Kissin' Tell (Rough Riders 13)

“Tell. Please.”

He looked up at her, desire burning in his eyes. “Oh. Sorry. I’m bein’ selfish. Did you want another bite?”

She shook her head.

“Then you don’t mind if I finish it off?”

Dear God. She would not survive this. Would. Not. Survive.

Georgia was helpless to do anything but watch as Tell used one hand to pull back the skin surrounding her clit. Then he took the spoon out of the ice cream dish and placed the cold metal directly on that swollen flesh.

Her body jerked and she yelled, “Sweet Jesus, that’s cold!”

“Really? Huh. Imagine that. Lemme warm it up for you.” He removed the spoon and placed his mouth over the spot.

His hot, wet, sucking mouth.

But he only sucked briefly. He switched it up and licked her pu**y as if he were eating an ice cream cone. One long lap after another. Then he nuzzled the inside of her thigh…and again reached for the spoon.

“Oh. No.”

“Oh. Yes. ’Cause you don’t know how much I love me some sweet, sticky cream.” Tell coated the back of the spoon with more melted butterscotch swirl. Except this time, he squeezed her nipple as he placed the spoon on her clit.

Georgia bowed back as if he’d attached jumper cables to her body. Every pulse point screamed for release. Even her toes were twitchy. Her mind was focused on one thing: must come.

Tell left the spoon in place, rubbing the curve over the sensitive nub until the metal warmed from her body heat.

This was torture.

“Georgia. Look at me.”

Her gaze winged to his. He exposed her swollen clitoris. He lowered the spoon, tilting it so the drop of ice cream landed right on her clit.

This time, she screamed. One more drop and she’d explode.

And like he’d read her mind, he poised the spoon higher above her sex. When he tipped it, the droplet hung in the air, falling in slow motion. When that icy drop connected with her hot button, she started to come.

Then Tell’s hot mouth was there, sucking on her ice-cream-cooled clit. Tonguing her through an orgasm of epic proportions. When the powerful climax ended, she floated down to the table like a butterfly.

Her butterfly haze didn’t last long.

Tell pulled her up by her shoulders and put his mouth on her ear. “I need to f**k you, Georgia. Given how hard I am, it’s gonna be short.

But not sweet.

He flipped her over on her belly. Something soft and nubby kept her hips from digging into the edge of the table. With her hands bound and her feet unable to touch the floor, Georgia was completely at Tell’s mercy.

Callused hands lifted her butt higher. Then the head of his c**k nudged her wet center and he snapped his hips, driving into her at full throttle. “Come for me again.”

“I can’t. The last one—”

“I can feel it, baby, it’s right there.”

He bottomed out on his next thrust and she almost lost her mind. He f**ked her so hard the table moved. He f**ked her so hard each fast stroke was like a mini-orgasm—the head of his c**k scraped her G-spot and then immediately connected with her cervix, making her pu**y muscles repeatedly spasm around his thick shaft.

On the next plunge, Tell roared his release. The frantic pumping of his hips slowed and stopped, although he maintained a firm grip on the outside of her thighs, as if he needed something solid to hold him up.

Georgia felt the hard wall of his chest and stomach when he layered his body over hers.

His breathing was ragged. His body shook. Heady stuff that she affected this man this way.

“Baby. You… Wow. That…” He laughed softly. “There are no words for what that was.”

Such a sweet, hot man. She turned her head and kissed the corner of his mouth. “For me too. But cowboy, I think my arms are numb.”

“Shit. Sorry.” He stood and pulled out slowly. When he tried to set her on her feet, her knees buckled.

“Whoa, darlin’. Hang on. I gotcha.” Tell swept her into his arms and headed to his bedroom.

She rested her face against his neck, still happily muddled from the hour-long—or so it seemed—orgasm. He held her closely against his strong body. She felt his erratic pulse beneath her lips and tasted the salt on his skin. Everything about him was so devastatingly masculine.

He gently set her on the edge of his bed and reached around to undo the towel. As soon as he freed her, he massaged her wrists, forearms and biceps. “You okay?”

“Mmm. Tired.” She rubbed her mouth on the dark hair bisecting his torso from his chest hair to his groin. He smelled so good right there. All warm, musky male.

“Stop tempting me to go another round with you tonight, woman.”

“But you could, couldn’t you? Go another round.”

Tell tipped her chin up to peer into her face. “That’s the sex-drunk part of you talking.” He brushed his thumb over her lower lip. “But yeah. All I have to do is look at you and I want you.”

This man could undo her on more levels than she had brain power to contemplate.

“Good to know. But you wore me out.”

“So crash. It’s been a long night. I’m draggin’ ass myself.” He pulled the sheets back for her and she crawled in.

As she nestled her head into the pillow and drifted off, she wondered if she should ask him what happened next, not only tomorrow, but next week and in the next month, now that the reunion was over.

Chapter Sixteen

Georgia woke up alone. Not the first time that’d happened when she spent the night at Tell’s place. The man had to get up at the crack of dawn every morning—didn’t matter if it was the weekend.

A soft breeze wafted through the bedroom window. She rolled onto her stomach, stretching out on the cool sheets that smelled like Tell. She’d never paid much attention to a man’s scent before, but his was so distinctive—sunshine, salty musk, the subtle aroma of laundry soap and a hint of lime shaving cream.

Mmm. She wondered if his scent would linger on her skin all day. There was incentive not to jump in the shower. Maybe if she remained naked, when Tell returned, he could rub that scent all over her body again.

She was imagining Tell’s very inventive ways of waking her up, when voices drifted down the hallway. She rolled and jackknifed, clutching the sheet to her bare chest. Who was here at—she squinted at the alarm clock—nine thirty on a Sunday morning? She listened. She couldn’t discern the words, but she made out two distinct male voices.

Relax. Probably just one of his brothers.