“I aim to please.”
“Well, the drink impressed me. What else you got?”
“Music.”
Not what I expected. After days of pent-up lust and years of yearning, I figure he’d already have me up against the nearest wall by now. I even skipped the panties and bra to make it easier.
Instead, he takes my hand and leads me into the living room. Queenie’s snoring softly, looking sweet and innocent.
Dice picks from his vinyl collection and places the record onto the turntable. Dropping the needle, Usher’s smooth vocals fill the room.Nice &Slow.
He pulls me in, wrapping his arms around my waist, hands resting on the shelf between the dip of my lower back and the pop of my booty. I curl my arms around his shoulders, exploring the hard muscle beneath his shirt. He sways with me. Our first slow dance is sensual. My body reacts from the drink, the song choice, the sheer gravity of him.
Lyrics rich with patience and longing float around us. All the pieces I thought I was holding together start to unravel. I cup the nape of his neck. Our eyes meet—charged and unguarded—right before I pull his mouth to mine.
The second our lips touch, his arms crush me in a tight squeeze, stealing my breath with a kiss that was an eternity in the making. No letdown. No hesitation. Nothing but raw, explosive hunger.
His breath is rough against mine as his fingers find the zipper at my back. He lowers it in one fluid pull. I break the kiss to let the dress slither down my body and pool at my feet.
“Damn, Lot.” He exhales in a rush, taking in every bare inch of me. “You’re more perfect than I even imagined.” His hands skim my spine. “I need you in my bed.”
“Take me there.”
He sweeps me up like I weigh nothing, striding across the living room and down the hall. No man has ever carried me to bed before. I wrap around him, my mouth greedy on his.
The bedroom is shadows and partial light. I catch glimpses of tan and beige. His bed hastily made. He lays me on top of the covers, then stands back, stripping piece by piece.
Finally seeing all of him in the flesh fries my brain. “You are one fine man, Jones.”
“Glad you like what you see.”
“I love it. And I fucking want it.”
He climbs onto the bed in a ripple of muscles and ink, crawling forward with graceful power. His broad shoulders roll with each move, his cock, thick and hard, jutting out proudly.
I reach for him, and we collide with force. Years of restraintsnapping at once. Our kiss is all tongue and heat as we roll across the mattress in a tangle of limbs. Skin slapping, hands gripping, like we can’t get close enough. I rake my nails along his back, scissoring my legs, trying to flip him. But he doesn’t budge.
“Dice—”
“Uh-uh. I’m driving this round.”
His mouth streaks down my neck, hands kneading my breasts, lips catching my nipple before sucking it deep.
I cry out, the hot tugs unleashing a torrent of liquid desire between my thighs.
His beard rasps against my skin as he licks and nibbles his way across to the other breast, down my torso to my stomach, rimming my navel with the tip of his tongue. The width of his shoulders spreads my legs wide, opening me up to him, exposing my desire to his scorching gaze.
“Lot,” he groans and buries his face in my pussy, inhaling my scent like it’s oxygen.
I gasp, my back bowing, fists twisting the sheets, seduced by his dark head between my legs and his mouth savoring me so intimately.
His tongue teases my opening. Shallow plunges, tasting, sampling, driving me insane without getting me off.
“Dice,” I grit out, raw and trembling. “Stop playing and make me come.”
“Mmm.” His hum vibrates through me. “You taste too good to rush.”
My mind frays, patience shredded, I clutch the back of his head.
