Finally, I can’t help myself. I roll my hips.
He groans. “Are you trying to kill me?”
A flash of the mating bug calendar—specifically September’s praying mantis—hits me and I laugh. “Not until after you’ve served your purpose.”
“I guess I better take my time, then.” Releasing his grip of my hands, he shifts his body to lie next to mine.
I mumble my displeasure and he shushes me through a kiss, his lips shifting to my jawline, then to my neck and my collarbone, the trail of kisses slow-going and teasing and wet. His hand has found its way to my breast, and the pad of his thumb rubs smoothly and methodically against one of my pebbled nipples.
“Your skin tastes the same as it did back then,” he murmurs against my flesh.
“Really? Like what?” I trail my fingertips over his arm, marveling at his sculpted biceps.
He takes the untended nipple in his mouth and I shiver as his teeth grazes my skin. “Sweet.”
I shiver a second time as his palm slides down the length of my body, along my stomach, down farther. One of his long, slender fingers slips across my slick entrance. A whispered curse escapes as he pushes it deep inside me, followed by a second that makes my thighs part for better access.
“You’re so wet,” he rasps.
“I always am around you,” I confess, dragging my fingertips along his back, intoxicated by the plane of hard, lean muscle. “But this is not how I saw today going.”
“Is it better?”
“I haven’t decided yet,” I joke.
“Let me help you decide.” Hot breath teases my skin as he shimmies his big body down, his tongue leaving a wet line along the center of my abdomen, dipping into my belly button, before he’s kneeling before me once again, his eyes alive with lust and riveted on the view.
“I think we’re failing at the taking-it-slow part,” I whisper, as my body tingles with expectation.
“You want me to stop?” he asks, swallowing hard, his chest laboring with his uneven breaths.
I answer by parting my legs even farther apart. I don’t know how I stopped this from happening all those years ago. I must have been stronger, more resolute, at seventeen than I am at thirty, I accept, as I shift my hips, welcoming him in.
I shudder with the first swipe of Shane’s tongue along my sensitive flesh. It’s quickly followed by another, and another, as he expertly works me over as thoroughly as he just kissed my mouth, his strong hands gripping my thighs, stroking them while keeping them spread.
I can’t help the sigh as my body sinks into the mattress, buzzing with the building pleasure. While I don’t take nearly as long as Justine says she does to get off, I’m not the sprinting cheetah of orgasms. But my thighs are beginning to prickle with warmth. Maybe it’s all these weeks of pent-up frustration. Or maybe it’s that gorgeous face between my legs. If Shane’s this talented with just his tongue, what will his—
“Good?”
My muscles instinctively tighten beneath his murmur. “Yes. You should give lessons.” My voice is embarrassingly breathless.
His responding chuckle causes a second clench. “Lessons? To whom?”
“To men, everywhere. Now, please stop talking.” I reach for his silky hair, threading my fingers through, and pull his face in closer as I roll my hips.
He curses and seems to take that as his sign to dial things up because I feel his touch once again, his fingers curling to hit a spot deep inside me, making me gasp. My body responds with eagerness, undulating, welcoming the slow and steady work of his moving hand and the rush of the impending orgasm.
It hits swiftly, pushing me over the brink to ride the waves, Shane’s name escaping with a deep cry of pleasure.
“Holy shit,” he whispers, his breathing ragged, his eyes shining with awe, his lips glossy and swollen as he watches me for a moment. Pulling himself to his feet, he towers over my splayed, boneless body—all six foot whatever of him, shirtless, his torso tanned and hard, his chest heaving, his dick pitching an impressive tent within his shorts.
“Please tell me you have a condom somewhere in this mess?” he asks in a gruff voice.
I grin lazily. “I have a whole box in my nightstand. Unopened. And big enough to fit Dixon’s bananas.”
His dimples flash with his cocky grin. “Those got nothing on me, babe.” His thumbs hook under the waistband of his shorts and I hold my breath, watching with eager eyes as I’m about to get my first full close-up view of naked Shane.
Rap music begins playing inside his pocket. It takes me a second to realize it’s a ringtone.
Shane tips his head back and lets out a guttural groan. “You’ve gotta be kidding me!” He takes several calming breaths before abandoning the strip show to slip his phone out of his pocket. “Hey, buddy. Yeah … uh-huh …”