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“No, I canmorethan handle it. It’s just unusual for a guy to… want to do that right off the bat,” she admitted, pressing her lips together before licking them again.
Shit, this woman knew how to press all his buttons.
“I don’t disagree. But I reserve the right to call things off if you’re not a hygiene fetishist,” he murmured. “Or if this is when you tell me you have any STDs I should know about.”
“No, I’m clean. Are you?” she asked.
“100%,” he replied, and slid his hands under her skirt.
She inched her legs wider, and the disbelief fled, leaving nothing but anticipation in her eyes.
“I’m definitely a hygiene fetishist,” she said, placing both hands on the seat and leaning slightly backward.
The heavy bike didn’t budge, and he pushed his hands along her outer thighs, revealing firm, muscled legs. It surprised him, and he wondered if she worked out regularly.
As her skirt moved up, he caught sight of white lace. He leaned in and caught a mix of linen and flowers and talcum powder. He guided his forefingers under the elastic at the waist and then ran them down to where they covered her core, the hair underneath smooth and trimmed.
“Hmm,” he murmured as he tugged the slip of panties to the side.
The light was dim, but he could make out the mound of her. As he leaned closer he inhaled her warm, sweet aroma and his cock grew more rigid. She was hot for him, there was no denying that smell.
“Sugar, if you taste as good as you smell—” he murmured, but she caught him off guard by placing a hand on the back of his head.
“I do, trust me,” she growled, then shimmied her hips until that dewy mound touched his lips.
He braced his hands on the outside of her thighs and slid his tongue along her crevice, tasting the honeydew sweetness of her.
Her legs widened and he thought he heard her groan when he dipped his tongue the tiniest bit deeper. He stroked up to her nub, not quite touching it, then back down again where the source of her wetness waited for him.
She pushed into him, but he shifted his hands to grip her hips.
“Not so fast. I like to make these moments last,” he said, his lips moving against hers in a way he knew would drive her mad. It drove most women mad. Driving women to the brink and holding them there was an art.
“I like these moments to go fast. Hard and fast,” she breathed, straining against the hands holding her still.
His hands won.
“We’re going at my pace, and my pace means finding your edge and holding you there,” he said, darting his tongue back inside her.
She gasped and tried to wiggle again.
“You mean teasing,” she complained, a hitch of frustration in his voice now.
He chuckled, letting the sound echo into her. She tensed and widened her legs even more.
“You have a lot to learn about sexual pleasure,” he chastised, and felt her body go tense.
“You know nothing about what I do and don’t know,” she replied, her voice haughty, demanding. “Are you going to make me come, or what?”
“I’m getting to it,” he said between licks. “If you quit squirming and distracting me, I might just take you there.”
He paused and lifted his head slightly. Her eyes burned into his and the glow of the alley light ringed her dark hair in a blue halo.
Fuck, she was gorgeous. It almost made him do what she wanted, which was make her come, then bury himself inside her so she could ride him like he rode his bike.
He resisted.
Letting a woman control what he did was against every fiber in his body.
