Baseball. Trite but true. The national pastime was, after all, the world’s most boring sport. Aside from televised golf. Or curling. He wasn’t a big NASCAR fan—
“I wanted to climb up in your lap and do you like this on national television.”
The breathy confession jolted him straight out of the wide world of sports and plunged him right back in the here and now. Heat. Friction. Her hot, slick pussy clenched tightly around him. Her breaths coming fast and shallow. His voice came out so rough and deep he almost didn’t recognize himself. “You what?”
“When that tight-ass Chambers had you in his hot seat, I wanted to do this,” she said, holding his gaze. “When he was talking to you like he could ever be half the man you are, I wanted to hike my skirt up, straddle you in that hideous chair, and show the whole damn world how fuckable you are.”
“Jesus Christ.” He groaned the words, acutely aware they were half prayer, half blasphemy, and entirely necessary. If she kept on saying shit like that, he was going to need some divine intervention on his side.
Warming to the subject, Millie leaned down. “I wanted you in the car. Hell, I’d have given old Manny a show that would have ruined him for Broadway.” Her face hovering above his, she pumped him like a piston. “Might have reminded him of Times Square before the facelift.”
She huffed and puffed, but her pace never slackened. The muscles in her thighs tensed and flexed beneath his roaming hands, but he didn’t feel even a tremble of exertion.
Not on her part at least. Hell, he was straining so hard not to come he was pretty sure his fucking lips were quivering. Not above cheating a little to keep the playing field even, he slid a hand between their bodies. Her clit was swollen and slick. The damp curls of her pubic hair were thrillingly exotic. He wanted to bury his face between her legs and smother himself in those damp curls.
Millie moaned when he pinched the sensitive flesh between his thumb and middle finger. Thrilled by her responsiveness, he slid his other hand over her ass and ran his fingers slowly along the crevice. As far as he was concerned, her bold talk gave license to test her boundaries. Millie was a woman who wasn’t afraid to use her words. He pressed the pad of his index finger to the tight pucker of her anus, and she let loose with a sharp cry.
Ty tucked his chin to his chest, frantically scanning her face for a hint as to whether the squeal was one of ecstasy or revulsion. He needn’t have bothered. With the next thrust, she pressed back against the invasive finger and came completely unspooled.
Watching Millie climax was a revelation. No artifice or enhancement. No overly theatrical moans or exaggerated head thrashing. She didn’t claw, bite, or even scream. She just…came. Beautifully. With abandon. And he wanted to go there with her.
He pushed back against her restraining hand and rolled up to meet each rise and fall of her body. He gripped her ass and started to thrust up into her, each jerk of his hips awkward and a little sloppy, but he was beyond caring about style points. “God, you’re beautiful.” He panted the words, his gaze locked on her heavy-lidded eyes. “I wanna watch you come over and over again.”
The sentiment was accompanied by a particularly sharp push into her tight, pulsing heat. Whether the thrust or his near-orgasm confession shook her from her trance, he didn’t know, but she threw her head back and laughed the husky laugh that zinged straight to his balls every time.
Helpless, he tucked his face into the sweet curve of her neck and let go. His teeth scraped tender, fragrant skin. He roared long and loud, not caring if the whole damn neighborhood heard him. Grasping the soft, round cheeks of her ass, he spread her wide, bucking like a fired-up bronco as the first pulses ripped through him. At last, he gave in and let his eyelids slide shut. For the first time in a long time, he loosened his hold on his impulses and let momentum carry him.
Their bodies slowed long before their ragged breathing. Gradually, Ty became aware he was wrapped around her like a cartoon coyote who’d run face-first into a telephone pole, but he didn’t move. Couldn’t. She smelled like perfume and powder and a half dozen other delicate feminine fragrances. He wanted to stay right where he was until he identified every one of them.
Millie ran her hand over his hair. The gentleness in her caress was almost too much but, at the same time, not nearly enough. She was soothing him, all the while stoking the embers of his need again. Embers, hell. The woman ignited him. Smiling, he nipped playfully at the curve of her neck, then roused himself enough to lift his head.
Her sleepy-eyed gaze made him want to pull her down, tuck her into the curve of his body, and drift off. But he couldn’t. They had the logistics of the condom disposal to contend with and various other nuts and bolts to discuss. And now, the warmth in her eyes was tempered with more than a little wariness. The tension in her supple thighs wasn’t only from exertion. He got the feeling Millie would bolt from his bed the minute he gave her the opening. And he had no intention of leaving the lane open for her.
He kissed her. It started as a simple covering of her mouth with his but soon melted into temptation. They fit together so well. His lips. Hers. Their teeth touched once, but rather than jarring, the collision sent a bolt of lightning zipping through his
