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“I want you wet and willing, sugar.”
I was getting wetter by the second and my willpower was struggling. I felt how big he was. How muscly. How warm. How hard. He made other men seem scrawny. Weak. Small.
That was because Dex James was huge and had pheromones pumping off him in waves.
“You know what I’ve thought about since I woke up and discovered you don’t wear panties to bed?”
I stayed quiet because I had a feeling he was going to tell me. And I–and my hormones–were going to like it.
“How soft and plush your pussy would feel against my fingertips.”
Oh. My. God. He was a talking romance hero. The words and tone and feel and scent and everything about him went right to my vagina. If we stayed like this too much longer, my arousal would be coating his thigh.
“This…” I had to clear my throat because it was bone dry all of a sudden. All moisture in my body relocated to my pussy. “...is going to be a problem.”
I wasn’t relaxed any longer, but tense and… well, never so aroused in my life. Because Dex and his big dick energy felt good. Soft skin over hard muscles. He was big and even sprawled across him, I felt small. And while his hand was on my butt, I felt protected. Like the world outside of this bed could wait.
Which was a big problem. Because he wasn’t permanent. This wasn’t going anywhere.
“You call it a problem. I call it something else.” He followed that with another roll of his hips.
While he was pretty amazing–the weakest adjective to describe Dex, ever–in the fling category, I didn’t want one. God, all I had to do was sit up, tug down those boxer briefs and take him for a ride.
No.
No! It would be a quickie, although maybe quickie wasn’t the right word with Dex. I had a feeling he had a lot of endurance. When he was done with me, I’d probably be sore in lots of delicious ways and walk funny for a few days, and I’d want more. I wasn’t an idiot. One time wasn’t going to be enough of Dex James.
I was more aroused from his dirty talk and his hand on my ass than I had with any man before him.
If I did it again, and again, I’d get attached. Then he’d leave. I’d be exactly where I was now–not literally–and with a broken heart. And ruined for all other men, including Mr. Right.
“I have to get up,” I said.
“No, you don’t.”
“Dex.”
“Lindy.”
“I have a li–”
“List. I know,” he murmured. “I’ll help.”
I lifted my head, met his dark eyes.
“You will?”
His hair was sleep tousled and just waking up he looked younger. Softer, although that sounded ridiculous when describing him.
“It’s in my phone. Your list. We’ll work our way through it.”
I frowned down at him. “Don’t you want to… I don’t know, go mountain biking or something?”
“I’m not leaving you with a treehouse to go off and play.”
“Dex.”
“Sugar.” He gave my butt another little swat, this one more of a reminder than sexy times fun. Either way, I liked it and the way his eyes were studying me so closely, he knew.
