“I should go.”
“Don’t.” He captures my hand. “We can stop talking for a while. Stay with me.”
I do. And when he leads me to the sofa, I plant my palms on his chest, push him down onto the cushion, and straddle his hips.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “We can just—”
“I’m sure.” I shimmy closer. Our talk has wound me tight, and I’m desperate to release my pent-up agitation and regain control of the situation. Arching back, I rock on his lap, riding the dick I can feel hardening beneath me. His hands land on my hips and he groans.
“Oh, God. Harley.” He lets go of my hips and buries his hands in my hair, lifting his face toward mine, angling for a kiss. I grant him one, swearing to retain the upper hand even as he kisses me more sweetly than anyone ever has, threatening to crack me open and expose the sensitive, tender thing inside me to the world. I’m holding tightly to the pieces of myself, panic growing deep within that I can’t control anything to do with Devon. I’m in danger of losing myself to him, and once that happens, everything will crumble. I’ll have no defenses left. How will I keep myself safe then?
Our kiss is all-encompassing. His scent—masculine with a hint of menthol—engulfs me, and the only sensations I’m aware of are his lips on mine, his fingers raking over my scalp, and the iron rod in his pants. He grabs the hem of my tank top and yanks it over my head. I unbutton his shirt and do the same to him, baring his flawless abs and broad chest. His arms band around me, supporting me as I grind on him, then they journey up my back to the latch of my bra and flick it open with one deft movement. I hate to think of how many women he’s practiced on.
“Get out of your head,” he murmurs, as though he can read my thoughts. “All that matters right now is you and me.”
Gently, he takes one of my nipples between his teeth and flicks the tip of his tongue over it. I shiver. Why do I feel out of control when I’m on top and taking the lead? Is that just his effect on me?
“More,” I demand, and even though he does what I say, the added sensation only makes me feel brittle. Even when he’s giving me what I want, he’s still somehow calling the shots. Or is that just in my mind? Am I seeing it that way because of how vulnerable he makes me feel?
There’s one surefire way to fix that.
Sliding down his torso, I undo his fly, and when he raises his hips, I pull his pants down, leaving him in silk boxers. I close my mouth over the ridge of his dick and run my tongue along the fabric over it. He growls and shudders like a barely leashed beast. A sense of calm washes over me. I’ve got this. I’m not the only one falling victim to the chemistry between us. I’m not weak. We’re both in this together.
Slowly, I drag down the waistband of his boxers, licking along the groove that runs from his hips to his pelvis, following it all the way to the neatly trimmed hair above his erection.
“You feel that, don’t you?” I murmur into the skin at the base of his abs.
“You tease.”
“Don’t you?” I repeat, my mouth hovering above his cock.
His voice is ragged when he says, “I feeleverything.”
Thank God.
I take him in my mouth, tasting his salty head, his thickness between my lips. He flops against the cushion when I suck, his body somehow taut and limp at the same time. I swirl my tongue around him, and he squirms. Then I settle in. Kissing, licking, sucking. He makes carnal sounds and his hips jerk wildly. I never knew giving a blow job could be so empowering. So fun. I love the way he’s losing his shit because of something I’m doing.
He stiffens beneath me. “Better stop now, Harls.”
I rear back, confused. His mouth is hanging open, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his eyes almost black. My gaze journeys down the length of his body, all of which gives the impression of being on the brink of something, and when I reach his cock, I notice it’s leaking precum.
He sees me looking and closes his eyes. “Gotta get myself together. Give me a moment.”
Oh.
My tongue darts out and laps the precum up.
He shudders again. “Fuck.”
Deciding I’ve got a good enough grasp of myself to ease up on him, I back off and strip off my jeans. I’m not wearing anything beneath. While I didn’t intend to have a date when I came over, I definitely had plans of revisiting naked-town with him. His eyes are still shut and my hand dips between my thighs. I’m soaking. Apparently I have a weird power fetish.
Devon’s eyelids lift, and his eyes boggle when they focus on me. He wraps his thumb and forefinger around his dick and squeezes.
“Get on it,” he growls. “There’s a condom in my pocket.”
I go to his pants and find it, then I rip the packet open and roll the condom on. “How do you want to do this?”
His jaw tenses, and he keeps hold of himself with one hand while guiding me with the other, until I’m seated on him, experiencing sweet fullness. The exquisite sensation of him inside me. And then, in an unexpected display of strength, he stands—his hands spread across my bottom, holding me up—and walks over to a wall. He presses me against it and keeps one hand on my ass while the other interlaces with my fingers and pins them above my head. Slowly, he thrusts into me, and in this new position, he hits spots that no one has ever touched.
