Page 48 of Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

And they did.

This wasn’t a game to him, not that kind of game, anyway . . .

Delilah was a feast for the senses, and he didn’t care how crazy-ass hokey that sounded.

Not that I’m going to say it out loud. I’m not dumb. Sometimes my Mensa brain does come in handy.

Looks, smell, taste, feel, sounds—yep, Delilah had it all. In one nude, sexy body. And she was all his!

Happy birthday to me! Three months early.

—She looked sensational, naked. Not all women did. Take it from me. Whoo-boy! You know that country song about all the girls looking prettier at closing time. Ask a few SEALs about their experiences with beer goggles. The things that Spanx and makeup can hide!

With Delilah, all that creamy skin in a curvy package spelled Male Fantasy #1. Not a diet-conscious hip bone in sight. Nor signs of a surgeon’s enhancement or reduction.

And, hey, he now knew she was a true blonde. Hubba hubba!

—As for smell, there was some sweet scent about Delilah all the time. Was it perfume? Or maybe, with all the baking she did, the vanilla or cinnamon had infused her skin.

—Would she taste like her luscious pastries? He already knew how sweet her lips were. Strawberry sweet. And cherry hued. Like her nipples. Man, those oversensitive buds and the mounds they crested were definitely going to be retasted. Over and over again.

—He already knew from his brief strokes of her back when they were outside that her skin was smooth as silk to the touch, and soft. No muscle-toned body for Delilah. Not that she was fat. Not at all. Just supple. I can’t wait to see if she’s malleable all over. Especially—well, you know where.

—The topper on this sensual cake for Merrill was the sound that Delilah made when she was coming. Manna to a starving man’s ears!

“If you don’t start pretty soon, I might just fall asleep,” she said, knocking him from his reverie.

“Sorry. I’m enjoying the view too much. Where to start, where to start?”

“I liked your kisses,” she suggested.

“Your wish is my command,” he said, and arranged himself over her on braced elbows so he wouldn’t crush her. Before he lowered his mouth to hers, though, he said, “I want you to know that this isn’t just a slam-dunk game for me, just another score. I think I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes shot wide and she started to protest, “No, that’s not—”

He put his fingertips to her lips and said, “Shh. I’m not expecting you to reciprocate.” Not yet. And then he replaced his fingertips with his mouth and proceeded to kiss her into acquiescence and then full participation. She was wet and open to him as he shaped her lips to fit his, demanding and coaxing, teasing and devouring. If he were a true basketball fan, he would call this a full court press of the mouth, except he wasn’t sure who was on the offense and who was on the defense in this exchange. Her hands were framing his face, and her legs were locked around his hips.

But he had a full court to work here, and the timer was counting down. There was a third participant in the one-on-one who wanted a goal now. That was the entity between his legs that had a mind of its own and had surely grown two inches in the past five minutes.

He moved down her body and back to his knees so that he could see her breasts—feast on them, actually. She lay flat on her back, her eyes closed, but her lashes fluttered open and she stared at him through eyes that were already hazed with arousal. She looked more confused than disgruntled at his move.

“Do you know how much I like your breasts?” he asked.

She blinked and became more alert. Rising up on her elbows, she glanced pointedly at a certain part of his body and said, “I can tell.”

“Witch!” he chided her and pinched one of her nipples, lightly, in reprimand.

She gasped, more in pleasure than pain. “More.”

He spent a long time then, a really long time (for a penis anyhow), maybe five minutes, playing with her breasts. Molding them from underneath. Palming them in rough circles. Tweaking the nipples, then flicking. Finally, using his mouth and teeth and tongue to bring her to a writhing, moaning tribute to his expertise (even if I do say so myself).

“Don’t . . . want . . . to . . . come,” she choked out.

“What?”

“Not . . . like . . . this . . . again.” She grabbed for that part of him, and almost gave him an instant ejaculation. “Inside!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he said, and unpeeled her fingers off his cock. Sliding even lower down the mattress, he was about to touch her exposed moistness. “Just let me check to see if you’re ready.”