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“One of me, and the very erotic toys I’ve purchased just for you,” he promised. “Everything’s already laid out and ready.”
She blinked back at him. He wasn’t serious. He couldn’t be serious.
Then, before she could anticipate the move, he vaulted over the table, hooked one arm around her waist, and dragged her to his chest.
“That’s cheating,” she cried out, laughter getting the best of her.
Not that he paid much attention to the accusation because a second later she found herself tossed over his shoulder and he was striding to her bedroom.
“Doogan, you so are not getting away with this,” she squealed, part laughter, part outrage. “You’re crazy.”
Seconds later she was tossed to the bed, bouncing lightly, the laughter getting the best of her as her hair flipped around her face, the long, loose curls tangling and blocking her sight.
By the time she managed to push it behind her, he’d gripped her feet and removed her shoes and socks, and all she could do was stare at him with sudden, blazing arousal.
He was already naked, and fully aroused. The wide, dark crest and thickly veined shaft arrowed toward her, pre-cum glistening on the tip and reminding her how very erotic it was to take him into her mouth.
“Hey . . .” Her gaze shot to his face as he removed her jeans with simple expediency.
How had he managed to release the low-cut band around her hips so easily? And he’d taken the thin silk thong she wore with them.
Without answering her, Doogan moved to the bed, straddled her legs, and gripped the hem of her shirt. His position placed the straining length of his cock at just the right level. The perfect position to push it into her mouth.
“Give me the shirt.” His voice was a hard, rough rasp as he pulled the tank to her breasts. Zoey licked her lips, lifted her arms, and let him have the tank top and then the lacy bra she wore.
He could have the damn clothes. She wanted him. She wanted him in her mouth, wanted him taking her, possessing her.
Her tongue swiped over the broad crest as she leaned forward those last few inches.
Doogan’s response was immediate.
A low, harsh groan, the fingers of one hand bunched in the hair at the back of her head, holding her back, allowing her to taste him with her tongue alone. Lifting her gaze to him, Zoey licked what she could touch of the broad crest, loving the heat and the taste of him.
He had one knee bent next to her, his foot pressing into the mattress as the other rested on the bed. The perfect position for one hand to stroke up his thigh, her nails rasping lightly until they came to the taut sac at the base of his cock. His testicles drew tighter as she let her fingertips and her nails play against them.
“Think that’s going to distract me?” he asked, his brown eyes completely wicked. “That your sweet mouth will make me forget just how many times I’ve dreamed of taking that sexy little rear of yours?”
“Hm. Possibly,” she murmured before stroking the crest with her tongue again.
“Not a chance, sweetheart.” The promise in his voice was the only warning she had before he moved, pushed her back on the bed, and then came over her.
His lips covered hers, owned hers, the kiss so hot, so carnal that her toenails wanted to curl with the pleasure. He held her wrists easily, stretching them above her head, holding her restrained as he worked her mouth, his tongue teasing hers, drawing her deeper into the mesmerizing eroticism sweeping through her.
So intense was the pleasure, the sheer excitement he caused with his touch that when he pulled back and she moved to wrap her arms around his shoulders, it took her a minute to realize he’d managed to restrain her.
She tugged at the bonds. The restraints on her wrists were soft, supple. Securing her wrists directly above her head, he’d have no problem putting her in whatever position he wanted her in. On her back . . . or on her stomach.
“Sneaky,” she panted, breathless at the sensation of his lips at her neck, his hands stroking along her side to the swollen mounds of her breasts.
The raspy chuckle whispered against her skin as his kisses moved lower, his lips on a direct path to her breasts.
Her nipples were tight, hard, aching for attention. They were so sensitive that when he blew a soft breath over one, sensation heated the tip and dragged a moan from her lips. Chills of pleasure raced up her spine seconds later when he brushed his lips over the straining bud.
“This restraining-me stuff is going to have to stop,” she moaned, because he was teasing her to death and she was loving it. Dying from the need for more sensation and arching closer, all but begging for more of the torment.
“We can discuss it later,” he promised, the words whispered over the straining nub of the opposite nipple.
“When later?” She was panting, her voice filled with a pleading note.
