Dirty Charmer (The Bodyguards 1) - Page 34

Because she likes it, loves it, is desperate for it—my touch, my mouth, my cock.

And nothing in the world is more of a turn-on than that.

I nibble a wet trail down the center of her flat, taut stomach. I bite the waist of her lace knickers with my teeth and tug, pulling them down her legs—leaving her bare.

She watches me stare—her chest rising and falling in quick pants—as I take in the loveliness of her smooth, sweet pussy and tiny trimmed strip of auburn hair. I rest my hands on her hips and press a delicate kiss to her hip bone, her pelvis. The scent of her, the wetness already glistening on her lips, weakens my grip on sanity.

“I want to taste you, Abby. I want to lick you and love you here until you can’t think straight. I want to make you come just like this.”

I look up and meet her eyes.

“You on board with that?”

She can’t seem to catch her breath.

“I . . . if you . . . I mean—” She swallows hard. “Yes—most definitely.”

Thank Christ.

“Fantastic answer, sweets.”

Then I pull her against my mouth. I lap and lave at her with the flat of my tongue—slow and deep—getting off on how soaked she is for me, on how good she smells and fuck, how delicious she tastes. Like spiced sweet luscious apples.

“Oh God,” she moans.

I use my fingers to open her up so I can lick circles on her swollen bud of her clit and thrust my tongue inside where she’s hot and tight.

Abby’s body calls to me like a siren’s song. And I have a complete understanding of the sailors, back in the olden days, who let themselves crash against the rocks—just to try and get closer to the sound.

Because I would let myself get crushed for this. Risk being obliterated. As long as it meant I could keep tasting and licking and fucking her with my tongue. As long as I could keep hearing the whimpering moans that sing so sweetly from Abby’s throat—almost as sweet as her pussy—but not quite.

“Oh God, oh God,” she gasps above me.

I grip her arse, and her fingers tighten and tug at my hair as her hips rotate, jerking against my mouth. I lash and lick at her relentlessly . . . until she’s there. Until I feel her coming—taste the wet, hot, writhing pleasure of it. Her muscles go stiff and clenching, her knees buckle and her choked, gasping moan echoes off the walls.

With a final kiss to her pelvis, I stand and scoop Abby up. Her limbs are relaxed and weighted as I move us to the sofa, slipping off her shoes so she’ll be more comfortable. With my heart jackhammering in my chest, I sit down and arrange her so she’s straddling me—her knees bracketing my thighs. And then we’re kissing again—chests rubbing, hands roaming.

“I’ve got condoms in my bedside drawer,” I say against her mouth.

If there was a patron saint of sex and passion and orgasms to come, she’d look just like Abby does now—with her breasts high and her red hair wild and her skin flushed the perfect shade of warm pink.

“I have condoms out here—in the pocket of my dress.”

I chuckle. “Dresses with pockets are awesome.”

Abby slips off my lap and moves over to her dress. I kick off my shoes and socks and unbutton my jeans, pushing them off in record time. When she comes back to the sofa, I’ve got my cock in my hand, stroking it slow and good.

And she watches, with dark eyes and parted lips—enjoying the view. She holds out the condom to me, but I shake my head.

“Put it on me.”

Because if we’re really doing this—and I plan on doing this a lot—shyness has no place. She’s going to need to be nice and familiar with every inch of me.

“Bossy,” she teases.

“I like telling you what to do. There’s a twisted thrill in it.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.” I crook my finger at her. “And you’re gonna like it too—I’ll make sure of it.”

She lowers herself down beside the sofa—looking oh-so-pretty on her knees. She replaces my hand with hers, gliding up and down my shaft, jerking me off, and I sink back into the pleasure.

And then she’s rolling the condom down my thick length. And I’m guiding her over me, legs spread, lining us up, pressing the head of my cock against her heat. My hand clenches harshly at her hip as she sinks down slowly—so fucking slow—taking me in until our pelvises are flush and Abby’s arse is against my thighs and my cock is cradled inside her.

She’s wet and tight and everything.

She molds around me—every bit as blissful as I knew she would be.

“Fuck, that’s good. It’s so good.”

We kiss and grind, and I cup her tits and suck on her neck.

Tags: Emma Chase The Bodyguards Romance
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