but keeping him right where she wanted him.
Not that he was resisting.
Hell no, his momma didn’t raise no fool.
She tasted like white wine and quality weed as he snaked one arm around her waist, pulling her into him. Her tits brushed against his chest as her tongue swept through his mouth and then disappeared. He chased it, exploring hers instead.
The grip on his hair got tighter and more painful, but she wasn’t pulling him away. The fingernails from her other hand scored the back of his neck, making his balls tighten and his dick even harder.
She ground against his lap, riding his erection, her hips rocking faster and faster.
Fuck, if she didn’t stop, he was going to blow his load right in his jeans. He cupped her tit over the soft material of her sweatshirt, thumbing one hard tip.
He deepened the kiss and their tongues clashed.
He was glad he was wearing his boxer briefs, otherwise with the intensity she was moving, he’d have brush burn on his dick from the denim being driven against it.
He wanted her naked, but while he knew what she was doing, he wasn’t sure why she was doing it.
Her arm tightened around his neck and she arched her back as she ground against him even harder, a whimper climbing up her throat and then sliding down his.
Or that might have been him whimpering. He wasn’t sure.
Nor did he care.
What he cared about was he was on that very edge of exploding after she clearly just worked herself into an orgasm by using him as a tool. A very stiff one.
When her muscles finally loosened, she pulled away and her warm breath swept over his lips in a contented sigh.
At least somebody was fucking satisfied.
However, his current dilemma was, one wrong move and he’d need to borrow her washer and dryer.
