With his jeans undone, and the vee of the placket opened to reveal dark cotton knit, she dropped to her knees.
It wasn’t a conscious choice, only a practical one, as he still wore his ankle-length laced boots—nicer than the work pair she’d seen—but they needed to go all the same and he didn’t seem inclined to help. Or maybe he worried that might be taking advantage, so he gave her plenty of opportunity to develop second thoughts.
He was leaving all the moves to her.
In another time and mood, she’d be intimidated, her stomach in knots, her head a distracting mess as she worried about performance, about keeping up, about giving him pleasure. But now, though he was characteristically quiet and still a devastating mountain of a man, his toughness and his usual sexual swagger—which she did find absurdly appealing, it must be said—were lowered a notch or two.
Which gave her confidence…and permission to take her time and admire the sights. Who knew removing a man’s socks could be erotic? Who knew the sight of his bare feet, so close to her bed, would make her belly flip-flop in anticipation?
Her hands rose to the waistband of his jeans, sagging low on his hips. Fingertips curling under, she inched down the pants, catching his boxer briefs along the way. Air hissed into his lungs as the head of his sex and half its shaft were revealed, thick, the satiny skin flushed. Gemma inhaled, smelling soap and man, and drew the clothes lower on his legs, exposing the remainder of his genitals to her gaze.
Now it was her turn to suck in a breath as she flattened her palms against the top of his thighs, her fingers and thumbs framing the equipment that made him so male, so other. He was, in a word, substantial. Her experience might not be particularly varied, but even a novice would realize that this big man’s private parts were in corresponding size to his public ones. Glancing up, she saw his eyes were lowered and open now, their darkness heated as they stared at her hands on him.
As large as he was, as formidable, in this moment he was, at least a little, at her mercy.
She’d never felt more feminine—powerful and vulnerable and so excited the flesh of her body seemed to tremble with every thump of her heart. Her gaze still on Boone, she pushed him, watching as he folded to sit on the side of her bed, his weight causing the mattress to emit the smallest of squeals.
Another time she might have smiled at its minor protest, now she only drew off the denim and cotton he still wore, leaving them somewhere behind her as she knee-walked closer, making a place for herself between thighs that obligingly parted on a low male groan.
Heaven.
She leaned forward, bringing her face close to his heavy shaft, so close that when it twitched she felt it bump against her nose. So she went with that, running the tip of it down the silky skin and then back up, breathing in Boone, taking him inside her body in this way. Leaning back, she noted he’d shut his eyes again and that he’d wedged his hands beneath his powerful thighs.
Too afraid he’d touch her, guide her, ask for too much?
Tenderness toward him swamped her and she leaned in again, this time tracing a pattern with her tongue, just the point, stiffened and slick so the design was delicate and wet. Beneath her palms, she felt the muscles in his legs bunch and his belly hollowed again. A strangled sound made it past his throat, but it sounded as if he’d tried to hold that back too.
Poor baby.
Her tongue flat this time, she covered as much area as she could, swirling and sliding, always avoiding the crown, dancing right up to it then slithering back down toward his balls. She took them in one hand, rubbing her thumb over their swollen weight. Another sound had her glancing up again and she saw his head had dropped back, his throat available to kiss, suck, bite. Her nipples hardened at the thought, her body aching and wet where her legs met.
No longer calculated, she lifted higher on her knees and opened her lips wide, wider, drawing the bulbous head of him inside her mouth so that it filled her, his girth pressing against the soft insides of her cheeks. An honest-to-God moan from him this time, to match hers, as she tasted the liquid seeping there.
She swallowed it down, the substance nearly tasteless, then wanting more, she gave a tentative suck. He moaned again, the raw sound like a callused hand against her skin.
Encouraged by his obvious pleasure, she tried drawing him deeper, taking as much as she could before she felt a slight panic. Pulling off, she hauled in air, then moved down on him again, then up, then down, finding a rhythm, getting lost in it as more liquid slipped down her throat. His sounds were near-continuous now, a low, whispery groan, and she wrapped her fingers around the base of him, stroking upward to meet her lips as she lowered her head. She began enjoying herself, engrossed in the act of taking him like this, her swollen breasts bobbing with her movements, the place between her thighs wet and throbbing.
Her jaw ached and even that felt right as her eyes drifted closed and she sucked harder. Then Boone growled, “Gemma,” and his hand dug in the back of her hair, pulling her off him. Her breathless protest was lost as his other hand covered hers on his shaft, making the grip tighter, their combined strokes quick and rough. Less than six, and he was choking out another sound, pleasure and pain twined together and she watched his body shake as he came, semen painting his belly and landing all the way to a point between his pecs.
When the last of it spurted, he groaned, releasing her hand and then flopping back on the bed. On another light groan, he flung his forearm over his eyes.
Gemma sat back on her heels for a minute to appreciate the sated sprawl of him. Then she climbed onto the mattress, and following a need she didn’t question, she leaned over him again to draw her tongue through the trail of his warm seed. Boone’s arm reached for her, dragging her upward so her head found a place between his neck and shoulder.
“In a minute,” he muttered. “In a minute we’ll…”
But exhaustion seemed to overtake him and he went silent as his face turned again into her hair. Savoring his taste in her mouth, strange and sweetly bitter, Gemma relaxed, determined to watch over his rest. There was no room in this moment for regret…she was content to have provided to him some measure of peace.
* * *
Perhaps five minutes or perhaps three hours passed. Gemma opened her eyes to darkness and a man’s hand grasping each of her thighs, holding them apart. Her legs automatically tried to close, but he tightened his grip, and then he kissed her, his mouth warm on the light hair covering her mound. Her hand reached down, finding the top of Boone’s head.
“Hey,” she whispered.
In answer, he kissed the inside of each thigh, then again, giving a light suck to the tender skin, which made her jerk against his hold and wonder if he’d left a mark.
And worry that she hoped so much he had. She shouldn’t be hoping for any kind of permanence, even semi-permanence.
His palms slid inward, his thumbs finding the folds of her sex and holding them open.
Her heart slammed against her ribs. Did he see her in the darkness? Surely he could smell her excitement, with his face so close. Her clit throbbed, and her inner muscles clenched around emptiness.
She bit her bottom lip to hold back a moan as she felt his breath blow over her. God. Torn between shyness and excitement, she could only close her eyes and will his mouth closer. Please. Please just do it. Make me come.
Instead, he pressed a chaste kiss against her there, ending with the briefest flicker of his tongue. Desire pulsed and Gemma bit harder on her lower lip, her fingers reflexively twining in the hair beneath her fingers.
“I’ve thought about this,” he said, his voice low.
Um. “Oh?” She sounded out of breath because she was.
“Mm.” Then without warning, he nuzzled into her wet and open flesh, his nose bumping her clit and then his tongue sliding down the groove to discover her entrance. He fluttered it there, a shallow movement that made her hips wriggle and her pulse scramble.
“Oh, God,” she said, then covered
her face with her free hand, embarrassed by her distinct lack of eloquence.
He lifted his head and though she only wanted to push him back, she was too embarrassed to do that, so she let the hand that had been touching him fall to the bed. “I think about you in the shower,” he said.
Her lust-fogged mind tried to follow. “I’m in the shower?”
He laughed, then pressed his face to the soft spot between her navel and her mound. “No, baby. When I’m in the shower.”
Either sounded promising. “W-what’s happening?” She licked her lips. “When you’re thinking of me?”
“I imagine you spread out like this, all sexy and warm and sleepy.”
“I’m awake.”
“Yeah.” He rubbed his prickly chin between her hip bones. “In my shower, in my head, you’re awake, too, and you want me to do dirty things to you.”
Dirty! Right now she wanted dirty things! “Okay.”
He pressed his face to her warm skin again and she felt his smile there. “You’d let me do anything?”
Everything.
“I love your scent,” he said, going on without her reply. “You smell like flowers and sex.” He peppered tiny kisses from her navel to her mons. “I think you want me.”
“Um, yeah, Mr. Obvious,” she mumbled and his soft, short laugh calmed her a little, taking an edge off the sense of something critical changing in their relationship-that-wasn’t-to-be.
Nothing to fret over, she thought to herself, it’s just sex, then moaned, low and deep from her belly as he nuzzled her again, like a big playful puppy. Then he pushed her legs wider and slid lower on the sheets, his hands exposing her again.
Cool air, then warm, as he breathed against her.
The pad of one thumb circled her clit. “You’re wet,” he said, then lowered his head to lick her with a flattened tongue, over and over, down and up, spreading the combined wetness of her sex and that of his mouth so she felt juicy down there. So ripe.
Air left her lungs as one hand reaches to tweak a nipple. They both stood at sudden, rigid attention and he slid up immediately, leaving her aching below as his mouth enveloped one tight peak.
God.
His body aligned alongside hers, he was sucking, laving, suckling on her flesh, with one hand kneading her other breast as he made hungry sounds in the back of his throat. Never had she felt so aroused and so…consumed. By him, by desire, by a need that was making her wetter by the second. Gemma’s hands slid into his hair, communicating her appreciation, encouraging him to continue, but giving him enough room to kiss his way to her other nipple.
Then that one too was taken deep into her mouth and her heels dug into the mattress, her pelvis lifting of their own accord. One of Boone’s hands fell onto her belly, his wide fingers reaching hip bone to hip bone, the weight of it holding her in place and driving up her need.
“Boone,” she said, her fingernails digging into his scalp. He sucked her deeper and she writhed against that heavy hand of his, his control of her movement causing prickles of heat to rise on her flesh. Her clit pulsed, needing contact, and her inner muscles clenched, so damn empty. “Boone.”
The sweet, heated pressure on her nipple released and his tongue lapped there, making her shiver. He blew a stream of cool air against it and she found herself clutching his wide shoulders, unsure whether to pull him up or push him down. Inhibitions pinwheeled into the dark, leaving her a greedy mess of woman. “I need…” she started, trying to string the right words together.
He leaned down to kiss the tip of her nipple. “I know what you need.”
Her straining muscles relaxed a fraction, because she figured he did. Boone had it—her— under control and he proved it as he slid lower on the sheets and then climbed between her legs again. Her inner thighs made a brief protest as he pushed them even wider than before to make room for his big body but then she forgot any discomfort as he lapped at her again, his tongue curling as if to capture the moisture leaking from her.
He hummed, like the taste was nectar, ambrosia, and she felt her face flame even as she lifted into his mouth. His face would be wet, she thought, wet from her, dripping. The dirty image filled her mind even as one of his long finger slowly slid inside her aching channel. She moaned, her body rocking upward as he added another finger.
So full. Her head dug into the pillow and she felt another wave of prickly heat torch her body. Boone’s tongue lay flat and flush to her sex, barely moving as he seemed to luxuriate in her arousal, not hurrying it along, but only savoring the scent and taste of her.
“Boone,” she whispered, her clit begging for contact. Her hand crept down to take care of business, but he captured it.
“Mine,” he said, lifting his face a moment. “All of this belongs to me.” His two fingers began a penetrating rhythm, and she was lost to it, and lost to that possessive growl in his voice and the heat and strength and bigness of the man.
He owned her, she thought, then skittered away from that scary idea and let the sensation of his hand and mouth overtake everything but sensation and spiraling need. His tongue slid low, to circle his spearing fingers, making them even wetter, easing the penetration so that as the action turned rawer, rougher, dirtier, she only felt softer, juicier, ready for anything.
For his tongue, that tickled up to her clit and then went on a dedicated assault, flickering, lashing, lapping, then a steady, strong stroke. Gemma gasped, her hands grasping at his hair, twining in the strands. “So…good,” she said, the words pulled out of her.
She saw him glance up—the room had lightened with the oncoming dawn—and their eyes met as his relentless hand and skillful tongue did their magic. Then, suddenly, it happened. Her body began to convulse. The pressure of Boone’s tongue lightened but his fingers shoved deep, rough and possessive, sending her straight over the top. Her toes curled, her muscles squeezed his fingers, pleasure burst from the center of her body to every nerve ending, to every corner of the room.
Sweet, sweet, sweet and complete release, leaving her spent and her breathing ragged.
He kissed her belly, his mouth wet from her wet and his hand gently withdrew. Before he could move off, her fingers dug into his hair. “You,” she said, sounding drunk and dry-mouthed, but she wasn’t going to let him leave things like this.
“Gemma—”
“You.” But he moved again and she had to dig her nails into his scalp.
“Baby,” he said, laughing low as he pulled from her hold. “Condom.”
“No condom?” she sounded like a three-year-old denied a treat.
His second soft laugh rolled over her sensitized skin. “Just need to get one, baby. In my wallet.”
Her breathing hadn’t steadied before he was back, and she felt the brush of latex against her thigh as he laid himself half over her. His lips were damp and he smelled like her as he licked into her mouth. She shivered at the rawness of it, his body, his possessive kiss, and how that possessiveness was altered by her own scent she could smell on his skin.
Arousal edged up again and she drew her arms around him, lifting her chest into his. The old Gemma Marquette might not have insisted, but now she felt she must—she needed Boone filling the empty place inside because she knew this was a chance that might not come her way again.
“Inside,” she whispered pulling him over her and widening her thighs. “I want you inside.”
Boone dipped his head again to kiss her, and as he deepened it, she felt the head of him slide through her wet layers. “I’m big,” he said, unnecessarily.
“I want you inside again,” she said, stubborn, but with a hint of trepidation that only added spice to her growing arousal.
When he didn’t make another move, she reached down to grip him, startled again by his heat and the heaviness of him. “I’m big,” he said again.
And she wanted big. She’d wanted big since the moment she caught sight of him, looming on his porch, a threat of a massive change to her life. But she shoved a
way that fanciful thought and brought him to her entrance, rubbing the head in the wetness gathered there.
Boone groaned, she shivered, and then his hips began to move, not penetrating, but getting more of himself lubricated with her body’s arousal.
“I want you,” she said, twitching as the head brushed her sensitized clit.
“I’ve been waiting so long for this,” he said, his voice low as he drew back, poising himself at her entrance. “Take a deep breath, baby. You’ll need to relax for me. Try to relax your pussy.”
Oh, God.
Just that last word had her burning hot again. So needy. “I’m relaxed,” she said quickly, no such thing.
He laughed, the sound dark and knowing but fitted himself to her anyway and began to push. Her body gave way with a little sting and she sucked in a breath.
“Baby.” Held himself over her, his gaze trained to her face, his arm muscles bulging. She wrapped her fingers around his biceps, as far as she could, anyway, awed by the bunched power.
“More,” she whispered.
His pushed in another inch. Another.
Her breath hitched, but he kept going, steadily breaching her body, his face a picture of stark intensity. “So tight,” he muttered, from clenched teeth.
She lifted a hand to pet his hair, feeling she needed to tame the beast between her thighs. “Don’t stop. I’m okay.”
His eyes drifted closed as he drove in, steady and determined.
Gemma clutched at his arm and took him, willing her body to open, to accept. Heat flashed over her, discomfort burned away by the sense of being filled in just the right way.
“Going deep,” Boone muttered. He held, though, letting her body adjust again. “Fuck, you make me crazy.”
She lifted into his invasion then, her heels digging in, her head thrown back. His weight took him forward and then their hips were plastered together as Boone froze, his shaft a pulsing thing inside her.
ALL IN (7-Stud Club Book 1) Page 12
