Crazy Heifer (The Valentine Boys 2)

I snickered.

“The bra has to be really supportive or I can’t function,” I told him bluntly. “There’s just too much boob there. And they sit really high, so they’re always in my way.”

His lips twitched as he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against the swell of one breast.

“Damn shame to keep these beautiful things so confined,” he told me. “Wish I could see these things in the gym when you’re bouncing around.”

I snickered. “I’ll give you your own personal burpee show one of these days. Naked.”

He groaned and leaned forward, taking one of my nipples into his mouth.

I moaned and tilted my head back, shivering slightly when my hair tickled my bare back.

“I’m not a hundred percent certain,” he said as he went to the other breast, circling that peak lightly with the tip of his tongue. “But I feel like it’s going to take me a long time to show these two beauties the attention they deserve. You might have to stay a while.”

I was more than willing to stay forever at this point. All he had to do was ask me.

He didn’t ask me, though.

What he did do was roll us both over, me on my back, and him wedged between my thighs.

“Jesus,” I gasped. “I need...”

My mind was racing a million miles an hour, and I kept getting distracted by other things to the point that I couldn’t even finish my thoughts.

“Should you be moving so much?” I asked worriedly. “You hurt your ankle pretty bad last night.”

His hand began to move down the line of my torso, pausing slightly on one breast to give it a good squeeze before moving it farther down.

His knuckles drug down my side, tracing softly at the curve of my hip before continuing its course all the way down to the thatch of hair between my thighs.

“It’s nice to see you have hair down here,” he said gruffly. “I like the way it looks.”

I tried not to think about him seeing other women’s vaginas while I was currently underneath him with his cock pressing against me, but it was impossible.

I was a jealous, highly insecure woman.

There was no helping what came out of my mouth.

“I’d rather not think about you looking at other pussies when I’m underneath you,” I told him bluntly. “It makes me highly uncomfortable.”

“Would it make you feel better to know that I was talking about you in comparison to porn videos?” he asked.

I opened my mouth, then closed it.

“That’s horseshit,” I finally settled with. “And a good cop-out.”

His brows rose, then he leaned over me and reached for the computer that was on his bedside table.

I blinked, having just realized that the mammoth laptop he’d pulled off the end table wasn’t actually part of the table itself.

It was big enough that it could be.

“What are you doing?” I asked when he settled between my thighs, turning slightly onto his side so that one elbow could go into the bed, while the other went in front of the computer.

He lifted the lid open, then winked at me before turning his eyes to the screen.

“What are you…” I started to repeat, only to stop when I realized exactly what he was doing.

He was looking up porn.

“I’m showing you my porn collection.” He grinned wickedly. “You don’t believe me, but seriously, every single woman in the porn business—ninety-nine percent of them have no hair down there.”

Which he proved to me thirty seconds later as he scrolled down over the first page.

“What’s that one,” I pointed at the blue search thread.

He started to flush.

There was a shortcut list of search criteria at the top, and the only one that was colored different from the others, as if he’d chosen that particular category time and time again, was the one labeled as ‘BBW.’

“Big-boned women,” he answered, biting his lip after he’d told me. “I have a type.”

I looked at the man that was currently half on, half off of me.

His rather impressive erection was still pressing into my lower half, but it was off to the side as he rested his upper half on the bed, with the laptop directly in front of him.

“You’re telling me you purposefully go searching for people like me?” I asked curiously.

His eyes trailed over my breasts, down to my belly button, and would’ve gone even farther had he not had to contort himself to do so.

“I definitely have a type,” he finally settled on. “And it’s you.”

I swallowed, not sure about the flush that rolled through me at his words. Did I like that he had a type?

Did I even like that he watched porn?

Then I thought, what the hell does it matter if he watches porn? At least he’s not out on the town fucking every woman that moves.

Not that I’d blame him.

He was more than capable of finding any woman that he wanted, but it said something about him and who he was as a person that he was picky with his bed partners.