Page 90 of Sweet Distraction

Held by my hair, there’s nowhere to hide—only the ragged rasp of my breath and the slick, rhythmic sound of his fingers in me.

I’ve never been this turned on in my life, and it’s not just from his fingers and lips, but from his words. His confessions. Knowing how much he’s desired me this whole time.

He tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth. “Now tell me what you want, Wills.”

I draw a steadying breath, stare back at him, and speak for the first time. “You, Rocket. I want you—inside me, on me, fucking me, drowning in me.”

His approving chuckle rumbles as he kisses me. “Nanny has a mouth on her.”

There’s something about the way he says it. The toying, playful way when his cock is hard against me and his fingers are filling me that make them seem so much . . . more.

Before I can think too hard over any of it, he strips off his boxers with his free hand—his erection springs free, perfect and hard—but his dark eyes hold me more.

He watches me take it in, and I dart my tongue out to lick my bottom lip. He’s a sight for sore eyes. Ridged muscles colored with intricate ink. Broad shoulders narrowing down to trim hips, strong thighs, and a sizable cock in between.

My mouth waters looking at him. At anticipating what he’ll feel like.

“These weeks have been endless foreplay, Wills. I should be pushing you down and fucking you into oblivion but Christ, woman, I want this to last. Need this to last.”

I curl my hand around his cock and begin to stroke him. Slow, long slides of my hand over its soft, velvety skin. His shoulders tense, his head falls back, and his lips call out my name.

“I dreamed about this. About you.” His voice is like sandpaper, and his words have heat creeping into my cheeks. But he cups my face, thumb stroking my jaw. “Don’t blush. Not with me.”

He withdraws his fingers and traces the curve of my ass before turning me around slowly and unclasping my bra. My breath hitches at his lips grazing my shoulder. “Yes?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He pats my ass and steps back. “Now crawl onto that bed and think how you want to be fucked.” I turn to see him reaching for a condom out of his nightstand. “Soft? Slow? Testing my restraint?” I sit on the edge of the bed as he steps into the moonlight. He rips open the foil packet and then begins to roll the condom on as I watch, legs spreading willingly as I scoot back. “Or hard, fast, so deep you feel me in your stomach?” My mouth is dry, thighs ache. He crawls on the bed between my thighs and taps his cock against me. “Christ, Wills, that pussy of yours is the prettiest color of pink.” He runs one hand up my thigh. “Stunning. Sexy. Do you taste as good as you look?”

Before I can answer, he’s between my legs again, hands on my thighs, mouth on me. His guttural groan vibrates inside me as his tongue and fingers delve into me, mastering every slick slide of it.

His stubble scrapes my inner thighs. His warmth envelops me, and his hands brace my legs open. His tongue plunges.

I moan as each flick of his tongue has me coiling tighter. I clutch the sheets and dig my heels in as he quickens the motions—fingers and tongue in a relentless rhythm.

“Don’t stop,” I moan, hands fisting in his hair, back arching off the bed.

“Come for me, Wills,” he murmurs, and my hips buck against his lips.

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Not yet, baby. Not until you do this for me,” he says as the bed shakes, and as he finger-fucks me into my climax.

“Oh. My. God.” My orgasm rips through me. It’s like a jolt of lightning—searing, white-hot heat that holds me hostage and owns my every reaction—trembling, pulsing, breath-robbing.

But he kisses me through its waves as it surges again and then ebbs back down.

He watches me. Close up. Unfiltered. His eyes drag over me as my arousal glistens on his chin and mouth. “You’re a drug, you know that?” He gently tugs on my bottom lip, and my eyes flash open. “Quiet and sleepy. Drag me along and toy with me with tastes of what you have to offer, and then you go out looking like this, tasting like this . . . begging me to fuck you.”

“Pretty please.”

He cups one of my breasts, his thumb flicking over my pebbled nipple while his mouth closes around the other one. I squirm beneath his touch, my body still hypersensitive from my orgasm. My squirming only serves to grind my thigh against the thickness of his cock.

“Atta girl. Tell me what you want again.” His smile is dangerous. Appealing. Only for me.

My tongue delves into his mouth as my hands grip the back of his neck. “You. Now. Or I could always go back to the club to find someone—”

He silences me with a kiss, then slides in with a single, slow sweep. “Think you can take it all?” he challenges. “I know you can.” He thrusts deeper and groans, “More?”