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Stevie hikes her ass onto the table and gives me a gorgeous view of her pussy. She’s so wet my fingers make a slick, crude sound as I circle them over her clit.
“Hank,” she breathes, brows snapping together as she watches me.
I curl my hands around the backs of her knees and spread her wider. Stop to admire the dimples along the inside of her thighs. I lean in.
The first taste is rich. Warm. I go slowly, deeply, and Stevie moans, hips rolling again. I lick her slit front to back, then dip my tongue inside her, savoring her heat.
Christ, it’s gonna feel good to be inside her.
I suck on her clit. Press my lips to it. Slip a finger inside her. Reach up and gather her nipple between my thumb and forefinger.
Her moans get louder. She pulls my hair. Pulls it harder, making my heart thump.
“What is it?” My eyes go wide. “Did I hurt you?”
She shakes her head, breathless. “No. I—bed. I’m close, but I don’t—I want to make it last—”
“I got you.” I stand, and she takes both hands I offer, rising to her feet. She sways a little; I hold her, steady her, and she kisses my jaw. “Let’s go to bed.”
Chapter Four
Stevie
The bedroom is massive. A wall of windows provides yet another jaw-dropping view of the Strip. The king bed is neatly made in Encore’s signature fluffy, buttery linens, and a mountain of pillows beckons. The doors to the bathroom are open, and from what I can see, it’s an exquisite white marble palace.
But it’s the acoustic guitar in the far corner that catches my eye. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I study it as I hurriedly take out my earrings and let down my hair. The guitar’s darkened wood and slightly scuffed edges look out of place in the suite’s immaculate, slickly modern space.
I don’t want to be curious, but I am.
“You play?” I ask, tipping my chin toward the instrument.
“I do.”
I glance at him from unbuckling my heels. At some point tonight, my feet were killing me. And at some point, I stopped being aware of any sensation other than the insistent throb between my legs.
I wait for Hank to elaborate. Instead, he kneels in front of me, knees cracking, and shoos away my hands. “Let me,” he says and unbuckles the clasp at my left ankle.
My stomach flutters. A different kind of flutter. Deeper. More certain.
Rarer.
I do my best to ignore it. But the gentle way his fingers graze my skin—how he runs a hand up my calf, giving it a firm, reverent squeeze before moving to the other shoe—
“How the hell do you wear these all night?” He holds up the strappy stilettos. “These things look like damn weapons.”
I grab the shoes and smile, grateful for the distraction. “They are weapons. Just not the kind you’re thinking of.”
“Weapons of seduction?”
“Or empowerment. I like the way they make me feel. Most of the time, anyway, until my feet really start to hurt.”
“Poor feet.” Hank picks up my foot and starts massaging it. He presses his thumb into my arch, just firm enough to feel glorious, and my eyes nearly roll back in my head.
Too intimate.
This is too mushy. He’s being too nice.
I’m five seconds from coming. Time to get down to business.
Guiding my foot out of his grasp, I hook a finger in his shirt. “Where are your condoms?”
I can’t tell if he looks relieved or disappointed at the question. Whatever the case, his expression smooths, eyes sharp with hunger.
“Bedside table.” Placing his hands on his knees, he pushes up to standing and unbuttons his shirt while I grab a couple Trojans.
He rolls back his shoulders, tugging the shirt off. My mouth goes dry at the sight of Hank’s bare chest and stomach and shoulders. Is he the hottest guy I’ve ever been with?
He ripples with strength. The muscles and veins in his forearms bunch against his skin as he unzips his jeans and shucks off his black briefs.
His cock juts lewdly from between his sculpted hips. It’s just the right combo of length and thickness, with a wide pink crown and a slit that glistens with precum. A thatch of dark blond hair, neatly trimmed, covers his balls.
My pussy clenches. Yeah, definitely the hottest guy I’ll ever be with.
“You’re beautiful,” I manage.
“Thank you.” He leans over me, planting his hands on the bed beside my legs, and kisses me. I taste myself on his lips. “Cool if I turn on some music?”
“Of course.”
He puts on a Bruce Springsteen cover, John Mayer singing “I’m on Fire.” It’s moody and sexy and perfect.
“I like this. You have a hookup playlist, don’t you?”
“Don’t you?”
“Yes.” I grin. “And this song is on it. Although I’ve got the AWOLNATION cover instead.”
“That’s a good one too.”
