“Nothing,” I sputter. “I’d rather talk about nothing!”
Wes makes a tsking sound. “That doesn’t bode well for our impending marriage, sweetheart. Communication is key.”
I glare at him. “Then tell your mouth to start communicating with my dick, dude. Because if you don’t make me come in the next five seconds, I’m going to—”
“Going to what?” he mocks, and I moan in dismay when his fingers slip out. Chuckling, Wes climbs up my body, grabs both my wrists and shoves them up over my head. “Tell me what you’ll do, Canning.”
“I…” My eyes glaze over. It’s hard to think when he’s rubbing his trouser-clad lower body over my aching erection. I try to push out of his grip, but my man is a strong motherfucker. He keeps my wrists locked between one hand and the headboard. His other palm strokes my bare chest, fingers lightly grazing one nipple.
He grinds against me until I’m growling with impatience. But I can’t move my hands. I can’t yank his pants off and take his cock in my hand. I can’t do anything but lie here as this big, beautiful man rubs off on me like I’m his own personal sex doll.
His eyes are so heavy-lidded I can only see a slit of silver gleaming down at me. Then he licks his lips, and a thrill shoots up my spine. I know that look. Ilovethat look.
Wes shoves his trousers down. His thick erection slaps my abs. “I want to touch you,” I beg.
“No.” His tone is commanding. It only intensifies the thrill. “Gotta hold you down so you don’t go running off again.” He gives me another lingering kiss just to drive the point home. And when he finally releases my wrists, he’s off the bed before I can reach for him. “Don’t move,” he whispers, and I go still, watching in near fascination as he charges across the room to where he dropped his wallet. He opens it, extracts one of his handy packets of travel lube, and returns to the bed.
“Arms over your head.”
I obey. He tosses my jeans aside and settles between my legs and grabs hold of my wrists again. With his other hand, he lubes up his dick, then guides it to the place that aches for him.
“Fucking fuck me,” I beg.
Humor dances in his eyes. “I’m not going to fuck you.”
Now I’m groaning again. Goddamn it. If he plans on torturing me again, I really will lose my mind—
“I’m going to make love to you,” he finishes.
My breath hitches.
Smiling, Wes drops his mouth to mine. Our lips lock at the same moment he slowly slides inside me. The burn of pleasure makes me gasp but he swallows the sound with a soft, sweet kiss that matches the soft, sweet strokes of his cock. He fills me. Completes me. My dick is an iron spike against my belly, and I struggle against the tight band of his fingers around my wrists.
“I need to touch myself,” I plead.
Wes lightly bites my bottom lip. “That’s my job, remember?” And then he wraps his fist around me and gives a fast stroke as he plunges deeper inside me.
The orgasm catches me by surprise. I thought I’d last longer, at least a dozen strokes, but nope, I’m coming and it’s glorious and my entire world is reduced tohim. My best friend. My lover. My…fiancé…oh wow, never thought that word would be such a turn-on, but it totally is. My dick throbs harder, another jet spurting onto my belly at the thought of spending the rest of my life with this man.
Wes continues to make love to me, slow and languid, as if he’s savoring every second of this. When he finally comes, it’s not in a hard explosion of bliss, but the gentle rocking of his hips and a soft moan of contentment. Then he collapses on top of me, his lips teasing mine in tender kiss after tender kiss, his hands caressing my pecs and shoulders before stroking through my hair.
Eventually he stops petting me and we lie pressed against each other, Wes curled around me, each of us drifting on our own thoughts. I happen to glance at the clock, which reads 1:37. “You must be tired,” I whisper. He played a game a few hours ago. “When does the bus leave the hotel?” His itinerary had listed a flight tomorrow morning.
“Eh. Seven-thirty?”
“We should sleep,” I say although I’m wired.
“Or you could tell me about the thing at work.”
I groan. “I will, I swear. But does it have to be now? Can’t I stay in my happy place?”
He chuckles into the back of my neck. “Wasn’t I justinyour happy place?”
“You’re quite the literalist this evening.” I get up and make a trip into the biggest hotel bathroom I’ve ever seen. I clean up a little and then bring Wes a damp washcloth, sliding back into bed with him.
“Seriously,” he says, wiping his remarkable abs. “What could you possibly have done that’s so awful?”
“I slammed Danton up against a wall.”
