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“You like that,” she said, as if she could tell him how to feel. Her skin felt too tight for her body, and she could hear her breathing picking up. Touching him turned her on. Lucky her. She stroked lightly up and down his shaft, taking her time because he felt so good and it had been a long time since she’d had this. Up, down, then back up again. Drawing small circles around the tip until the ragged sound of his breathing drowned out her own.
He pressed his thigh up, unerringly finding the place where she was hot and wet. For him. For her Navy man. Pleasure shuddered through her, and she froze. So good. So sweet and hot and absolutely what she needed right now. He cupped her jaw with his hand, urging her head up so he could see her face even as she curved her palm around him and rotated.
His eyes met hers in fierce demand. “I want a turn.”
Of course he did. “You had one. Last night.”
Her attraction to him was off the scale. For one moment, she panicked and considered beating a quick retreat. Because she was drawn to more than just his body. She liked the man himself. His teasing smile and easy good humor. He was tough as nails underneath the charm, but he didn’t need to one-up or bulldoze over her. In fact, he didn’t seem to mind when she took charge as long he got his turn.
“This is my reward,” she whispered.
Moving down, she sucked the tip of him into her mouth. With a muttered curse, he shoved his jeans and boxers down. She helped because getting him naked was suddenly her first priority. He tasted salty and sweet. Essence of Tag, she thought, fighting back a smile as she ran her tongue over the swollen crown. She teased him, and he groaned, a harsh, needing sound.
Got you.
She kept her eyes open because she didn’t want to miss a moment. This was worth waiting for, was a good reason to have spent all those years fighting to come home. Sunlight had started to fill up the room, and he really needed to buy some curtains that weren’t sheer. She hoped like hell no one walked by in the next half hour or so. Giving Mr. Bentley a heart attack wasn’t part of her master plan. She took more of Tag into her mouth, letting him push deeper. Licking and sucking every inch she could reach.
“I’d be happy to reciprocate.” In response, she flicked a glance up at him. His face was strained, but his eyes were open, too. They had that much in common—they were both watchers. He threaded his fingers through her hair, stroking her shoulders, her arms. The little touches set her on fire. Rough-gentle and warm, the small caresses built the intimate connection between them.
She released him briefly, wrapping her fingers around him. “What are the odds someone walks by?”
While he calculated, she swept her hand up and down his shaft, her thumb and forefinger forming a tight O. She leaned forward and gave him a little lick.
“Pretty low.” He tugged gingerly on her hair. “You could turn around. Give me something to do with my mouth. We could have our turns at the same time.”
Imagine that. She could.
The problem was, she had no self-control around this man. Instead, she took him into her mouth again as deep as she could, until his head bumped lightly against the back of her throat.
Long minutes later, he tugged on her hair. Less carefully this time. She probably shouldn’t find the little sting sexy.
She smiled up at him. Slowly. “You have something to say to me?”
Cosmopolitan had been right, she thought gleefully. His eyes darkened, and he looked like he was seconds from coming apart. God, she loved pleasuring him.
His grip on her hair relaxed, but the tension in his big body broadcast its own message. “I’m about done here. Am I coming in?”
Oh, please. She nodded, hoping like crazy he had a condom because the bedroom was too far away. He produced one from somewhere, foil tearing as he opened the packet and smoothed the rubber down.
She swung herself on top of him, positioning herself so the tip of him pressed against her opening. Bull’s-eye. His hands gripped her hips, and he pushed up. She met his thrust, taking him deep inside her body until his balls were pressed against her.
“Okay?” he gritted out.
She didn’t need a status check. She needed more. “Again.”
“Bossy.” But he complied.
She wrapped her legs around his hips, gripping him tightly. She needed more of this. He gave it to her, as if he knew without her saying anything or telling him how and where she needed his touch. He drove himself into her, and she could feel the control slipping away. His hips moved faster, harder, and she rode him, watching his face, fiercely focused on her and getting her where they both needed to go.
