Page 53 of Flirting with 40

There’s just here. There’s just now. There’s just me saying screw the lacy boy panties, I want to be the G-string that owns every single sensation.

“Blakely.” A guttural growl as his dick swells in my mouth. “Blake.” A tightening of his fist so my hair pulls tight. “Blak—”

And before he can even get my name out, he yanks himself from my mouth and has his lips on mine. There’s a newfound hunger in his kiss. A desperation in his touch. A sense of control snapping as he pushes my pants down, moves me up the bed, and crawls over my body, his dick heavy on my lower belly as he leans over and captures my lips again.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Slade

Jesus Christ.

Seriously?

This woman is everything . . . every-fucking-thing. The way she looks at me. The way she responds to me. The way she asks how to howl at the moon one moment and then takes me by the balls the next without asking permission. The way she’s laying there with her pussy laid bare for me to do what I want with it.

“What, Slade? Don’t you want me?”

A groan slides from between my lips at the innocent tone coming from that body of hers that was made for sin.

“Oh, I want you, all right,” I murmur as I let my fingertips trail over the tips of her breasts, her nipples tightening in reaction. “But I need to know this is what you want. I know you’ve been drinking, and I want to make sure this isn’t the alcohol talking and you’ll regret this in the morning.”

“I’d be too self-conscious to do this with you sober.” She chuckles as she slides her hands over her chest and plays with her nipples between her fingers and thumbs.

“Why?” I lean down and gently tug on her bottom lip with my teeth. “You’re gorgeous and stunning and put all the other women out there tonight to shame.”

“Kiss me, Slade.”

I lean forward and slip my tongue between her lips, a trace of the wine still there, but everything else is pure Blakely. She’s sweet and warm and everything that makes me harder than I thought possible.

“When I fuck you, Blakely, I want you to remember every damn second of it. Each touch.” My fingertips skim over the top of her slit. “Each kiss.” I capture her gasp with my lips. “Every goddamn sensation.” I let my teeth scrape over the nipples her hands are holding in place for me. “And yes, I want to fuck you. Desperately. But I need to know your yes is because you want to and not because of liquid courage.”

It was a valiant effort on my part to try to be the good guy. I was trying to give her the opportunity to blame it on the alcohol or claim she was caught up in the moment and isn’t sure she wants this.

Because I sure as hell do.

She bites her bottom lip and slowly walks her fingers down her lower abdomen to the V of her thighs, which are spread with my knees pressing against them.

I glance up to her eyes and then back down to where her fingers slip between the seam of her pussy.

It pains me to watch her and not participate as I slip a condom on. But fuck if seeing the red of her fingernail polish disappear between the pink of her folds before reappearing seconds later, glistening with her arousal, isn’t the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen. Her gasped moan is the second sexiest. When I can break my eyes from watching her pleasure herself, the look on her face—the seductive eyes, her parted lips, the flush to her cheeks—is something I won’t soon forget.

If I thought she had me that night in the street outside of Metta’s, I was so damn wrong. This woman and her constant contradiction of insecurity and sudden confidence is sexier than I ever could’ve imagined. I love that about her. I want to claim both things from her in a way I can’t put words to.

So yes, I was trying to be valiant, but I’m a guy. I can be noble all I want, but at some point, desire takes control.

Her answer is to slide her hand back down her body so her fingers can, once again, disappear into her wetness. It’s one more soft mewl of a sigh breaking the silence.

I reach down and slide my finger over the tip of hers and take over. It’s my turn to become slick with her arousal. It’s my turn to slide into her warm, wet heat until she grips around me. It’s my turn to be pulled into her oblivion.

If she only knew how little it would take.

It’s the moan when I slip into her. It’s the tightening of her muscles around me when I hit that bundle of nerves inside. It’s the tensing of her legs when I add my thumb into the mix.

When I look up to her and find her eyes glazed with desire, the restraint I was testing is gone.

Obliterated.

Within seconds, I’m jacketed up and using my knees to push her thighs farther apart as I raise her hips off the bed. I resist the urgency that’s trying to own me and slowly push into her. Inch by inch. Her hands grip the sheets at her sides. My fingers dig into the tops of her thighs.