Chapter 12
IZZY
The air between us is alive, pulsing in little jolts as his words pound a beat deep inside my pyjama pants. How is it possible to be laughing one minute and so turned on the next? I’ve never known a man to have this kind of effect. But then again, I’ve never known a man like him—he’s so infuriatingly sexy. And God, how he makes me laugh. And when he’s not making me laugh, or annoying the life out of me, he’s sweet and kind. On top of all that, he’s just so lovely to look at.
His elbow slides from the sofa behind him, his body unfolding from its negligent sprawl. He takes up so much room in this tiny cottage, it’s been impossible not to be aware of him all day long.All day long. That’s hours and hours of wondering if he’ll touch me. Hours and hours of wondering if I’ll have the courage to touch him.
I watch as he places his glass down an arm’s length away from his body. He turns and leans towards me, placing his hand on my side of the Scrabble board. Then, in a very deliberate action, he sweeps the board away with his other hand.
I don’t know who makes the next move as the board slides across the room, tiles scattering everywhere. All I know is I’m suddenly under him with the hard ridge of his cock pressed between my legs.
‘I want to eat you out.’ His tone is low and sensual in my ear, and the absolute antithesis of his base words, but it so works for me. I whimper as he presses his teeth into the flesh. ‘Was that an objection?’
‘No.’ I swallow thickly. ‘Absolutely not. That was an unequivocal green light.’
My T-shirt comes off first, and next, my long-sleeved top under it, but not before Greg hones in on my nipples. I cry out at the threat of teeth, my hips bucking up into him of their own accord, my whole body crying out to be filled. My top hits the floor next before he slides both pairs of bottoms, plus my knickers, all off together like a magician’s big reveal.And he does look rather pleased with himself.And speaking of reveals, Greg gets to his knees and straddles my hips, then begins to unbutton his jeans.
‘You want this,’ he says, smiling sort of devilishly as he lifts himself free from the confines of his boxer shorts. He runs his fingers along the hard length. I nod in answer, mainly because I can’t speak, mesmerised by the stroke of his hand and enthralled by the way he holds himself. God yes, I want it, my insides pulsing from sensory memory.
‘I didn’t quite hear. You need to speak up.’
‘Yes.’ My answer is a bare breath yet full of need. ‘I’d like to watch you.’ I can’t quite believe I’m managing to put my filthy thoughts into words. The things I’ve imagined. The things I suddenly want to do.
‘Yes,’ he hisses, jacking himself slowly in his fist, his body and his cock looming over me. ‘Tell me what you want to watch—tell me more.’
‘You have your cock in your hand. You’re in the shower, and you don’t know I’m there, looking through a crack in the door. Your eyes are closed, your head resting on one hand against the glass, the other working hard and fast as the water rains down on you.’
‘Keep talkin’.’ His voice deepens, his accent thicker, his eyes dark and languid as he begins to buck into his hand. ‘Jesus, that’s so hot.’
‘I open the door and slip in beside you. You don’t even realise I’m there until I kneel on the floor and take you into my mouth.’
‘Fuck,fuck!’ He kisses me then, forearm on the floor next to my head, he kisses me hard, feeds me his tongue like he would his cock, one hand grasping my hair at the base of my skull, exposing my neck to his teeth. I strain to touch the hard length of him now pressing against my bare hip, stroking my fingers over his wide crown and pressing my thumb to the slit. All the while, he kisses me harder, deeper, making me desperate as he pins me beneath him
‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ His deep voice curls around my ear as he tightens his grip on my hair, his lips finding my neck, and as he bites, the base of my skull pounds in time with the beat between my legs. ‘So hard you’ll be feeling me for days.’
‘Greg, please!’
My hands shake desperately as I try to yank the hem of his T-shirt, wanting to feel his skin, when he suddenly sits, pulling it up and off his head. His jeans come next, our clothes strewn like Christmas wrapping paper across the floor. His body over me, Greg licks and laves my nipples until they glisten in the firelight, hard and wet and aching heavenly.
‘Please,’ I whisper again, sliding my hands around his neck, pressing him to me harder, needing to feel the sting of him everywhere. He rewards me with his teeth on the fleshy lobe, my hands captured in one of his and pressed tight above my head.
‘You’re soaking,’ he rasps, ‘and I haven’t even touched you.’ He places his free hand on my inner thigh, lifting it higher as he spreads me for his view, his nostrils flaring as though anticipating the taste of me.
‘Please, please,’ I begin to chant hoarsely, ‘just touch me, please.’
‘Look at you.’ And Greg is looking but not at my face. ‘Just fucking look at how ready you are for me,’ he says again right before he pushes his mouth into the very centre of me.
The decadence of being spread out under him like a feast hits me hard and fast, but despite this not being my first rodeo with him (today), I’m unprepared for the intensity this time—driven breathless as his tongue and mouth works, hoarse from my cries as his dirty promises and growls curl around my ear.
Unprepared for the intensity that is him.
Thank you, universe. Thank you for the abundance that is Greg. Especially after throwing those disappointments in my path.
The man has beautiful lips, perfect teeth, and who knew a dexterous tongue was a thing. It means he’s an amazing kisser, and he takes his time, his mouth working in delicious layers. From sweet and slow to passionate and aggressive. He works his magic on my lips, necks, ears, and breasts. But the most amazing thing Greg brings to the bedroom—floor, kitchen, or wherever he chooses—is that he obviously adores giving oral sex.
This is no perfunctory lick and no lip service, if you’ll pardon the pun.
This man has a gift.
