Nip it in the Bud (Bunch-A-Blooms 3)

Clearing my throat, I step back to allow her to come inside. “You look beautiful.”

She smiles up at me. “Thank you.”

I lock the door and lose the battle with myself. Cupping her face, I back her against the door. “I tried to be a gentleman, but you seem to weaken my resolve.” I take her lips. She matches me in intensity. Her sweetness dances across my tongue. She’s an intoxicant. Our tongues circle one another, sending a jolt of pleasure through my body. I tilt my head and deepen the kiss, hungry for more. Her light and citrusy scent envelopes me. The soft curves of her frame press into mine.

She wraps her long fingers around my neck, tickling the hair at my nape. Trailing my hands down her frame, I grip her hips. I nip her full bottom lip and groan.

“What?” she asks breathlessly.

“I want to touch you.” I trail my fingertips over the hem of her skirt.

“So touch me.”

I slip my fingers under her skirt. The heat pouring off her nearly singes me. “You’re so hot.”

“And wet,” she whispers.

Creeping up her inner thigh, I brush against a soft pair of drenched panties.

“Yes,” she whispers. She leans back against the door. I watch her from beneath heavy lids as she comes to life beneath my hands. I circle her swollen clit through the silk, and she rocks her hips.

“Drew, please,” she whispers against my lips.

I slip my fingers inside the side of her panties and she jerks.

Leaning forward, I capture her cries as I roll her slick bud between two fingers. Her sticky heat has me straining against my slacks and leaking. I can’t remember the last time I was this intimate with a woman. I ease a finger inside her tight sheath, and she shatters, pulsing around me. I rest my forehead against hers and grit my teeth to keep my composure. I’m a man starved, and she’s filet mignon.

Removing my finger, I bring it to my mouth, tasting her salty sweet honey. I moan as I clean my fingers. Her eyelids flutter up, and she watches me with passion-darkened eyes.

“Every part of you is sweet, Willow.”

“Oh, Lord.”

I kiss her forehead and smooth down her dress. “Now that I had an appetizer, how about dinner?”

“What about you?” She cups me through my jeans, and I grit my teeth to keep from exploding in my pants.

My muscles flex. “This was for you.”

After pushing me back, she sinks to her knees. “And now it’s for you.”

I shudder, unable to speak as my mouth goes dry and my cock jumps as she unzips my pants and frees me. The sight of her long, slender fingers wrapped around my base is the most beautiful sight I’ve seen in a long time. We’re blurring the lines, but I’m a man, not a saint. The only thing keeping me from taking her against the wall is my promise. My girls should’ve died, and yet they were spared. I’m not dicking with that.

Her tongue darts out to circle my tip and all thoughts leave my head. Her eyes dance with mirth as she continues her exploration, trailing her tongue over every inch of my swollen dick. She’s a snake charmer, and I’m captured under the spell she’s woven with her eyes and her mouth. Sucking me into her mouth, she hums, and I thrust forward, unable to stop. She takes me to the back of her throat, suctioning hard. I tremble. It’s been too long.

“Willow,” I grunt.

“Mmmhmm.” She nods her approval. I grip her hair and guide her. I’m like a teen getting his dick wet for the first time. I know I’m not going to last. Not when she’s so wet and hot around me. I pump faster as the pressure builds and my spine tingles. My balls draw up.

“I’m going to come.”

She gives another hum, and I explode, filling her welcoming mouth as she sucks me down greedily. Spent, I place a hand on the door to keep myself upright. We never even made it from in front of the door. I’m in quicksand and sinking fast. She cleans me with her tongue before tucking me back into my pants and rezipping them.

“Now we’ve both had our pre-dinner treat. I’m starving.” I push off from the wall and offer her my hand. After helping her stand, I lead her into the kitchen. I pop the garlic bread in the oven, then take out the Stella Artois.

“A man after my own heart,” she says as we clink bottles.

“I’m good at remembering the small things.”