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She’d given him a choice, and he hadn’t blinked. The man had wanted her to come more than he’d wanted to get the same. That had been his pleasure of choice. Something hopeful and dangerous bloomed in her. There were polite men, generous ones, ones who wanted to make sure a woman had an orgasm first. And sure, many of those men enjoyed it, giving the pleasure. But those men didn’t do what Gibson had just done. They didn’t look at it like the main event, weren’t satisfied simply by giving. It was a tit-for-tat agreement.
No, what Gibson had done was an act of submission. A beautiful, sexy, make-her-warm-from-the-inside-out act of submission. She climbed to her feet and walked over to him. Then her hands were in his hair again and she was kissing him, sucking her arousal from his lips, and devouring him whole.
He grunted as she backed him up against the window and then his hands were on her, sliding up her shirt and shoving her bra aside. His palms were hot on her as she plundered his mouth and got lost in the kiss. She never kissed men in the kink context. It wasn’t on the menu in her sessions. But now she wasn’t sure there was anything more erotic than kissing this one.
She rubbed herself against his erection and he made an anguished sound, his grip on her breast tightening. Hell yes. Pain and pleasure and desperation all wrapped into one. Fuck deals.
She grabbed his free hand and then broke away from the kiss to put his palm to her mouth. She gave it a long lick, her tongue darting between his fingers and slicking everything up, the taste of his skin salty on her tongue. He watched her, his eyes hooded and a little wild.
Yes. She turned his palm over. “Spit.”
He held her gaze and followed her instruction.
“Good boy.” She reached for his underwear and yanked them down again. She brought his wet hand down to himself. “Fuck your hand, Gib. I want to feel you come on me.”
The expression on his face was pure tension and need. But he didn’t hesitate to obey. He grabbed his cock and stroked, and then his mouth was on her again. She could feel his hand pumping against her belly. He rubbed the slick tip of his erection on her bare skin, the heat branding her, as his tongue stroked into her mouth.
She didn’t know how long they kissed, but her own need surged again, and soon, she was rutting against the knuckles of his hand where he gripped himself. He caught on quick and rubbed his cock against her, sweat and arousal slicking their bodies. Her wetness mixing with his, the sounds lewd and unbearably erotic.
He moaned against her lips and she gripped his hair hard.
Then his entire body went tight as a bowstring and he tore away from the kiss. A long, loud shout ripped from his throat as his cock jerked and his release spilled against her skin in thick, branding stripes. She held on to his shoulders, buzzing on her own pleasure, but relishing the sight of him undone. Of that gorgeous cock in his hand, of that body spending everything he had to give. She was throbbing and hot all over, but this view was worth it.
He dipped his head, his shoulders rising and falling with heavy breaths, and she kissed the top of his head. But before she could say anything or make a joke about the state of the floors, Gib was dropping down to his knees again. He gripped her hips and went for her clit like a man on a quest. She was covered with his come, but he seemed completely oblivious to it as he brought her right back to the edge she’d been hovering on when he’d come.
“Oh, God.”
The intensity of having his mouth on her again was almost too much, too acute, but seeing him lick his semen off her skin set off some filthy part of her, a part she’d never shown to any lover. But here with him, no shame or awkwardness surfaced. And soon, she was cresting the wave again, coming in a sharp, bright burst of sensation and sound.
His mouth on her softened as she floated down from the high, and he shifted to back away, but that dark thing in her still wanted to be fed. She laced her hand in his hair. “Clean up the rest, gorgeous. You made quite a mess.”
He glanced up, his eyes so focused and intent
that it was like a physical impact to have his gaze on her. For a second, she thought he would balk, that she’d pushed him too far. But then he held on to that gaze and leaned forward. He did as she asked, taking his time and cleaning the tender skin of her belly, nipping at her here and there and making sure to get every drop. Then he sat back and swept his tongue over his lips in one slow swipe, somehow looking like a triumphant king on his throne instead of a man at her feet.
“Damn.” The word whispered out of her, unbidden.
His lips quirked as he rocked back and then got to his feet. He gathered her against him. “Anything else, mistress?”
There was dryness in his tone, that smug flavor of Gibson sarcasm, but she let it slide. It was part of what drew her to him in the first place. She’d be bored if he didn’t fight back a little. His cockiness was her crack.
She pushed up on her toes and brushed her mouth over his, tasting their mingling flavors there. “So I guess you’re staying.”
His dimple appeared, his gaze hooded. “Glad you finally figured that out.”
She gave him a slow smile. “It’s cute that you think you won. You might not think that by the end of the day.” She gave his ass a squeeze. “Get dressed, Andrews. Jeans only. No underwear. You’ve got a floor to refinish.”
His hand traced below the hem of her T-shirt, caressing her tailbone. “Gonna make me work for it, huh?”
“Oh, you have no idea.”
Chapter 6
Gibson’s shoulders were aching and his back sore after an afternoon of staining the dining room floors, but when he stepped back and saw the finished product, an unexpected sense of accomplishment moved through him. At work, he usually felt some of that satisfaction when he’d finished a particularly difficult project or PR campaign, but having physical evidence of a completed job was a nice change. Sam would now have a beautiful floor in this room, one that would last her decades, and he’d had a hand in it. It was also the first glimpse he’d gotten of what this house could turn into with some TLC. There was beauty in its old bones.
He tried to imagine what the floors had seen in all their years, tried to picture Sam as a little girl, dancing along the worn boards, thinking she was safe, thinking she was home to stay. She hadn’t told him much about her childhood, but he knew some from Tessa. Sam had bounced around foster care for a long time, hadn’t had an easy time, had never been adopted.
He couldn’t imagine how any family had ever turned her away. She was so . . . Sam. Bright and quirky and big-hearted. The kind of girl who rescued elderly dogs from the side of the highway and turned knitting into some kind of punk sport. He still had a scarf she’d given him last Christmas that had blinding red and white stripes. She’d told him his black and gray suits needed a little oomph. He got shit from his coworkers every time he wore it, people randomly calling out, “Where’s Waldo?” But he didn’t care, it’d become his favorite. It smelled like her.
