Wet and Reckless (Private Pleasures 4)

Lips parted, tongue lapping the skin just below his belly button, she looked up at him and…winked. He detected something triumphant in the gesture, and he objected to it. He wanted her triumphant, but not because she’d enslaved him with her tongue. No, he wanted her screaming in triumph as he pumped another orgasm out of her with the hard-on she currently threatened to subvert with her mouth.

Maybe he’d let her subvert things next time—because no way was this a one-time deal. Not if he had anything to say about it. He planted a knee on the mattress and put a hand on her shoulder. A little push was all it took to tip her off balance, followed by a little steering so her head landed on his pillow. He leaned over her, stretching to retrieve the condom that had fallen to the wayside, and held it up. “Stick with the plan, Roxy. Part two. Here.” He placed the small square on the tidy blond strip at the apex of her thighs. “Keep this handy.”

Wary eyes greeted his words. He could almost hear the gears in her mind turning. His notion of a proper fucking might lead them straight out of her comfort zone.

He found himself redefining part two to accommodate her. “Relax. I’m not going to do anything you don’t want me to do.” The irony didn’t escape him. He could tear her panties off, bend her over his bed, and have his way with her, but she shied at the notion of a simple kiss.

She reached up and traced his eyebrow. “Can I trust you on that, Officer Donovan?”

He lowered himself until his face hovered over hers. This close he noticed details he’d missed first time around. Her eyes weren’t framed with liner or shadow or whatever she normally applied. The tint in her cheeks was all her own. Right now, her lips owed their shape and color to genetics rather than cosmetics. The beautiful glow of her was all her own. Unadorned Roxy looked younger and far more vulnerable. He dropped a kiss on her forehead. “You,” he said before placing another kiss on her cheek. “Can.” He deposited the next kiss on her chin. “Trust.” The last kiss was nothing more than his breath on her lips. “Me.”

Hers parted, almost hungrily, and a cloud of suspicion formed in his mind. He’d bet his badge Roxy loved kissing—the slide of lips, the tangle of tongues, the mating of mouths. This wasn’t some sort of personal preference. This was denial. Self-denial. A stronger man might have insisted on unpacking that baggage right then and there, but he wasn’t that strong. He stowed it away for later and got down to the business of earning her trust. “Comfortable now, Miss Goodhart?”

She slowly shook her head. “No, Officer, I can’t say I am.” Her voice dropped to a confessional whisper. “I’m hurting something fierce.”

That made two of them, but he’d relieve her first this time. “Show me where it hurts, ma’am. I’m a first responder.”

…

Everywhere, Roxy thought. She hurt everywhere. West had turned her standard-issue body into a complicated network of needs. It went beyond the physical. Seeing stoic, straight-shooting West Donovan so playful and accommodating—toward her—weakened something inside her. “Here.” She took one of the hands he’d planted beside her head and moved it to her breast. “I hurt here.”

A wide palm cradled her flesh. “Does this help?”

“So much,” she mumbled as he massaged her. “I don’t want to seem greedy”—but damn, the man made her greedy—“but I hurt here, too.” She covered her other breast.

The mattress groaned as he changed position, and then he moved her hand away and took charge—lifting, pressing, squeezing—starting gentle and gradually increasing the pressure. Her eyelids turned to lead. She lifted her hands to cover his, just to feel them moving on her.

“Too rough?” Despite the question, he didn’t slow his stroke or alter the pressure.

“Uh-uh.”

“You want it a little rough.”

Not a question, but words poured out of her anyway. “I want to feel—oh, yes.” He flicked his thumb over her nipple. The small contact triggered some new but elaborate circuit within her nervous system. Sensations raced along the twists and turns to coil between her legs. Her hands followed, skimming her torso, her stomach, chasing the current. She shoved the condom he’d placed on her aside to make way for her hand, pressing one to her sex, clamping the other on her thigh.

“More?” He did it again.

“More,” she gasped, though he was understandably confused because her body fell back on old habits—old, solo habits—like the impulse to bring her legs together and use her hand to ease the exquisite pressure centered there. A futile impulse, as it turned out, since West’s body prevented her from clamping her knees together.

He stayed the course and treated her other nipple to a slightly prolonged version of the same torture. Over her quick inhale, she heard him ask, “More, as in I take this hard, hurting peak into my mouth and soothe it with my tongue?” His breath fanned her puckered skin as he spoke. A warm lip brushed the very tip.

r /> Her brain exploded, which made it tough to answer. “If it’s not…too much…to ask?”

The room whirled as he rolled them, switching their position so he lay on the bed and she knelt on all fours over him. His hands smoothed over her calves and up the backs of her thighs, leaving a wake of friction.

“My mouth is all yours, Reckless. Put it to good use.”

All hers? Competing priorities held her immobile for a moment. Where did she need him most? Her nipples throbbed in anticipation, but it had been a long time—like, approximately never—since anyone had lavished foreplay on her like this, and a part of her accustomed to taking what she could get while the getting was good urged her to straddle his face and see if he could suck another orgasm from her with his oh-so-talented mouth. She almost went with that impulse, but then West spread his hands along her shoulders, exerting not-so-subtle downward pressure. “The day I picked you up at the Browning pond, it’s a miracle we didn’t end up in a ditch. I could barely keep my hands on the wheel. That damp bikini clung to you like a second skin. I wanted to rake the top down, spill these beautiful tits into my hands, and find out how they tasted…here.” He lifted his head and licked the underside of her breast. “And here.” His tongue traced her areola slowly, while hot and cold sensations washed over her. Then he turned his head and murmured, “Watch.”

She turned as well and saw their reflection. He gave her his profile and coaxed her body lower, brought her breasts closer to his mouth. Supporting herself on both knees and one forearm, she leaned closer still. In the mirror, she watched his lips part, watched as he drew her in. The first pull curled her toes and sent tingles all the way to her scalp. Somebody moaned long and loud. Her. That would be her.

She’d never been particularly quiet in bed—or anywhere else—but the blatant need echoing in her ears startled her. It flipped some switch in him, because now he devoured—kissing, sucking, and then opening his mouth wide with the intent of consuming as much of her as humanly possible. She quickly became just as intent on letting him because being on the receiving end of all that hunger thrilled her in ways that ought to be illegal.

And watching West feast on her like he couldn’t get enough? Riveting. Enthralling. She didn’t have the words to describe it. Every flex of his jaw and hollow of his cheeks pulled something more than pleasure from her. If she didn’t know better, she’d say her heart lost its footing in her chest.

But she knew better, didn’t she? A little panicked by the question, she drew back and pushed herself upright in a poorly conceived attempt to reel in her emotions. Miraculously, it worked. The position centered his cock against her core, and the sensation of sitting on that long, hard ridge immediately grounded her. This was sex. No-holds-barred, nothing left on the table, sexiest sex she’d ever had, but still simply sex. A physical release. An endorphin rush. She stared down at West, all shadowy eyed and unshaven. The world’s best hangover cure.

He lifted one eyebrow. “Done with my mouth already?”