Feisty Red (Three Chicks Brewery 2)

She moaned her response. Passion and lust burned between them as his lips met hers and his kiss took her far away from there. Desperation overwhelmed her as she dragged her hands over his strong shoulders and down his biceps. Soon, he turned her around, her back to his chest. His hands explored her breasts, massaging, squeezing, tweaking her nipples, while his mouth continued to play on her neck. She wiggled against him, needing him, overwhelmed by the strength of him.

Hot and done with teasing, she turned around and pushed a little, sending him walking backward. His thick cock became her whole focus, and she indulged herself, lowering to her knees, never taking her eyes off his.

Hungry eyes met hers as he dragged his thumb across her lips, arching an eyebrow. “I thought you wanted my mouth, Slugger?”

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said, running her fingers up his smooth six-pack until she wrapped her hand around the hard length of him. His low groan rippled across her. “I want this so much more.” Desperate to taste him, to see his gaze smolder from the pleasure she gave, she took him deep into her mouth. With the warm water splashing around them, she licked and swirled and played with him until she felt his legs tremble, saw the hunger deepen in his expression, and heard his rough growl. Only then did she close her eyes, focusing entirely on his pleasure, stroking him until his groans vibrated through her.

She felt him stiffen, nearly finish, but then she was in his arms. He turned off the shower and carried her to the bed, and she bounced on the mattress as he laid her out. He grinned wickedly—a smile that damn near stopped her heart—as he slid between her thighs.

“You’re not allowed to have all the fun.” At the first contact of his tongue against her needy flesh, she grabbed a fistful of bedsheets and arched up into the pleasure. His tongue was gentle and wet and warm, and each teasingly light stroke made her want more. Need more.

Reading her just right, his finger slid over her clit and stroked in lazy circles before gingerly moving down her folds until he entered her. She moaned greedily, shifting her hips against him and riding his fingers, desperate for more.

“Don’t worry, Slugger,” he said, pressing a soft kiss against her inner thigh. “I’ll get you there.”

Her heady moan was her only reply.

One finger soon became two, and those teasingly light strokes of his tongue heightening her pleasure, turning it into something else entirely. His fingers pumped now, his mouth sucking and flicking, and she moaned and wiggled into the pleasure, kept in place only by his arm pinning her. Building and building, until all that pleasure stormed in, taking her far away from there.

She vaguely remembered him flipping her onto her knees that barely supported her before she felt the latex between them. But then she became lost as he entered her and moved slowly at first. He pressed against her back, sending her bottom into the air. His dominating fingers gripped her hips, and she pushed back against him. She felt all of him and knew he felt all of her too. So

on, he began rocking into her. Hard. Fast. He gave no misunderstanding that he was wild for her. As he pounded into her, she hung on for the ride. And it was a great fucking ride.

His hands were everywhere, stroking, seducing, commanding her. Somewhere in the pleasure, a new sensation rose, one she grabbed onto and never wanted to let go. Here, in the strength of his arms, she let go. Completely. His strength became all-consuming, and she melted into his addictive pleasure.

Then he went even harder. Skin slapping rhythmically against skin. The scent of their sex filling her senses. It became too much—so good she couldn’t hold onto it anymore.

She came first, with her scream muffled in the pillow and her toes curled from the pleasure, and he followed behind with a strained groan. They fell apart together, tangled into each other, and she settled into the crook of his shoulder, both of them breathless and sweaty. She shut her eyes and let her mind relax, wondering if she could bottle up a moment and keep it forever. Because if she could, she would pick this moment, this quietness sliding over her. This peace and happiness.

Sullivan finally broke the silence. “I could get used to this.”

“Cuddling?” Clara asked with a laugh.

“Yes,” he said, seriously, stroking his fingers through her hair.

She leaned up to look at him, finding his eyes closed, a peaceful expression on his face. “You haven’t cuddled in a while?”

He peeked open an eye and gave a soft smile. “No, not like this.”

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest, and she smiled in return. “Well, you’re not alone there. I can’t remember the last time I cuddled with anyone.” Yeah, she could. It had happened seven years ago, with him.

He continued to stroke her hair. “You were never serious with anyone after me?”

“No,” she answered before she wondered if maybe she shouldn’t have.

His reply came just as quickly, settling her worries. “Me neither.”

The loaded statement hung in the air between them, and Clara felt his arm tightening around her. “It’s not like I didn’t want to find anything serious,” she explained. “I just didn’t have the time for it.”

His hand froze. “Was there anyone at all?”

“Of course, just nothing serious. I had my fun when I could, but kept things casual. Just made things easier where it came to Mason. What about you? Were the tabloids always wrong about your love life?”

“In that regard, they were always right,” he muttered sleepily. “And like I told you before, for me, women were a distraction, an escape. I never made any promises.”

A long moment passed between them, a thousand unsaid things spiraling in the air between them. Until one thought stood out that she couldn’t push away. “Do you think that’s weird?” Clara asked, putting a voice to her worries. “That neither of us really moved on?”

“No.” He slid over her until he hovered above her, his damp hair curtaining his face. “And you know why?”