“I swear on my life,” he said, his voice scratchy as she stroked him yet again.
Damn it, he was close. No way was it going down like this. “Now get your hand out of my jeans and let’s get the hell out of here.”
His apartment was nice though
more on the small side and not furnished with much. It wasn’t a dirty bachelor pad, of which Lanie was eternally grateful. He had decent furniture, what she could see of it and his bed was huge, so that was a plus.
She lay in that bed at this very moment, the sheet wrapped around her still underwear-clad body as she watched him. He was stripping for her, not an outrageous show but definitely a sight worth watching.
The man was like a fucking picture out of a magazine. Who knew he had abs like that? A chest like a super hero, biceps that bulged when he moved and the strongest looking pair of thighs she’d ever seen before. Oh, and don’t forget the long, thick cock straining against the front of his underwear.
He was perfection. Too good to be true. Normally, this would’ve sounded warning alarms in her head, protecting her from the nonexistent perfect man. And really, he was so wrong for her. A player, a charmer, a man with a huge cock and sinful lips and a body to absolutely die for…
Right. Why was she thinking he was wrong for her again? For once in her silly little life she was going for her. The move to a new city was the first in what she considered many changes in her once staid life. A divorce from a cheating, no good son of a bitch, a move, a job change with better pay and sex with a gorgeous man—what more could a woman ask for?
Huh. She frowned. Wondered what Wes might think about her being a divorcee.
“Take that frown off your face right now, baby. I’m about to blow your mind.” She giggled when he crawled onto the bed on all fours, looking every inch the predatory male about to capture his feminine prey. The glint in his eyes was mesmerizing, as was the lethal way he crawled up her body until she was completely beneath him. “I love a confident man.”
Leaning down, he dropped a kiss to the top of her breast, above her bra. She quivered in delight at the first brush of his lips. “I’m not that confident. If I don’t get inside you and soon, I just might come all over your pretty thighs.” God, that image was hot. The man had a way with words. She could only imagine streams of semen shooting from his cock and spilling all over her thighs. His agonized groan filling the air, her fingers drifting through his creamy essence before she brought them to her mouth for a taste…
“Condoms are in the bedside table,” she said, her voice full of urgency.
He snickered, the devil. “I like a girl who’s always prepared.”
“I should’ve been a Boy Scout.”
“Thank God you’re not.” He reached across her, pulled open the drawer and rummaged around until his hand emerged with two condom packs clutched against his palm.
All the breath left her lungs while she watched him lift so he was on his knees. He tore open the condom packet. She’d never really watched a man touch himself before—
the firm way his fingers circled the base of his cock, his other hand guiding the condom over his length. He stroked down, his fingers then trailed back up as if he was enjoying it, and a strangled sound left her at the sight.
Wes glanced up, caught her staring and a sexy little smile teased the corner of his mouth. She arched a brow in response. “Are you having a good time?”
“Oh, definitely.” The smile grew until it lit up his entire face.
“I would like to enjoy myself too.” She shifted, her legs restless and he reached out, his fingers curling around the waistband of her panties.
“I can definitely make that happen.” With a gentle tug he pulled off her panties, revealing her completely. His eyes grew darker as he drew the delicate piece of pale cotton down her thighs, over her knees, along her calves until he carefully drew them from her feet. Her entire body trembled with awareness, a choked gasp sticking in her throat when he settled his big hands on her knees and slowly spread her legs wide.
“Pretty,” he murmured as he continued to stare.
She wanted to die from mortification. And pleasure.
He stroked the inside of her thighs—his fingers coming perilously close to her pussy but not close enough. She closed her eyes and gave into it, sinking her teeth into her lower lip when he finally, finally touched her between her legs. A fleeting touch, the tips of his fingers brushed through the scant pubic hair, traced along the seam of her slit before he pulled away.
God. She wanted more. Now.
He was deliberately slow, driving her out of her ever-loving mind. Shifting his attention above her waist, he worked at the front clasp of her bra, undoing it so the cups sprang apart. He smoothed the fabric away so that her breasts were completely exposed.
Leaning in, he rained kisses over her flesh, purposely not touching her nipples and she sobbed. Literally sobbed when he continued to torture her like the sick, sadistic bastard he had to be.
“Christ baby, you are so wet.” He dipped his fingers between her legs, testing her and she wanted to cry with relief when he touched her clit. She was going to come and soon. Or at least, she hoped so.
“You’re driving me crazy,” she muttered, earning a laugh from him.
Her lids snapped open to find him still chuckling, his mouth terrifically close to her pussy. She waited with breathless anticipation as he dropped first one wet, lingering kiss on the inside of her thigh, then another equally wet, lingering kiss on the other.