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Leaning on his chest, I prop my chin on my hands. “I’m here to fuck the living daylights out of you, boy, so you’d better start undressing pronto.”
“Oh yeah.” He sings along with Barry that I’m his kind of wonderful, and I giggle, then brush my lips against his. He opens his mouth, but I lift my head, tilt it the other way, and then touch my lips to his again, the same way he did outside the bar. His eyes narrow, and he slides his hands into my hair and pulls my head down for a proper kiss, brooking no argument.
Mmm… he’s such a good kisser. I’ve never been with a guy who has a beard and mustache before, but I discover that I like the prickle of his hair on my skin, the feel of it beneath my fingers. Our tongues tangle, and his fingers tighten in my hair, while he slides the other hand down my back to my bra strap. He takes the clasp in his fingers, and, with one simple twist, snaps it open.
I lift my head and stare at him, and he laughs and says, “Magic.”
I push myself up so I’m sitting astride him, slide the straps of my bra down my arms, and toss it aside. He admires my breasts for moment, then cups them and brushes his thumbs across my nipples.
“Soft as silk,” he murmurs, pulling me down again.
We kiss for ages, taking our time, while his hands wander over my skin, starting on my shoulders, brushing down my back, then up my sides to my breasts. Ooh, that makes me tingle all over. I want him naked; I want to feel his skin against mine, but he doesn’t seem in any hurry, and I’m happy to let him lead.
Eventually, he pushes me up and, catching my hands in his, he pulls them above his head. He kisses down my neck, over my collarbone, and down to my breasts, occasionally touching his tongue to my skin as if my freckles are flecks of chocolate, and he’s trying to lick them off.
When he reaches my breasts, I feel the whisper of his sigh on my sensitive skin, and the warm brush of his tongue as he circles the areola, then gently sucks each nipple to a tight bud.
I groan, rocking my hips, able to feel his erection even through my jeans. I’m already turned on, and the seam of my jeans is pressing right where it needs to. Aaahhh… that feels good, and the attention he’s paying my nipples is only heightening my arousal.
He releases my hands, sliding his left hand down my back to rest at the base of my spine, holding me in place as he thrusts up to meet me. With his right hand he tugs one nipple, while at the same time he sucks the other. I drift into a dream world, filled with sensual thoughts and delights, as he slowly teases me toward the edge.
It never takes me long to make myself come, but it usually takes a lot longer when there’s someone else involved. Clearly, though, things are going to be different with this guy. In only a couple of minutes I feel the familiar tightness begin in my belly. I shift, trying to ease the pressure of the denim seam on my soft flesh, but he pulls me back, and he rotates his hips to grind against me. Mmm. Ahhh… oh shit, I think I’m going to come…
“Saxon,” I whisper urgently, but he just thrusts up, and sucks, and pinches harder, and oh fuck, my orgasm hits with a bang, and all I can do is gasp out loud as the five or six pulses claim me.
When I’m done, he releases me, and I glare down at him, chest heaving.
“One,” he says, and laughs. Sliding an arm around my waist, he lifts and flips me onto my back, kisses me, then sits up and starts unbuttoning his waistcoat.
I watch him, still reeling from the pleasure he delivered so casually, entranced by his second striptease of the evening. He removes the waistcoat, unbuttons his shirt and takes it off, yanks off his Chucks and socks and tosses them onto the floor, then finally sheds his suit trousers, and they join the rest of his clothes.
Ooh, he’s all muscular and tanned. He obviously works out. Yum.
I look down at his boxers. They’re white and covered in red hearts. I lift my eyebrows, and he glances at them, lips twisting. “Someone bought them for me as a joke,” he admits. “I forgot I was wearing them.”
“That’s all right—mine are embroidered with the days of the week and have my name sewn in the back.”
He laughs as he undoes my boots and slips them off, along with my socks. Then he opens the buttons of my jeans, slides down the zipper, and peels them down my legs. They’re tight, so he has a bit of trouble getting them off, and by the end we’re both laughing as he finally tugs them over my feet. Lastly, he removes my lacy black knickers. He looks at them, then lifts them to his nose and inhales.
“Saxon!” I push him with my foot, and he grins and drops them over the edge of the bed before returning to lie on top of me.
“You’re squishing me,” I complain, even though I love it.
“Couldn’t give a fuck, Catie,” he says. Is that a quote fromBridget Jones’s Diary? Actually, come to think of it, he reminds me a bit of Hugh Grant’s character. I’ve always thought Bridget would be better off with the sexy Daniel Cleaver than the pompous Mark Darcy.
“I’m going to make you come with my mouth now,” he tells me. His eyes are feverish with desire.
I give a helpless sigh. “Okay.”
He kisses me, hot and hard, his tongue delving into my mouth, demanding rather than asking, and then he tears his lips away and begins kissing down my throat and neck.
I thought he’d just shift down on the bed and get on with it, but he takes his time, doing what he promised and attempting to kiss every freckle on my body. He kisses my shoulders, my arms, my hands, and along each finger, then moves to my neck, and down over my breasts. He sucks each nipple again, gently at first, then harder, making me hold my breath, until it’s so intense I can’t stop a squeak escaping.
He lifts up and looks at me, his eyes glittering in the low light. “Shame we only have one night,” he says, his voice husky. “I could torture you for days like this and not get bored.”
I blink at him, shocked by the intensity of his deep brown eyes. This guy was made for sex. “I bet you’rekinky as,” I say, a little resentful that he’s not mine, and that one day some other girl will have him in her bed full time. “I bet there’s nothing in bed you wouldn’t do.”
“With you?” He scans my body lazily. “Probably not.”
