“I’m not getting any younger.” He smiled, nudging his head toward the bedroom. “Want to practice?”
”Iama perfectionist.”
Still holding his hand, she followed him into his bedroom and shut the door.Privacy please, Rory. Who was she kidding? That dog wasn’t waking up for anything.
She lay on top of the duvet and reached for the button on her jeans, but his hand covered hers. “Let me,” he said.
She lifted her hips, and he slid her jeans down, tugging them off at the ankles before peeling off her socks. His hand traced a slow path up her thigh until it reached the cotton triangle between her legs. His fingertips were rough, the calluses brushing her in a way that made her shudder.
“You’re so wet,” he whispered, making the situation worse.
Forget flood warning—this was a full-scale evacuation. Possibly a rescue mission.
“Get these off of me!”
He laughed, hooking a finger into the elastic of her panties and sliding them down to her feet. Her bottom lip trembled as his tongue met her heat, fingers curling into the duvet. Tension built, unfurling like the slow burn of a “Kashmir” guitar riff. His tongue traced along her flesh until . . .
“Fuck,” she said, her hips convulsing on the bed. An earthquake warning was now in effect.
“I love how you taste,” he murmured as he climbed over her, his hair brushing her face. “I could do that all day.”
One by one, he undid the buttons of her shirt until only her bra remained. She unhooked the front clasp—an ingenious little trap for mostmen—and her breasts spilled free, nipples tight with arousal. His hands skimmed over them, shaping them with reverence before his mouth claimed one, then the other, sucking until they flushed a deep, heated red.
“My turn,” she said, her hand slipping between his legs.
She traced the outline of his erection through his jeans, her fingertip dragging a slow, deliberate path. His head fell back, a groan escaping—low, guttural—before he let out a string of curses, each one rougher than the last. She smirked. She liked him like this—undone, unraveling beneath her touch.
“Really?” she asked, eyebrows raised, using both hands to unbutton his jeans.
He laughed. “Button fly—go figure.”
A metallic jingle echoed as his jeans hit the floor, and she slid her hands inside his boxer briefs. His already impressive length thickened, pulsing as she wrapped her mouth around him.
Opening wide, she devoured him with deliberate hunger. A ragged groan ripped from his throat. “I’m going to come.”
She stopped for a second. “That’s kind of the point.”
“No way, not yet.” He flipped her onto her back and pulled the loose elastic from her topknot, then combed her hair with his fingers. His gaze penetrated her soul as she widened her legs, and he grabbed his girth, slowly entering her. “I love you,” he said.
“I love you too,” she gasped, her breath hitching with every inch he filled her—inch after relentless inch. By the time he was fully seated inside her, she was trembling. “Holy fuck.” Her fists clenched the sheets, a lifeline to keep from blacking out.
“There’s nothing holy about this.” He breathed into her ear and sucked on her neck before biting it.
They rocked every inch of his bed, the sheets damp beneath her skin. He pulled out with a shuddering breath, his muscles tight with restraint. She watched, aching, as he stroked himself slowly, his control hanging by a thread.
“I don’t want to come yet,” he rasped.
She nodded, guiding him back inside her. As he moved, she cupped her breasts, pressing them together, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip.
“Fuck!” he groaned, his body tensing as warmth surged deep inside her.
Then he collapsed beside her, breathless, spent, and utterly undone.
She giggled. “I thought you didn’t want to come yet?”
He opened one eye. “That was just practice, remember?”
After Tyler and Cary showered, they ordered Indian food from Vij’s and turned on the hockey game. The Winnipeg Jets scored early in the game and led 1–0.
