The Best Man (Alpha Men 2)

Daff’s legs went slack when his objective became clear, and she watched in disbelief as he knelt in front of her. His hands still on the countertop, he looked up to meet her eyes. His gaze scorching hot while his panting breath fanned out over her delicate flesh, and she shuddered at the delicious sensation.

“Put your feet on my shoulders, please,” he murmured. She had a moment’s doubt—this was so far beyond anything she’d ever experienced before. Were they moving too fast? Probably. Was that going to stop her? Probably not.

Embarrassed to be on such lewd display when he was essentially fully dressed, she swallowed nervously. If not for his half-mast eyes, his uneven breathing, and the rampant hard-on tenting the fabric of those pajama bottoms, she would have wondered if he was turned on at all. He seemed completely in control, and it was . . . unnerving.

But still . . . she was so hot and so close to orgasm that a strong breeze would probably set her off right now. She lifted her legs and slotted the arches of her feet neatly over the curves of his shoulders. He grunted his approval and gave a long appreciative look at what she had just revealed to him before leaning forward and closing his mouth over her hard, aching clit.

She gasped, then sucked in and held another breath when her back arched and her palms slammed down onto the counter beside his hands.

“Uhhhh!”

The suction of his mouth was relentless but not strong enough to make her come—it was driving her insane. His tongue soon joined the party, and Daff cried out again while he kept her on edge with his soft little butterfly licks and tender suckling. Because he never ramped up the intensity, she just remained hovering on the brink. Her feet pushed down against his shoulders, her back flat on the countertop by now, her head tilted over the other end, while her arms spread out on either side of her and gripped the edge.

“Oh God, oh please,” she begged, opening her eyes to stare fixedly at the upside-down cabinets on the other side of the room. His hands finally came into play, one splayed flat over her abdomen to hold her still when she tried to push herself closer to his mouth and the other curved over her right thigh, spreading her a little wider.

The pressure of each suctioning kiss was starting to intensify; the licking got a little more purposeful. He was finally giving her more, and it was wrecking her. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to stand it for much longer, but he continued to take his time, savoring her taste in the same way he had enjoyed every morsel of the haute cuisine they’d been served at dinner, with little sighs and appreciative groans.

He kept her balanced on a knife edge while he toyed with her relentlessly . . . until eventually he drew her hypersensitive, extremely swollen clitoris into his mouth and sucked . . . hard. Daff’s entire body convulsed, her back and shoulders leaving the counter as her body bowed beneath the intense, wrenching pleasure of her climax. She cried out, the sound loud and piercing and unexpected, and covered her face with both hands as her bones and muscles turned to warm liquid as she melted back onto the counter in a messy puddle.

She felt undone, like Spencer Carlisle had systematically taken her apart and left off important pieces when he put her back together.

Spencer got to his feet and watched the small, vulnerable woman crying on his kitchen counter. He shouldn’t have done it. He should have sent her off to bed in one of the spare rooms and they could have discussed the matter again in the morning. He truly hadn’t meant for it to go this far.

It was supposed to have been a kiss only. But she’d been so receptive and then so damned shocked by every gentle caress that he found himself both unwilling and unable to stop. Now she looked fucking ruined, and he felt like an asshole.

He moved quickly, scooping her up into his arms, where she drew up her legs and curled her arms around his neck, burying her wet, weeping face in his chest. Not sure what to do, he carried her to his bedroom and laid her down under the covers of his unmade bed before crawling in behind her and tugging her into his arms. She turned so that she was facing him and again buried her face in his chest, still crying.

He stroked her back soothingly, not asking questions, not saying anything, just holding her until her trembling abated and her tears stopped. He leaned back and reached for a tissue from the box he kept on the nightstand, and she took it gratefully.