"Well, then…that was…yeah," she managed inarticulately, smiling at the amused look on his face.
"Fucking hot, is what it was, Larrington," he supplied.
Alisha chuckled softly and nodded her head. "It was," she said, smoothing her hair back out of her eyes. He placed his hands on the table and leaned in, catching her lips in a slow, teasing kiss.
Resisting the urge to sigh, she glanced down at her disheveled appearance and his instead, and laughed. They'd been so desperate to just get to it that only the essentials had been moved out of the way. (So hot. Seriously! Oh my God!) Sliding off the table, she moved to pull up her pants when he stopped her.
"You're not going anywhere yet, Alisha," he told her, his voice deep and gruff.
"I know that," she replied coyly, tugging her jeans up over her boots. She leaned back onto the table. "I was going to take these off," she said, lifting her leg and pressing the toe of her boot into his chest, smiling wickedly.
Big smirked again, turned on by this kittenish side to her. He unzipped her boots and pulled them off, and pushed her jeans and panties down and off her legs. "Good," he began, running his hands slowly up those long, toned legs and settling them on her firm ass. He lifted her up and set her down on the table again. Smoothing the vest off her body, he smirked, "because I'm nowhere near done with you yet."
"I know that, too," she grinned, reaching her hands around to unclasp her bra, slowly pulling it off to bare her breasts to him. "I'm still moving—and as I recall that wasn't part of the deal. I'd say you've got your work cut out for you," she challenged in a teasing tone. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth and smiled.
His eyebrows shot up, then he grinned, slow and devious. Alisha Larrington was fucking awesome. "You might be sorry you said that," Big warned, his eyes poring over her now naked body. (So much better than he remembered…especially now that he got to do dirty things to her.)
Her blood began to beat again, the throbbing need between her thighs back in full force. She ran her hands and eyes over his chest and down his arms. (His body was insane.) "I doubt it," she said, her lips curving, making him laugh dryly.
"You know, Larrington," he began slowly, brushing his fingers over her thighs, pleased when she quivered and leaned into his touch, "I seem to recall you complaining about some past encounters…so I think it's time for me to show you how a real man eats pussy," he finished, grinning crookedly at the surprised look in her big doe eyes. He lowered her back on the table and spread her thighs wide, bowing his head to her sex. The first long, slow lick against her heat had her arching off the table and him smirking wickedly.
"Not sorry at all," she promised breathlessly.
The next morning, as she tiptoed quietly through his apartment looking for her clothes, she was kind of sorry. She was kind of sorry for challenging him, because he'd made good on his promise and now every damn muscle in her body ached. She hadn't checked, but she wouldn't be surprised if she was black and blue between her thighs. It wasn't that she hadn't enjoyed it, because, hello, who wouldn't want to be fucked into unconsciousness by a man who looked like Big? She'd actually lost count of the number of orgasms he'd brought her to, but she knew that the number was more than she'd ever had in one night before…by a long shot. Turns out? Jake Biggerman wasn't just posturing about his sexual prowess. In fact, he may have been being modest. (Un-freaking-real!) But, back to the point she was trying to make before she got so sidetracked…she had two shows to do today and the mere thought of her dance moves made her want to weep and curl up into a ball. However, she was a professional, and she'd down a handful of ibuprofen and some water and suck it up like professionals did when the need arose. The show must go on.
As she quickly fastened her bra and tugged on her jeans, she was kind of sorry to be sneaking out while he slept. But as great as last night was (and it really, really was), she wasn't stupid. Big was…well…Big. And she knew now that she'd become a notch on his weathered belt, he would move on to someone else. It didn't bother her (not really) because she knew going in to this what his reputation was like and that he didn't tend to do repeats with his conquests. They were adults, they'd had a great time, and now they could go on with their lives and maybe still be friends or whatever. (Too much sex addled her brain and hindered her vocabulary.) Just because they'd spent the entire night having mind-blowing sex, she wasn't operating under any delusions that they were meant to be together, or anything ridiculous like that. (And just in case you weren't clear by now, he'd easily taken the crown away from Joe Fletcher—and made her admit it. Out loud. More than once. Mildly embarrassing for her, but whatever. The wickedly victorious smile on his face at the time was sexy and he proved to her, again (twice!), why he was number one with a bullet.)
Grabbing her vest off the table, her cheeks
