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I don’t break away. I don’t breathe. I want to feel her orgasming on my tongue more than I need the air in my lungs and the brain cells in my head. Feeling Presley come undone is like drinking the world’s sweetest, most delicious wine.
Nothing else will ever be as good.
“Oh God, I’m here.” She shakes, panting and letting out soft, breathy moans as release ripples through her.
When the shaking stops, I lay my cheek against her thigh and give her a moment to come back down to earth. In that quiet moment, I heard the pounding of my heart and the slowing in-outwhooshof her breath above me. I smell the scent of her sex in the air. I feel the way she twirls her fingers through my hair, which seems far more intimate than the oral pleasure I gave her a moment ago. The action is gentle, affectionate.
It hooks me.
“You’re pretty good at that,” she says. “Much better than my vibrator.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” I get to my feet and pull her to me, burying my face in her hair and sucking in the sweet fragrance of her shampoo. “Although I like the image of you getting yourself off. Nothing sexier than a woman who knows how to take care of business.”
“Take care of business?” She laughs. “I like that. Now can I take care ofyourbusiness?”
Her hand snakes down between us and my cock is still out of my pants, standing proud and begging for her smooth, greedy hands. Actually, it’s begging for the hot depths of her pussy, but I’m happy to take a slight detour first.
“You feel big.” Her voice is a little deeper than before, when we were trading war stories. It’s scratchier, huskier. Arousal sounds good on her. “I’m not just saying that because I know guys like to hear it, either.”
“The dirty talk works better without the extra explanation,” I tease. I love having her pinned against the door, body wedged between me and something solid—it stirs some caveman part of me, like I’m shielding her. Keeping her safe and warm.
“I use a lot of words,” she says. “It’s a nervous habit.”
“You’re nervous?” I still. “If you want to stop...”
“I don’t.” She squeezes me as if punctuating her sentence. “But I’ve never... Well, one-night stands are not mymodus operandi, okay? This is unchartered territory for me.”
“Yeah, me, too,” I admit. I wouldn’t call myself a relationship guy, because I have my golden rule—never let a woman derail me. But I don’t exactly bang my way through life, either.
Mostly I keep things short and sweet—low key, no strings. No expectations. I date women who are looking for fun and aren’t ready to settle down; that way, no one gets hurt. Put it this way: Presley isn’t my usual type.
Maybe that’s why I feel so startled by her, so startled by how much I want her.
“I want this to be good,” she says. “For both of us.”
“You’ve got a big tick from me.” I skim my hand along her arm, feeling for the curve of her breast. When I fill my palm with the firm, plump shape—my thumb skating back and forth so her nipple beads beneath her dress—she lets out a soft, releasing breath. “Even if we stopped right now, I’d be leaving with a head full of good memories.”
Good, private memories that I will take as secrets to my grave.
“And if I don’t want to stop?”
I squeeze her breast, kneading her through her dress, my cock pulsing so hard it’s difficult to get enough blood to my brain to allow it to function. “Then I hope I can find a condom in the dark, because I’m so ready.”
I feel her press against me. “I stashed one in my bra.”
Can I do this in the dark? I blink. It’s taken a while, but my eyes are finally adjusting, though the thin beam of light at the bottom of the door does little. It’s nothing but shadowy shapes in here. The sound of something crinkly cuts through the air and something small and square is pressed into my hand. I tear the packet and find the rubbery texture of the condom inside.
I contemplate flicking the light on but I don’t want to risk us getting caught and kicked out before I can bury myself between Presley’s sweet thighs. I pinch the tip of the condom and then roll the length of it down my cock. My hands are a little unsteady. I’m not nervous, more...excited. Anticipation is like a heady scent in my nostrils and I’m floating on a cloud of lust.
“Ready?” I ask, my hands coming back to her hips.
“Yeah, I’m ready.” Her breath hitches as I push her dress back up her thighs, my thumb sliding over the still sensitive part of her sex. The rough little noise she makes when I flick her clit is everything. “Maybe not quite for that, yet.”
“Yet,” I echo. I want to feel her come again.
Tearing her underwear to one side, I hitch her thigh over my hip and position myself at her entrance. Rocking my hips, I slide through her wetness until I hit the spot that I want. When I push into her, it’s so perfect, I don’t know how I’m ever going to walk away from this.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
