Rich Groom (The Dirty Thirty Pledge 1)

His tongue drags across my lips, and I open to him, surrendering to the gorgeous heat, feeling the way his hands crawl down my back, grab the curve of my ass. I try to clear my head, to tell myself that we need to talk about this first, to be rational. But he lifts me off the ground, hands on my thighs, and I wrap my legs around his waist.

“You said you wanted to talk,” he says, like he’s reading my mind. “Can it wait?”

“Yes,” I breathe, because fuck talking, I need this. I need to escape, and he’s it. We can talk, and we will talk, but there’s nothing in the world that’s going to stop me from fucking this man right now.

“Good.” He strides across the room to the couch, and we tumble onto it together, him over me, and I’m both in the present and the past, reliving the best of our memories and savoring this brand new one that I never thought I’d get to experience again.

Frankie’s lips fall to my neck, and then to the collarbone that’s exposed by the jersey, and I groan. I love that. I’ve always loved that, and he knows it. I’ve never had a lover like him. He knows my body inside and out, and we were each other’s firsts. The way his tongue traces my skin has me panting already, my nipples pebbling beneath the jersey, and he’s barely touched me. Fuck, it’s good.

And it’s not just good because it’s been a while since I’ve had sex—since I’ve had time for sex—it’s good because he’s amazing, and he knows exactly what to do to make my body sing.

“Fuck, Anna,” he says against my skin. “I’ve missed the way you sound. The way you taste.” He peels up the jersey so it’s gathered above my breasts, and he looks at me, takes them in and the way they’ve gone hard from his mouth, and he grins at me. “I’ve missed these too.”

The feeling of his tongue on my nipple makes me arch into him, delicate touches feathering across my skin. And then he sucks me deep into his mouth and I curse at him. “I have no idea why you’re so good at that.”

“Because I’m the first tongue that ever touched these. They remember what I taught them to like,” he says, a deep laugh running through him.

“Arrogant bastard,” I say, but it has no force behind it because he’s still sucking my skin and it’s making me wet. So wet I might be soaking through my shorts.

He moves his mouth to my other nipple, teasing me, stroking his hand down my side while he does it, and I close my eyes. God, I love this. I want his mouth on me forever.

I reach up and start to pull the jersey up over my head, and he stops me. “Don’t you dare,” he growls, nipping me with his teeth. “Leave that on.”

I drop my hands, his voice leaving no room for argument as he sucks my nipple against his tongue a final time and sinks further down my body. Lower. Across my stomach with nips and licks and suddenly at the waistband of my shorts. There’s nothing underneath them, and he locks eyes with me as he pulls them down my legs.

I shudder when he looks at me, eyes almost black with lust and hunger. And then there’s that smile. “I see you missed me too.”

“I’ll still kick you out of my house,” I say, breathless.

“Not before I’ve had breakfast,” he says as he puts his mouth on me. And holy fuuuuck. His tongue ravishes me, swirling and licking and plunging deep. There’s no teasing here, and I’m glad because I don’t have time for that. I need him, and I don’t want to wait for him. But yes, fuck, yes, the way he’s eating me has pleasure rising in my gut and I have to hold onto the couch, trying to hold myself still. Because it’s too much, too good.

The jersey slithers back down my body and Frankie looks up at me, and notices. Holding my gaze, he licks my pussy in one slow, long, stroke, from base to clit, before pulling back and swiftly discarding his shirt. He’s breathtaking, body hard with lines that are emphasized by the light coming in through my windows. I hold my breath as he unbuttons his jeans, because I want to see him. It’s been so long, but I think I remember.

I do.

Cocks aren’t generally beautiful, but Frankie’s is. It’s thick and long and straight, and looks like it could be part of a sculpture. It’s jutting out from his body now, through the break in his jeans, and he doesn’t even get them all the way off before he’s pulling out his wallet and tearing open the condom. My heart rate speeds up as he rolls it on, staring at me the whole time.