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‘Discuss what, exactly?’ The heady buzz surged as his hard thigh trapped her more firmly, forcing her legs to part and connecting with her yearning clitoris. ‘I’m already past the point of no return.’ Or she soon would be, and she didn’t want to discuss anything. ‘All we’re going to do is shag.’
Weren’t they? She certainly wasn’t in the market for some long drawn-out conversation about where this was going, because it was going precisely nowhere, except hopefully into the king-size bed she’d spotted through the door at the back of the suite.
His grin became mocking. ‘I like a woman who speaks her mind,’ he said. ‘But you’re going to have to control that potty mouth or I’m going to find something else for it to do.’
She rolled her eyes while swivelling her hips to increase the pressure of his thigh against her sobbing clit. ‘If you want a blow job, just say so. There’s no need to be coy.’
He worked his thigh against her trapped clitoris. ‘I may spank you before I fuck you if you’re not careful,’ he said, the stern threat somewhat mollified by the wicked gleam in his eyes.
She grinned back. ‘Promises, promises.’
He laughed, those brilliant blue eyes locking on hers. ‘I want to lick you until you come against my mouth, then I want to fuck you so hard and long that you’ll be walking funny for a week.’
She swallowed heavily, the intensity in his eyes as compelling as the gruff determination in his voice and the deliberately crude words. The sledgehammer pulse in her clitoris sped up, drawing all the air out of her lungs. ‘And your point would be?’
‘I want to be sure you’re good with that, because once we get started, I’m not going to want to stop.’
She smiled, dismissing the flutter under her breastbone at the sincerity in his tone. His ex-wife must really have done a number on him if he seriously thought she was not going to be good with that. She’d certainly given him enough hints, potty-mouth-wise.
‘Brent, I’m not just good with it, I’m ecstatic. Imagine me as your willing and able sex toy for the night. Whatever your pleasure, I’m happy to supply it.’ And I’ll do the same with you.
She dug her fingers into his hair. The short strands bristled, soft and sensual against her palms, as she dragged his mouth back to hers.
‘Now, in the words of the great Elvis Presley,’ she whispered against his lips, her gaze drifting over his harshly handsome face as his erection prodded her belly, proud and solid through his pants, ‘can we please have a little less conversation, and a lot more action.’
He hooked his fingers into the string of her thong and twisted. ‘So that’s what Elvis would do, huh?’ he teased, tightening the gusset of her thong to torture the bundle of nerves.
‘No, Elvis would have done it already,’ she whispered provocatively.
Releasing the string, he slapped her arse. ‘Patience.’ The sound reverberated around the room as the sting sent a sharp sizzle of sensation across her buttocks to settle in her vulva, where the pounding ache had become all but unbearable.
‘Not a chance, big boy.’
Gripping her bum, he yanked her closer, rotating her hips to grind her yearning clit against his thigh. Glorious pleasure rippled through her abdomen.
‘Harder,’ she panted, heat flushing through her, as she rode the ridge of muscle.
‘Who’s giving the orders here?’ he teased, keeping the pace steady, relentless.
He drowned her huff of frustration with a kiss. His mouth slanting across hers, dominant and devastating. She sucked on his invading tongue.
When he finally lifted his head, they were both breathless. Locating the zip under her arm, he tugged it down.
He stepped back, his gaze riveted on her cleavage.
‘Don’t stop,’ she demanded, having finally got enough breath back to speak.
‘Take the dress off. I want you naked.’
She bristled slightly at the dictatorial tone. ‘Same goes, buster.’
‘For a sex toy, you’ve got an awfully big mouth. Now stow the attitude...and lose the dress.’
She would have argued. But her clitoris pulsed as his lips curved with challenge—and she decided that just this once, she’d do as she was told. Lifting the dress’s hem, she wrestled the vintage Dior over her head. The damn thing got stuck for a moment, and she wriggled, panting. She doubted her dance looked particularly sexy, but she refused to care. She’d waited two years. Style and grace would have to wait for next time.
Free at last, she flung the dress away and stood before him in her push-up bra, lace thong and heels. ‘Your turn.’
He unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged it off, giving her a full frontal of beautifully sculpted pecs and a lean, awe-inspiring eight-pack. Her eyes began to cross with lust. ‘Nice,’ she purred. ‘I’m going to have to give Sam a kiss for fixing me up with you.’
