Page 50 of Hockey Nanny

I was spread wide. Nowhere to hide, and no shyness allowed.

Dawson’s eyes gleamed with a primal hunger as he pulled my underwear aside and took in the sight of my wet pussy, glistening in the streaks of neon rushing past the windows. His hot breath ghosted over my clit, making me quiver. The anticipation was a live wire, twisting tighter and tighter in my gut.

“Please,” I whimpered, rolling my hips in search of that sweet contact I so desperately needed.

That broke his trance, and a wicked grin touched his lips. “Since you asked so nicely.”

He leaned in, and his mouth was on me.

Claiming me.

His tongue, flat and warm, lashed a long, slow line from my entrance all the way up to my swollen clit. I jolted, a broken cry escaping my lips as my head fell back against the seat with adull thud. The sensation was so intense, so shockingly direct, it short-circuited every thought in my head.

Nothing mattered but his mouth on me. Like this.

He moaned against me, the vibration ramping up the pleasure even more. “You taste so fucking good.”

He settled in to devour me good and solid, hands gripping my hips, holding me in place while he feasted. His tongue circled my clit with a precision that told me he knew exactly what he was doing. And he was good. He varied the pressure, building a rhythm that had my hips lifting off the seat to meet more of him. Always more.

“Right there… Oh, God…” My fingers raked through his hair and pushed his face harder against me.

He moved one hand from my hip to slip two fingers inside me in one smooth, unforgiving thrust. I cried out, the fullness a perfect counterpoint to the frantic work of his tongue. He curled his fingers, finding a spot deep inside that made me see stars, pumping them in a steady, driving rhythm that matched the delicious circles his tongue was making.

It was too much and yet, not enough. The coil of pleasure low in my belly wound impossibly tight, a spring ready to snap. My breaths came in broken, ragged whimpers as I arched my back. The world narrowed to the slick, hot sounds of his mouth, the scent of our shared arousal, and the feel of the supple leather under my ass.

“I can feel you squeezing down on my fingers. You’re so close,” he growled against my pussy, his words a heated declaration. “Come for me. I want to taste it.”

His command, raw and guttural, was the final key to the building pressure at my core. The tension shattered.

My climax tore through me with such force that my hips jerked up, smashing me harder into his mouth. A silent scream got caught in my throat as my body seized with it, a thousand shards of fiery pleasure taking me over. My fingers clamped in his hair as I rode the endless wave of it, his tongue slowing, lapping gently as he drew every last shuddering spasm from me.

Slowly, so slowly, I floated back down. My body went limp, spent and trembling. Dawson pressed a final, soft kiss to my oversensitive clit, then rested his head against my inner thigh, his own breathing coming in quick, warm pants.

I floated in a hazy, sated bliss, the world a distant murmur, and let out a long, shaky sigh, body still pulsing when he came to sit beside me. With one strong arm behind my back, he pulled me into his lap, a knee on either side of him.

His face was half in shadow, the other half lit up in passing moments; his mouth a straight line of restraint. But, God, his eyes. I found myself damn near drowning in their intensity.

His hand touched my neck, thumb brushing gently over my throat, up to my chin, then my lips, which he traced with agonizing slowness. I locked eyes with him as I sucked it into my mouth.

“Fuck…”

My face burned with excitement knowing the effect I had on him. Everything about this night—about Dawson—thrummed beneath my skin, awakened by this unexpected turn of events. I couldn’t help but wonder if he felt it too.

“I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” I admitted in a whisper, my voice nearly catching on the words.

He was my boss. We were in the back of his limo, winding through the streets of Vegas. There was a tint, sure, but if westopped moving for long enough, and a passerby thought to look hard enough, we’d be found out.

And then there was the small matter of Boone. His twin brother.

I watched his hand move lower, slipping under the heap of my dress now pooled around my waist. His touch sent another shiver through me, and I leaned into it, eyes fluttering closed.

“Me neither.” His voice was so thick with arousal I could barely make out what he said.

Not that it mattered much. No words really did. Not now.

His hand slid over my ribs and to my back, tugging me closer so that I fell into him, sighing as his mouth found my neck, my thready pulse going crazy under his lips. I rolled my hips, relishing the friction from the straining bulge in his pants, but also testing. I didn’t want to hold out for much longer.

“Careful.” He lowered his head again, and kissed the dip of my throat, my chin, before finally pulling me into a kiss that made my body weak.