It was hard to concentrate as he worked her zipper down with her doing the same and her hand so close...
Ah, hell. He let out a powerful groan. Her hand wasonhis cock as if it belonged there. She reached down behind the cotton of his boxer briefs and circled that hand around him as if it had done so a hundred times before. As if it had been made to hold him. Stroke him.
He had to grit his teeth against the urge to come as that sweet, oh-so-perfect grip moved from base to tip at just the right beat.
She paused only when his hand pushed aside the black triangle of lace—the thong was every bit as sexy as the bra—and he spread her legs with his hand.
He had the satisfaction of hearing her cry out and arch as his finger slid inside that honeyed warm slit. He slid it in and out, getting her used to the feel of him. Slow and deep, making her wet and ready.
But she was already there.
And so was he. She was stroking him again, keeping the pace he was setting with his hand.
He could feel her straining against him. Lifting. Pushing. Wanting to come. Just as he could feel the building pressure at the base of his spine.
He couldn’t take it. He broke away, propping himself up on one knee again over her. Not even bothering to take off his pants, he reached in the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a condom from his wallet. He tossed his wallet on the coffee table and ripped the condom package open.
She shimmied her jeans down her hips, watching him, her eyes on his every move. That was hard enough to take, but when her tongue darted out to run over her bottom lip, he nearly went over the edge right there.
She had no idea how sexy that unconscious gesture was—none. If there were time, he’d let her do what she was thinking. But he knew he had about two minutes. Three if he was lucky.
He rolled the condom down the long length of his erection, trying to get himself under control.
It wasn’t working. Especially when he glanced down and saw her waiting for him. Sweater and shirt opened wide, bra unclasped, jeans and thong kicked off on the ground.
She looked like a debauched angel. A sexy-as-hell debauched angel. That couch had never looked so good.
Her body was a fucking wonderland, as the song went. Creamy white skin flushed with arousal, lush, full breasts with pale pink tips turned deeper pink from his sucking,gently curved hips, taut, athletic limbs, everything compact and neatly proportioned.
He’d seen her in a bathing suit before, but the modest one-pieces and swim shirts hadn’t prepared him.
Or maybe he’d never allowed himself to imagine. Maybe he knew that no matter how much he liked her, she wasn’t for him.
Their eyes met, and almost as if she could see his hesitation—see the moment of sanity peeking through the haze—she reached for him.
Six
If John Donovan thought he was going to leave her hanging like this, he had another think coming. This wasn’t the time for second thoughts, and Brittany wasn’t going to let him think of any reason why they shouldn’t do this.
They were doing this.
So she made sure of it. She took that impressive, suited-up erection in her hand and pulled him toward her.
Of course he had a big dick. What big, bad wolf didn’t?“The better to fuck you with, my dear.”She hoped so. She’d been anticipating this for a long time.
Whatever twinge of conscience he’d had was apparently gone. His face was an intense mask of focus and concentration as he positioned himself between her legs, propping himself over her with his hands on either side of her head.
Okay, that was more like it.
She moved one of her legs around his hips just to make sure he understood, and found a couple of muscles on his upper arms to hold on to as she braced herself for what was to come.
It didn’t prepare her for the jolt. For the lightning rodof awareness that ran up her spine and claimed her whole body as the thick head of his cock nudged between her legs.
He stopped, and her protective instincts deserted her as her eyes found his. Something warm and unwelcome rose in her chest, but she pushed it down. Hard.
It was five years too late for connections. Five years too late for “what does this mean?” That wasn’t what she wanted from him anymore.
Still holding his gaze, she smoothed her hands down his rigid arms to his back and then down to his half-clad backside. God, he had an amazing ass. Steel was putting it mildly. How many times had she imagined this?
