Falling for the Enemy (Private Pleasures 3)

Eyes locked on him, she gripped his thighs, spreading them slightly, and brought her mouth so close her b

reath ruffled the hair around the base of his cock. “Could I trouble you to do the honors?”

Hell yes. He gripped his shaft and guided it to her lips. She opened her mouth, fully prepared to take him in, but he delayed their gratification by tracing his tip along her upper lip. “You have the softest lips, Virginia. Even before I ever kissed you, I knew they’d feel amazing.” He dragged his tip along her lower lip and couldn’t hold back a groan.

She chased him with her tongue, wetting her lips in the process. “Having them sealed around you is going to feel even better.”

He placed his hand on the top of her head, spearing his fingers through her hair. “Don’t rush me. This is my dream, remember?”

“I remember everything. Tell me what comes next.”

Why he wanted to torture himself he couldn’t say, but he wanted to savor this. “Kiss it…just the tip. With those plush lips of yours. No tongue, yet.”

She wet her lips again, puckered them, and rubbed them over the tip he held out for her. Somehow he managed to keep his eyes open, even though they wanted to roll back in his head. Then she parted her lips to take him deeper.

“Not yet,” he ground out, still hoping against hope to make this last more than three seconds.

“I can’t wait. I want to cradle the weight of you in my mouth. I want to hear you beg as I take you in.” She tightened her hold on his thighs and aimed a plaintive look at him.

“Sweet Virginia, you’ve got me so worked up I can’t trust myself. If you let me in your mouth, I’m going to own it. I’ve been fantasizing about this too long to sit by like a gentleman while you have your fun.”

“Do you think you’re scaring me off?” She parted her lips as if in a dare, and ran her tongue along the same vein her fingertip had traced earlier.

Control. Snapped. He tightened his fingers in her hair, pulled her head back a fraction of an inch, and pushed his cock into her mouth. She sealed her lips tight around him, either to slow his entry, or to fully appreciate the size and shape of him.

He almost didn’t care, but managed to rein in his movement anyway. She countered with deep, enthusiastic suction.

“Christ, you feel so good,” he gasped, as the lightshow behind his eyelids flickered again. Realizing he’d relinquished his view of her, he forced his eyes open and stared at his lap.

Virginia rose onto her knees and changed the angle to take more. Not yet. He tightened his fingers in her hair, held her head still, and withdrew a few millimeters. She made an impatient sound and her hands tightened on his thighs. “A minute,” he managed. “Give me a minute. Once I get going, I won’t be able to savor this—the hug of your lips, or the heat of your mouth—because I’m going to go hard, and I’m going to go deep. So do us both a favor and give me a goddamn minute.”

As it turned out, he didn’t have a minute in him. His hips tightened and flexed of their own accord. With one hand twisted in her hair, and the other gripping the seat of the sofa, he thrust. It wasn’t easy. Their position worked against him, but he couldn’t sit still. She dug her fingernails into his legs, held on, and hummed her approval as he thrust deeper—all the way to the soft, snug cavern at the back of her throat. She lowered her head to take just a little more, and the edges of his vision went gray. He eased back and then surged upward again, reflexively, forcefully, in rapid succession. Some detached part of his brain warned him to take care, because he didn’t want to make her jaw ache from the strain of holding him, but she wouldn’t tolerate any restraint. She kept him sealed tight while her eager tongue explored every inch it could reach.

Oxygen became a critical thing. His heart hammered in his chest. His breaths quickened as his thrusts became faster and shallower. Somebody was talking. Rambling, incoherent nonsense reached his ears over the drum of his own pulse. Curses…prayers…he couldn’t be sure. And then he lost the thread of it completely because she sucked hard on his cock and the tension gathering at the base of his spine coursed downward toward his balls.

Before he could draw another much-needed lungful of air and brace himself for what came next, she speared two fingers behind his sac and found the exact spot where the pressure concentrated. Ribbons of heat scorched a path straight up his shaft. Light exploded behind his eyes. A hand dislodged his from its death grip on the sofa, and deceptively delicate fingers threaded through his, holding fast as the orgasm tore through him.

Who knew he’d survive four years at Annapolis, six years as a SEAL, dozens of dangerous missions all over the globe, only to die in Bluelick with a smile on his face, his extremely grateful dick limp in his lap, and a gorgeous redhead completely at fault?

The feathery tickle of eyelashes against his chest suggested maybe his nervous system was still plugged into his brain. He pried his eyes open and watched as the redhead in question pressed a kiss to his pec, then his collarbone, and then his temple. He contemplated saying something… Thank you? Give me five minutes and I’ll return the favor? But suddenly she stopped, buried her nose in his hair and sniffed.

“Why does your hair smell like my soap?”

He tucked himself back into his jeans and buttoned up. “I don’t want to shock you.”

She drew back and gave him what he could only classify as a horrified look. “Oh, no. You didn’t…”

“Your shampoo is pink and smells like an herb garden. I took the soap—”

“Body soap.”

He shrugged to show her what he thought of the distinction. “I scrubbed it over my head, which happens to be attached to my body. Then I rinsed.”

Her fingers sifted through his hair, as if assessing the damage. “Bar soap isn’t chemically formulated for hair. It’s going to leave the strands weighed down and lifeless.”

“It’s hair. It’s already lifeless.” He tucked her back against his side.

“Neanderthal,” she grumbled, but settled into a comfortable position.