The Wingman (Alpha Men 1)

His modeling shots must have been Photoshopped, because none of these scars and tattoos had been present in a single pic, which was a shame because this was a warrior’s body and it was beautiful and she wanted to kiss every single scar; she wanted to lick his abs and suck his nipples, trace his tattoos with her tongue . . . She abruptly understood that everything she wanted to do was highly achievable in this moment and started on the licking and petting and sucking seconds later. He allowed it, his breathing becoming more labored with every sweep of her tongue and every tiny kiss she bestowed at random spots on his skin.

“If you’re going to kiss me, angel,” he suddenly muttered hoarsely. “Do it properly, okay? I don’t think I can stand these sweet little butterfly kisses . . . they’re designed to drive a man insane.”

He cupped her face and brought her mouth back up to his, kissing her hotly and flipping her onto her back until he was positioned between her thighs. They were both still wearing their jeans, and as he began to grind against her, the double layers of denim became a major hindrance. He swore impatiently and tore at the buttons of his jeans and, following his lead, she struggled with hers too. They both managed to shimmy out of their denims at the same time; Daisy’s were completely kicked off while Mason’s were bunched around his ankles. Neither cared, and he was back at her mouth in seconds with penetrating kisses that made her lose her reason. His hands were busy at her breasts, plumping and thumbing at the nipples until she thought she would lose her mind.

Her hands dug into his back and then his buttocks when he started up that deep grinding again. This time, with only her lacy, damp panties and his cotton boxer briefs between them, the sensations were way more intense. She could feel the long, thick outline of his hard penis as he sawed against her damp furrow, the tip brushing against her clitoris with every forward stroke.

She bent her knees and thrust herself up against him, wishing that she could have more, and as if sensing her desire, one of his hands left her breast and crept down over her belly and under her panties, his thumb finding her with ease. His mouth was now at her nipple, sucking strongly, the way—she’d discovered—she loved it.

Daisy opened her thighs even wider, and he took it as an invitation to further liberties, his long middle finger attempting entry into her slick channel. He got only knuckle deep before she came like she never had before. She clenched tightly around that intrusive finger for one long, long moment, before she released. The spasms repeated again and again, while Daisy’s back arched and she sobbed into his neck, her nails buried in his back, her ankles crossed around his buttocks.

One of her hands moved down between their tightly locked bodies, and he shifted slightly to accommodate her and then gasped in utter shock when she pushed his briefs down and took him in hand.

“Daisy, wait, you don’t have t—” The desperate words faded into a deep groan of satisfaction as—after only one untutored stroke of her hand—he came. Hard and fast and copiously. He shuddered and spent every last drop all over their bellies and her still-stroking hand.

For an endless amount of time, neither of them moved, and then, as if by unspoken accord, they both flowed into a tangle of arms and legs. They were breathing heavily, hot and wet and literally steaming as their body heat hit the cooler air.

Daisy’s head was resting on one of Mason’s hard biceps, and his arm was curled so that his hand could idly toy with her hair.

“That was fucking amazing,” he muttered after he finally caught his breath, and Daisy made a contented little sound of agreement as she snuggled closer. She had both hands curled against his chest with her nose buried in the hollow of his throat and was drifting off to sleep, while his one hand played with her hair and his index finger of his other hand traced lacy patterns across her back.

“Are you falling asleep?” he asked, his voice brimming with amusement.

“Tired.”

“What about dinner? Should we order in?” He sounded disgustingly keen, and she smiled sleepily.

“No. Wake me up; family will be waiting.” He sighed, his chest heaving beneath her hands.

“It’s nearly seven.”

“Just a quick nap. We can be late.” She snuggled closer, feeling not even the slightest bit self-conscious at her nudity, and fell asleep seconds later.

Mason watched her sleep, a pang of . . . something in his chest. God, they hadn’t even shagged, but it was still the most amazing sex of his life. He wasn’t sure how the hell that worked; all he knew was that little Daisy McGregor had rocked his world with her irresistible mixture of charm, innocence, and lethal sexiness. He knew he should move, get a damp cloth or something to at least wipe some of the stickiness off their bodies, but he wasn’t sure he could move, and right now the damp discomfort was preferable to letting Daisy go.