Page 74 of The Heartbreaker Next Door

He kissed me, deep and slow, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips. It made me wild, and almost before I knew it, my hands were at his shirt, fumbling for the buttons, desperate to get him naked. He let me try for a minute, but my fingers were shaking so bad I kept missing the tiny buttons, so he laughed under his breath and started helping me, popping them open one by one.

His pupils were blown wide, and for the first time all night he looked just a little bit lost, like he wasn’t used to being the one who was wanted this much. I got his zipper down and pushed his slacks down his hips. He was hard, straining against the fabric of his boxers, and the sight of him sent a fresh jolt of excitement through me. I got his boxers down, and he sprang free, thick and heavy and already leaking at the tip.

“You don’t have to—” he started, but I cut him off.

“I want to,” I broke in, and licked my lips. His eyes flashed with desperate need, making me feel even bolder as I lowered myself onto my knees in front of him.

I wanted him to feel every ounce of pleasure he’d given me.

25

PUTTING THE “OH” IN ALONE

Dean

We hadn’t had privacy like this, not even once. Our bodies had always crashed together under a deadline: the threat of being found in a utility closet, bathroom, my truck, her SUV, or the pressure of my own damn responsibilities. It was never about candles or music or soft landings. It was about relief, necessity—the kind that hits hard and fast and leaves you reeling at the edge of what you can take. Even when we’d both been desperate to take it slow, we never had the chance.

When she dropped to her knees, it should have felt familiar. We’d stolen moments like this before, but always with a sense of panic, like we were shoplifting time from someone else’s life. Not here. Not now.

I’d imagined this a thousand times, but the reality was almost too much to absorb. She looked up at me, blue eyes wide, lips full, hair tumbling over her bare shoulders, skin flushed and practically vibrating with anticipation. Her hands were delicate but unyielding as she wrapped her fingers around my cock, her thumb skimming along the underside in a way that made me want to shatter on the spot.

She leaned in and kissed the tip, then dragged her tongue down the shaft like she was savoring it, cataloguing every part of me she could claim. I swore and flexed my hips, which only made her smile around my engorged head as she sucked me between her lips, cheeks hollowing with effort.

Her free hand slid between her own thighs, and I watched her touch herself, the movement shameless and perfect. She wanted me to see everything. She wanted me to know how much she loved doing this, loved being the reason I was coming apart. It was so fucking hot it almost hurt.

I was going to lose it, and not because I was weak, but because I’d never seen anything like her. I’d never felt anything like that in my life. Every nerve in my body was tuned to her—her touch, her mouth, the whimpering little gasps she made, as if her pleasure surprised her.

She was my living fantasy come true, hungrily taking me in, one hand stroking my cock the way she knew would push me to the edge, the other dipping between her legs, a silent, filthy encouragement to let go. It was almost too much. I braced myself, digging my fingers into the edge of her dresser, my other hand twisted in her hair, and tried to pretend I could last. That I was in control.

I wasn’t.

She looked up at me, a wicked glint in her eye, and hollowed her cheeks around me, then popped off with a gasp just to murmur how good I tasted. My head dropped back, neck straining as I cursed beneath my breath. My thighs trembled, and I realized I’d never been this close to coming in my whole damn life. Not from just a mouth. Not from just a look. Not from just a flash of memory, all the stolen moments in parking lots and closets and the back seat of my truck coalescing into this perfect, expanded universe where nothing rushed us, and nothing threatened to end it. I wanted to come. I wanted to hold back. I wanted to drown in her.

But she wanted to taste me. She wanted to watch me lose it. She worked her hand and mouth in unison, nearly taking the choice away from me.

So when my balls tightened, and my vision blacked at the edges, I did the only thing I could—I reached down, cupped her jaw, and gently but firmly pulled her up to her feet.

A satisfied grin spread across her face as she wiped the back of her hand across her lips. “Was it too much?” she teased, voice rough as gravel, but there was a flush high on her cheeks that said she was just as wrecked.

I didn’t answer. I grabbed her waist and lifted her, like she weighed nothing, and set her gently on the bed. For a second, she just sprawled there, hair wild, eyes wide, legs parted like she was already ready for me. But I wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. Not yet. Not until I’d mapped every inch of her.

I started at her ankle, kissing the inside of her left foot, then ghosting my lips up her calf. I took my time, letting my stubble scratch lightly at her skin, watching the goosebumps flower in my wake. She watched me, propped on her elbows, lips parted. When I got to her knee, I paused and let my mouth linger, biting lightly, then soothing the spot with my tongue. I could feel her muscles tense and relax under my hands.

Every slow inch I moved further up her leg, her breathing got heavier, her chest rising and falling like she’d just finished a sprint. The smell of her was everywhere—sweet, sharp, overwhelming. I could practically taste her arousal before my mouth even reached her thigh.

I kissed my way up, deliberately skipping over where she wanted me most, even as she arched her hips off the mattress, silently begging. I held her legs open, pressed my face into her inner thigh, and just breathed her in. She made a sound, half-growl, half-whimper, that went straight to my core.

“Dean,” she said. Her voice was a command and a plea.

I looked up at her, made her meet my eyes, letting my thumb trace the line of her hip, my hand splay across her belly.

She shuddered, the movement rippling through her entire body. “Yours,” she said, voice breaking.

I wanted to say something clever back, but all I could do was press my lips to her hip bone and keep moving north. I kissed her stomach, slow and reverent, then her ribs, then the underside of her breast.

My hands slid up her body, tracing the arch of her ribcage, the delicate flutter of her pulse at her throat, before settling on her breasts. I cupped them, weighed them in my palms, thumbs circling until her nipples stood hard and puckered. Her breath hitched, her hips shifting restlessly beneath me, the movement dragging the tip of my cock against the slick seam of her sex. The contact, every time, made her shiver, made me curse under my breath. I squeezed her breasts together, molding them so I could take both nipples in my mouth, licking back and forth, savoring the taste and the helpless little sounds she made.

She tried to drag my head up, but I resisted, making her laugh and curse at the same time. I circled her nipple with my tongue, then finally sucked it into my mouth, letting my teeth graze just enough to make her squirm.