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“Do you want me to…do something else?”
“Fuck no.” He gritted his teeth and then resumed thrusting with renewed fervor. “You’re going to kneel there with your heart racing, and your body aching, and finish me. Then it’s my turn. You’re going to hold on to this porch rail, straddle my face, and count out how many licks it takes for me to make you co—”
His body tensed, his head fell back, and his words died off in a low, ragged groan. Heat pooled between her breasts, branding the truth on her skin. Melody Merritt, dutiful daughter, patient fiancée, and all-around good girl, had just seduced a man on her front porch with the kind of naughty sex people around here assumed would give her the vapors. She hugged him in her cleavage a little longer, just to savor the moment—the sense of accomplishment—which only intensified when another long, low groan reached her ears. He slowly slipped free, and then leaned in until his forehead rested against the porch rail.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “I can barely stand.”
Rather than risk his seeing her beam with pride, she kept her head down and concentrated on digging the pack of tissues from her purse. She felt him move. Heard the shuffle of clothes and the rasp of his zipper, and then long, quick fingers snagged the tissue pack from her hand. The move surprised her, and she looked up at him. “I’m happy to share. All you have to do is ask.”
“Sharing’s not my strong suit. Get up.” But then, instead of waiting for her to get to her feet, he grasped her arms, hauled her up, and braced her against the porch column. She might have suffered a twinge of self-consciousness, standing before him half naked while moonlight glistened on the damp cleavage he hadn’t given her a chance to clean, but something primitive and territorial in his expression held the self-consciousness at bay.
“What is your strong suit?” She hoped the question sounded sassier to his ears than it had to hers.
“Don’t worry. You’re about to find out. But first”—he took two tissues from the packet he’d swiped from her, crumpled them, and trailed the absorbent wad between her breasts—“I make a mess, I clean it up.”
Yes, he did. Slowly. Methodically. Very, very thoroughly. Her breath caught as he ran the wispy edges of the paper along the underside of her breast, up the swell, to the ever-tightening crest. She was so sensitive the soft, barely-there touch caused her to moan.
“Sore?” he asked, and feathered his way toward the other breast.
The pulse between her thighs pounded so hard, her legs threatened to give out. An echoing pulse throbbed in each nipple. She couldn’t think past the exquisite agony. “Y-yes.” Oh God, wrong answer. What if he stopped? “I mean…no.”
His laugh trailed over her skin. Another small torture. “Which is it, then? Yes or no?” He rubbed the tissue over the tip of her nipple, less gently this time, and her voice completely failed her. The low, needy noise coming out of her throat didn’t qualify as speech.
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“What if I put my lips right here?” He trapped her nipple between his thumb and index finger. “Would you scream?”
She just might, but the risk didn’t stop her from getting a two-handed grip on the porch rail behind her and arching toward him.
“Damn, you make a pretty picture, with those bare breasts bathed in moonlight. Don’t move.”
And then his lips were on her. Lips, teeth, tongue, alternately teasing, tormenting, and soothing until she couldn’t stand still anymore. He simply clamped his hands around her waist and lifted her onto the porch rail. Before she could catch her breath, he doled out the same sweet punishment to her other breast.
Desire coiled sharp and tight. She parted her legs and twined them around his, trying to pull him closer—to pull him into her and feel the press of his body where she needed it most. But he was stronger, and he resisted her efforts. Instead he raised his head and whispered in her ear.
“Uh-uh, Bluelick. No shortcuts. I let you have your way with me, but I told you what I’d do when it was my turn. Now you’re going to learn I’m a man of my word. Come over here.” He pointed to a spot in front of the porch column. Then he stepped back and waited.
She jumped to follow his instructions, even as her desperate mind scrambled to remember his words. Something about counting…
“Face the column.” Once she did as he instructed, he came up behind her, grabbed a handful of her dress and tugged. The fabric shivered over her skin and pooled at her feet, leaving her in nothing but her panties and heels.
He danced his fingertips along the lace trim of her panties. “Pink. I should have known.”
“They match the outfit.” She struggled not to squirm under his touch.
“The outfit. Yeah. You aimed to twist my dick around your little finger when you put on that dress tonight, didn’t you?” His fingers followed a path down the center seam of her panties.
Had she? She couldn’t remember. All she could focus on was the feel of his fingers sliding over her, drawing nearer to the point he’d discover her panties weren’t just pink, but incredibly damp. “Did it…work?”
“You know it did. You wearing pink around me amounts to waving a red flag in front of a bull. I see it, and I automatically think about every soft pink part of you. Every peak and crevice. I think about touching, tasting…sinking into those soft pink parts until you shudder and scream. When you wear that color around me, you’re saying, ‘I want you to fuck me.’ Understand?”
His hand stilled, and she realized he was waiting for a response. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
Yes, what? Holy crap, what did he want her to say? “Yes…I understand?”
He slapped her backside. Need tore through her. “Please,” she whispered, and her eyes fluttered shut.
