Devastate (Deliver 4)

His nose was perfect, no bumps or bends to suggest it’d ever been broken. Unlike most of the brutes she kept company with. His brown-blond hair was cut short. Neither buzzed nor long enough to style. Low maintenance.

For a white guy, his complexion had a remarkable glow, as if soaked with sunlight and lathered with oil. It was probably just the low lighting. But good lord, all that flawless tanned skin, the way it stretched over defined pecs and abs… No wonder every woman in the room was watching him, waiting for a turn to choke on his dick.

The one between his legs blocked Lucia’s view of his package. The two on the couch looked like they were seconds from humping his face.

Time for them to go.

Lucia picked up her pace, suddenly very aware of her nudity. What a novel feeling. She’d thought the first couple of years with Tiago had broken her of all modesty. But now, goosebumps rose on her arms. Her nipples hardened in the stuffy air, and she fought the urge to hug the scar on her abdomen.

The man didn’t break eye contact, and as if held in hypnosis, she couldn’t either. She paused within arm’s reach, and without removing her gaze from his, she made a shooing motion.

At the edges of her periphery, the women skulked away, knowing better than to challenge Tiago Badell’s favorite confidant.

Her eyes stayed on his as he lowered his hand and removed the condom. Then he sat back and rested his arms along the back of the couch, unabashedly nude with the robe open, as if inviting her to look.

She meant to take a leisurely stroll down the length of his body, but she only made it to the thick column of his neck before skipping straight to his cock.

Her breath caught, and heat flushed between her legs. God almighty, the man was blessed in both length and girth. So hard and thick. Beautifully shaped. A vein pulsed along the fat shaft. The wide, suckable crown and silky skin pulled taut—

Wait. He was circumcised? It’d been so long since she’d seen a cut penis. It wasn’t a common practice in South America. Or Europe.

But it was prevalent in the United States.

Her gaze lifted to the blue of his, which hadn’t moved from her face. “You’re American.”

He glanced at his erection, a frown piercing his forehead. Then he returned to her eyes. “So are you.”

Her Colombian heritage made it easy to blend in here, but her American accent always gave her away.

For the first time since she spotted him, he released her gaze, lowering his down her body, inspecting her mouth, throat, chest, and lower. He gave her ugly scar a cursory glance and paused on her pussy.

The brazen way he examined that part of her made her inner muscles spasm. Could he see the throbbing? The desire dripping onto her thighs?

She endured his predatory stare for long seconds before lowering to her knees and settling between his spread legs. Her hands itched to wrap around his swollen length, but she wouldn’t. Not until he was feverish and ready to crawl out of his skin with need.

She started with his ankles, trailing feather-light caresses up the backs of his calves. The dusting of coarse hair tickled her fingers, and his muscles bounced against her touch. She gave the fronts of his legs the same attention and moved above his knees, inching her body closer and relishing the feel of his powerful thighs around her.

When she reached his heavy sac, she let her fingernails graze the skin but otherwise neglected the neediest part of him.

His arms lowered from the back of the couch to his sides, and his breathing deepened, his lips separating to accommodate the pull and release of air.

He looked ravenous, and she fed off it, her hands traveling over his torso, exploring every brawny bump and carved furrow. She kept the motion unhurried, rhythmic, seductive. Then she added her mouth, licking and nibbling his velvety skin.

God help her, he smelled heavenly. Clean and pure, without a hint of cologne or aftershave. He smelled natural, fresh, like a man who took care of himself. His pubic hair was trimmed. His teeth were white, and his physique was a powerhouse of sculpted muscle. The perfect example of a healthy male.

The sounds of slapping flesh and hoarse groans saturated the room, spurring her on. She worshiped his body with her hands and mouth, delighting in every twitch, every moan. His erection pressed like a hot iron against her belly, and his lashes fell half-mast over sexy bedroom eyes as he teasingly caught the edge of his bottom lip between his teeth.

Oh, how she wanted to taste the hunger on that sinful mouth. Which was crazy. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d kissed someone, the last time she’d been kissed. It was before Venezuela. Before she was taken.

It wasn’t like she avoided it. She just didn’t have access to the kind of sex that invited intimacy. But as his tongue darted out to wet his lips, she knew she would kiss him. She just wished she remembered how to do it well.

Peering up through her lashes, she fell into his vivid stare and waited for him to get bossy. He would. She knew his type. She just had to be patient. Or maybe give him a little push.

Sliding her fingers over his hard nipple, she pinched it, twisted it hard.

He groaned and rocked his hips. Then he gripped the base of his cock and met her eyes. “Put your mouth on me.”

“Hmm. I don’t know.” She fought a smile.

He held out a foil packet from the pocket of his robe. “I’m not asking.”

There he is. Demanding. Coarse. So fucking sexy.

She plucked the condom from his fingers and rolled it on, fighting to stretch it into position. One-size-fits-all didn’t quite cover the full length of him. Poor guy. A chuckle escaped her lips.

“Stop laughing at it,” he said, gripping the hair at her nape, “and work it into your mouth.”

Her thighs clenched, and she lowered her head, keeping her gaze locked with his. Then she stopped.

She never gave blowjobs without a condom protecting her mouth from disease. But she didn’t want to taste the latex on him. She wanted his flavor on her tongue and the warmth of his skin sliding against her lips.

He looked and smelled like the kind of man who kept himself clean and safe.

Fuck it.

She unrolled the condom, tossed it aside, and brought her face close, inhaling the salty, masculine scent of his cock. Her mouth watered.

The first brush of the broad tip against her lips produced a tremble across his thighs and a rumbling groan in his chest.

He adjusted the fist in her hair, tightening the hold to guide her mouth, closer, deeper, forcing her to swallow him. And she did, as much of him as she could, flattening her tongue and measuring her breaths.

Jesus, he was long. And unbelievably hard and hot. If he kicked his hips, she’d feel the bruise in her throat for days.

But he didn’t. He used his hand instead, guiding her head up and down at the pace and rhythm he wanted. She might’ve been the initiator, but she wasn’t the one in control.

Dominance encapsulated every bone, muscle, and breath in his body, and he knew it. Owned it. It was right there—the glare of masculine confidence in those brilliant blue eyes. He stared her down as if to illustrate that very point, to make her squirm.

She wasn’t the squirmy type, but he did affect her—the erratic pulse in her throat, the clenching heat between her legs, the impulse to submit to him on a fundamental level—if only for one night.

Her instincts said he wouldn’t abuse the gift. He wasn’t Tiago. Wasn’t any of the other selfish, corrupt men she’d encountered over the past eleven years. He reminded her of Matias. Even as a young man, Camila’s boyfriend had that persuasive something in his bearing, in his eye contact, and in the way he handled her sister.

Camila…

Her heart gave a heavy pang, and she quickly shoved those thoughts away.

Re-doubling her efforts, she tongued and sucked the beautiful cock in her mouth.

Blood pulsed along the length, beating strong and hot beneath his velvety skin. He was close, his breathing labor

ed and muscles taut.

But she didn’t want him to come. Not until he was impaled deep inside her pussy.

His cock slid from her mouth, and she crawled up his body, the welts on her ass pulsing deliciously with each movement. She kissed a path from his sternum to his neck and lingered on his whiskered jawline.

Then she felt it—the excess of saliva in her mouth, the flare of nausea in her gut, and the sudden sweep of vertigo.

No, please. Not now.

She held still, blanking her expression to hide the stabbing pain.

It’ll pass. It’ll pass.

“Hey.”

His lips moved, his voice raspy. She focused on that, on his mouth and how badly she wanted to feel it against hers.