The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

“Hello, old friend, we meet again.” His tone was rough and filled with admiration. Daisy followed his gaze down to her chest and laughed when she saw that he was staring at her bra. The same lacy pink bra from that afternoon in her house.

“Stop it,” she chuckled, and he shook his head.

“Do you know how often I’ve fantasized about you in this pretty pink thing?” His words were gruff and his tone a little reverent. He reached out and ran his finger over the flesh above the scalloped lace edge of one of the cups. Her nipples went harder at the subtle caress, and he left a trail of goose bumps in his wake. His mouth followed his fingers and she hissed at the contact, all humor forgotten.

He continued to nuzzle her through the lace, edging closer and closer to the hard, tight bead at the center of her breast. She cupped her hands around the back of his head, trying to guide him there, but he seemed to have his own ideas, moving away from that breast to nuzzle at the other one.

“Mason, please,” she begged, and he looked up at her, those beautiful green eyes slumberous and heavy with desire. His bottom lip looked fuller, his breath was hitching in his chest, and she could see he was as affected as she was.

“Please what?” he asked in a whisper.

“Touch me.”

“Where?”

“You know where.”

“Tell me what you want, Daisy,” he encouraged, and she swallowed and moved her own hand down to cup her breast.

“Here. Touch me here,” she said, and he made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat. It sounded like a purr.

He sat up and dragged her into his lap. After wrapping an arm around her waist, he took her hard nipple gently between his teeth, abrading it against the lace of her bra and the edge of his teeth. Not hurting, just making it hypersensitive before sinking his mouth over it and suckling hard.

“Oh!” Her back arched over his arm as the electric sensation shot through her entire body. But he wasn’t done; he had moved to the other breast, and the same treatment yielded the same results. Daisy, who had only ever orgasmed by her own hand, felt dangerously close to coming without even removing her jeans. Every stitch of clothing set her nerve endings on fire, and she needed to get rid of it all; she needed to feel his heat against her.

“Take it off,” she sobbed, and he lifted his head, his eyes gleaming down at her.

“What?”

“Everything. I want it off.”

“Bra first, I think,” he said in a ridiculously measured voice. How could he sound so in control when she could feel his hot erection grinding against her bottom? He reached behind her, deftly unclasped her bra, and sent it flying across the room, before moving his eyes down to her chest. She heard him whisper a little prayer of thanks as he took in the sight before him.

“Too big,” she muttered self-consciously. He didn’t seem to hear her as he cupped one of the soft, naked mounds, testing the weight in the palm of his hand.

“You bite your tongue, young woman,” he chastised after a couple of moments of sheer reverence. “These beauties are perfect. They’re nowhere close to too big. They fill my hands with room to spare.”

“That’s because you have great big mitts for hands.”

“Yeah? Well, you know what they say about guys with big hands,” he reminded her smugly, and she laughed. Daisy had never dreamt she’d be comfortable enough with a man that she could laugh so freely while sitting topless in his lap. But this was Mason, and he’d always been marvelous at putting her at ease.

“That’s big feet,” she corrected.

“I have big feet too . . .” he said, then paused for a beat before adding, “and you should see the size of my cock.”

He captured her laugh with his mouth, and things got serious very quickly. She started tugging at his shirt, and he happily obliged her by pulling it off and sending it in the same direction as her bra. She moaned in appreciation when she saw his beautiful hard chest. Just a sprinkling of hair, tanned and taut, but with way too many scars marring all that smooth, perfect skin. He had an intricate Celtic band tattooed around one bicep, sexy and mysterious looking, and his other arm was embellished with a stunning geometric quarter sleeve from shoulder to bicep. A true work of art. And climbing up his right side, from hip to just below his pectoral, was a stark black tree bared of all its leaves. There were gnarled initials and numbers printed randomly on some of the branches; at first glance they looked like part of the tree. And it was this gorgeous, haunting tattoo that she wondered about the most.