She gazes down at me, her brown eyes glimmering with darkening desire. She parts her lips, licks them, then locks eyes with me. “I’ll fuck your face,” she whispers, saying that filthy word for the first time.
Letting go of her ass for a second, I run my hand up her body and brush a finger over her lips. “Your naughty mouth.”
She nips my finger. “Fuck me with your naughty mouth,” she murmurs, and I nearly die of being ridiculously turned on.
This woman. Her words. Her need.
She delivers.
I return my hands to her ass, my face to her pussy.
And we go wild.
She lets go, rocking and thrusting, having a field day. I’m her toy now, my tongue is her vibrator, and she’s using me fiercely, expertly, her hips arching up, up, up.
As my tongue goes flick, flick, flick.
As my hands grip her ass, digging in deeper, squeezing her.
“Yes, oh God, yes,” she moans, her fingers gripping my skull.
We work together to find her bliss. Hands, hips, mouth, tongue, and sweet, frenzied friction.
That’s what she needs.
That’s what I give her as she begs for release.
She cries out, a delirious, keening sound that’s half my name and half “Coming.”
And wholly hot as fuck.
She tenses, then shudders, her thighs squeezing my face as she comes on my tongue, my lips, my mouth.
I devour her climax, losing my mind at the taste of her release.
At her moans.
Her pants.
Her oh Gods as she comes down from the high.
When she lets out a soft laugh, I take it that she’s hit a wall, that she’s too sensitive. Letting go of her ass, I look up, meet her gaze, and smile like a happy fool.
Because, fuck, that’s what I am.
I’m so damn happy with her.
She’s blissed out, her hair wild, her smile gloriously filthy, and her cheeks flushed orgasm-pink.
“Hi,” she whispers.
My heart slams against my chest.
My cock thumps inside my jeans.
For the first time in a long time, the two organs are utterly in sync, working in tandem, and that’s terribly dangerous.
But it’s a risk I’m taking.
I need more of her.
Wiping a hand across my face, I crawl up her, brace myself on my palms above her, and meet her gaze. “Hi.”
A smile comes my way. “Which rule number was that? I can’t think.”
I wiggle a brow. “Rule number four, sweetheart. And it’s still in effect.”
“Right.” Her sex-drunk frown is adorable. “And rule number four says . . .”
“Rule number four,” I say, “says that I get to make you come.” I pause. “A lot.”
I push back onto my knees, then offer her a hand. She takes it, and I tug her up. “And now I’m going to take you to your bed, where I’m going to fuck you and make love to you,” I tell her.
She lets out a satisfied sigh, her lips twitching in a grin. “Thank God for the lucky corgi butts.”
In her bedroom, Nadia tugs on the hem of my shirt, her heated gaze drifting downward, checking out my clothes.
I’m still dressed. She’s half naked, which mostly works for me. That blouse needs to go. The bra too.
Stat.
“Do I get to undress you now?” she asks, playing with the fabric of my Henley, lifting it a few inches so her fingertips trail over my abs.
Her touch ignites goose bumps across my flesh. I want to feel those hands all over me, turning me on, making me crazy.
“Take it off. Take it all off.” I want everything off. Her clothes. Mine. I want to get naked and roll around with her all night long, arms and legs wrapped around each other. I want to feel her bare skin. Explore every inch, discover every reflex.
Laughing, she pulls the fabric over my head. “Don’t you want to admire my candlelit seduction, roses, and soft music?” She gestures to her bedroom as she tosses my shirt on the floor.
With a quick glance, I appraise her decor—no candles, no flowers, no tunes. Her bedroom is simple—a cranberry-red cover on her king-size bed and gobs and gobs of pillows.
“Woman, where is the seduction? How do you expect me to get turned on without rose petals all over the place?”
She spreads her palms over my chest, and I draw in a sharp, hot breath as sparks shoot through me.
Her touch is electric, and it short-circuits my brain.
“I don’t know. Are you turned on, Crosby?”
My eyes narrow as I rope a hand around her bare waist, jerking her against the ridge of my cock. “You tell me.”
She murmurs, “Seems so.” Then her busy hands continue their journey, traveling over the planes of my stomach on a path for the button of my jeans.
Working the snap open, she heads for the zipper next.
I waste no time either, fiddling with the rest of the buttons on her pink shirt, spreading it open, revealing the tops of those luscious tits I’ve only sneaked a peek at.
Tonight I get to gawk. I get to indulge in them.
She lets go of my jeans to shrug out of her shirt. I help the nudity cause by unhooking her bra, letting the white lace fall to where-the-fuck-ever.
“Fuck me,” I groan as I free her tits—gorgeous, perky breasts with dusky rose nipples that stand at attention. I cup one in each hand, and she lets out a throaty gasp, arching her back, pushing into my touch as I knead these beauties.
“I like that,” she purrs.
My dick tries to wrestle its way out of my jeans, jerking against my clothes, doing a skyscraper impression to get some attention.
But fuck my dick.
Because . . . these breasts.
I drop my face between them, nuzzling, licking, sucking.
Groaning too. I could spend all day here. I could get lost in the valley of her breasts. Don’t bother with a search and rescue crew; I’m not leaving.
Doesn’t seem she wants me to either. Nadia grips my hair, tugs me closer, urges me to lavish attention on her gorgeous globes.
“Yes, Crosby. God, yes,” she says, but then
