“Take off your jeans,” I said, eager to see the length of him. Watch him stroke himself.
His blue eyes turned molten, and his jaw slackened. “Not yet. First, I’m going to peel off your jeans and taste you, and you’re going to come on my tongue.”
Yep. A way with words.
Men had gotten me hot before, turned me on, but the second their heads were between my legs, I’d lose the edge of my desire. The burn would slip into a dull ache that would vanish. Easy come, easy go. I’d stress about keeping my abs tight, in case the guy looked up. I’d worry about the position of my legs, if I should touch his head or grip the sheets or groan to show support. (Good job, buddy!) Once, in college, I spent the time reviewing for a test.
Jimmy promised more.
Before he stripped me bare, he covered my body with his. “You’re so fucking hot,” he said. His next kiss was deep and wet, sending me to oblivion. “All that innocence hiding this wild woman. When I’m inside you, I want to hear you scream.”
If he didn’t do something soon, I might have screamed then and there.
I didn’t have to. He reached behind me, unhooked my bra, and dragged it off. His mouth fell to my breast while his hand cupped me over my denim. I rocked into him as he pressed harder. “This needs to happen,” I said, desperate.
“Patience, Sunshine.”
His use of my nickname spurred my desire, as though I were his. A woman he took care of, in the bedroom and out. He worked my body over, lavishing my breasts with attention, sliding lower, kissing my belly, nipping my hips as he dragged off my jeans. He tossed them to the side, never breaking contact. He kissed me over my underwear, his hot breath working me into a frenzy. By the time my cotton thong hit the floor, nuclear war could have been declared. The last iceberg could have melted. As long as I had Jimmy and that tongue and those hands on me, the world could crumble.
His first lick was slow. Divine torture. I let my legs fall wide, not caring how I looked. I threaded my fingers through his hair, the dark strands tangled in my grip, and I rocked toward him, unabashed. Need in my movements. Little moans escaped me. Not on purpose. Not as a way to speed things along. Everything I did was involuntary. I was his marionette, pushed and pulled and lit on fire.
He spread me wide, his tongue flicking over me, the rhythm building. A symphony nearing its crescendo. I dug my heels into his sides, and he groaned, sinking one, then two fingers inside me. The room disappeared. I disappeared. Nothing remained but that one point of contact, all my nerve endings gathered in a tight bud.
Then I exploded. A cry wrenched from my throat, the sound unfamiliar, my body alight. He pushed me further, took me higher, until I was nothing but sensation. Pulsing light. His final lick, slow and languid, had me pulling away, too sensitive to be touched.
He kissed my inner thigh. Even that subtle press made my stomach clench.
“Tell me, Ray, do you still think I lied about the six orgasms?” He knelt over me, fully clothed, caging me with his hands. His lips were wet with my taste. He was deliciously disheveled. All that hair tousled, impossibly thick eyelashes, dark eyebrows set off by blue eyes, slivers of gunmetal swirling at the edges—the man was magnificent.
“I can’t be sure,” I said. “I need to do some further studies. Cover all the variables.” I traced the veins up his inked forearms until my fingers coasted below his cuffed sleeves. “Take this off before I rip the buttons.”
He jumped off the bed and pulled me with him—into him, my naked body pitched against his jeans and belt. The contrast was sinful. “I prefer you to rip,” he said.
Well then. I gripped the edges of his shirt and yanked. Or tried, at least. The thing snagged and didn’t budge. “I’m ruining the sexy,” I said.
He chuckled. “Let’s go with the buttons.”
Impatient, I reached for his jeans instead, unlatching the large belt buckle. If I lifted that sucker, I’d get a killer workout. Next came his button, the slide of metal through frayed denim teasing, too close to what I ached to see. What I had seen but couldn’t remember. I dropped to my knees, undid his zipper, and slid his jeans and black briefs to the floor.
That’s when I said, “What the hell is that?”
“Now you’re ruining the sexy.”
“No. Seriously. What is that?”
“In case you weren’t aware, those are the last words a guy wants to hear when a girl pulls down his pants.”
He sounded amused, and he must have removed his shirt, because the gray plaid pooled beside me, but I couldn’t look up. I could only stare at his cock, thick and hard and standing at attention. “Did you know you have a piece of metal through your penis?”
His answering laugh had the piercing catching the light and winking at me. “I have a vague recollection of getting it done. I’m also having déjà vu. We had this whole conversation last time we hooked up.”
He stepped out of his jeans, but I stayed put, entranced, the floor digging into my knees. He was thick and long. His shaft curved up, the taut skin flushed deep red, and there, on the underside, just below his swollen head was a bar through his skin, a silver ball on either end. I reached for it, but drew my hand back. “Does it hurt, if I touch it?”
“In the best way,” he said, his voice low and rough.
I looked up. He was fit and muscular, not bulky. More tattoos decorated his ribs, but his flat stomach and the broad planes of his chest were ink free. There was more metal—two hoops through his nipples, his silver chain hanging between them. His bad-boy factor just tipped the bad-boy scale.
And I was a minute from coming again.
I slid my fingers around his thick thighs and licked the piercing. He gripped my hair, a guttural sound following. Apparently he liked that. I took another taste, the metallic sting sharp on my tongue. Moving one hand around his shaft, I slid my tongue in circles, each pass landing on the barbell, giving it a gentle tug.
His hold tightened on my hair. I sucked him deeper, always finishing on the tip, exploring his piercing. His groans escalated, as did his dirty words.
Love fucking your mouth. My dick is so hard. I can still taste your pussy.
My fascination gave way to hunger, the rush so thick my mind blurred. I wanted him. No, I needed him inside me. I needed to feel that barbell dragging along my sensitive walls.
I circled my tongue once more, then stood. “Sex has to happen.”
He pulled me close, his erection pressed to my hip. He coasted his lips over my jaw. “I was counting on it.”
I dragged my fingers between his pecs, enjoying the softness of his chest hair, finally touching his nipple rings. “Have you been tested? Are you clean?”
He stilled. “Yes.” He dipped his head to catch my eye. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”
“I want to feel it. Feel you inside me. No condom. I’ve been tested, and I’m on the pill,” I added, like that was the only thing stopping us.
I’d only had unprotected sex with my last boyfriend, my mother’s fear of disease ratcheting up my caution. I trusted Jimmy, though. I didn’t know him that well, but my intuition said he’d never hurt me. And I was drunk on the man.
His hips rotated, mine joining his rhythm, a subtle rocking of our naked bodies. “I’ve never been bare in a woman. My ex had an issue with the pill, and it never happened. I’ve been tested, too. But I’m not sure this is a good idea.”
I slid my hand between us, gripping him. “Aren’t you supposed to be the wild one?”
My recklessness knew no bounds.
He made a pained sound at the back of his throat, then he pressed his forehead to mine. “Do you trust me?”
“I do.”
“Does this mean you’re staying over?”
I stilled my movements. Staying over sounded better than sipping another Screaming Eagle Cabernet, his hard body tangled around mine divine. But sleeping over led to feelings, which led to commitment, which led to entrenched lives. An outcome I wasn’t ready
to entertain. “No. It’s too much. You said you were okay keeping it casual.” To convince him, I stroked him again, his erection like silken steel.
He shuddered. “You are dangerous.” Then he gripped my hips. “This is how it’s going to go. I’m going to fuck you and come inside you, bare. I’m too turned on and can’t be gentle. You probably won’t come, but the next round will be all about you. That work for you, Sunshine?”
All I could do was nod.
He lifted me up and carried me to the middle of his bed, all pretense gone. Then he seized my ankles, anchored them on his shoulders, and wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, guiding it toward me. He didn’t push in, just moved the head around, over me and toward my entrance, the slide of his piercing dizzying. I canted my hips, coaxing him. Asking for it. A muscle in his jaw ticked, the only sign he was holding back.
Until he wasn’t.
He pushed into me, a long drag that had him dropping his head forward, a pained “Christ” rumbling from his chest. His pause didn’t last long. Neither did the slow pace. He dug his fingers into my hips and pounded into me, his gaze locked on where we were joined. My focus was glued on him. The ripple of his abs as he contracted. The veins on his neck, tight with exertion. His thrusts rocked me, so forceful I couldn’t move. I could only take. And take. My pleasure coiled, the nudge of his piercing teasing me.
Then he exploded. “Fuck. Fuck. Oh, fuck.” His orgasm was forceful, a storm unleashed, and my lust spiked.
Him unhinged was a beautiful sight, and I took him there.
His guttural sounds brought me closer, but not to the brink, as predicted. He eased my ankles from his shoulders and lowered his body, until we were flush. His dangling chain tickled my collarbone. “Is this what you wanted to feel? My hard cock inside you?”
The storm had passed, his movements as smooth as the tide. “Yes,” I said.
I loved his dirty words, but couldn’t reciprocate. Couldn’t voice how I liked him fucking me. How the roughness turned me on. When he cupped my breast and pinched my nipple, I didn’t scream yes and harder. I simply moaned.
He softened inside me, the fullness less acute, but he kept moving, shallower glides, in and out. Until he thickened again. It didn’t take long, each roll of his hips deepening. His lips captured mine, our kiss as languid as his movements, and my heart swelled. It shouldn’t have swelled. We were having sex. Fucking. Not making love. But being joined to him, nothing between us, was more dangerous than sleeping over.
I turned my head, focused on his boxing gloves hanging from his closet door, the red leather scuffed in spots. I gripped his shoulders, moving with him. Up, down. Together. Hips connecting. Him so full inside me, and that bit of metal. He pulled out farther, making sure it nipped my entrance, then slid back in. So, so good.
He shifted onto one elbow, one of his hands sinking into my hair. His other pushed between us, touching where we were joined. “Rachel.”
I closed my eyes, lost to the feel of him.
“Rachel,” he said again. “Look at me.”
I couldn’t comply. Agreeing to this fling wasn’t his first choice, and he was testing me. Calling me on my bullshit, knowing I was falling for him. I could deny it all I wanted, but a lump built in my throat, worsening each time our hips met. One look, and he’d see it. Everything I denied. But I couldn’t have sex with him, bare, and shut him out, as tempting as it was.
So I looked.
His gaze was fierce, locked on me, like he was memorizing my face, and my heart burned up. My chest constricted, my eyes a watery mess. I bit my cheek, keeping my emotion at bay. This man who had no one in his life, had invited me in. And I offered him scraps.
He rode me and I raised my knees, forcing him deeper, pretending the steel in his blue eyes didn’t cut. The faster I moved, the harder he thrust. I was close. So unbelievably close. I kneaded his shoulders and arched my back, our gazes connected. One last stroke was all it took.
Light danced behind my eyes, an endless parade of explosions rocking my core. I clenched around him and bit his shoulder to muffle my cries, both of us coming together.
There was no doubt Jimmy and his six orgasms were fact not fable, and sleeping with him again would be dangerous.
Thirteen
Jimmy
No fucking condom. Not sure what I was thinking, letting that go down. Following Rachel’s rule and sleeping with her, no strings attached, had the potential to mess me up. Doing it bare pulled the rug from under me.
I stilled, breathing hard, all that heat and wetness surrounding me. I ached for another round, but Rachel turned in on herself, wrenching her gaze away. For a moment, she’d been with me. Feeling our connection. There was no hiding the emotion in her big, brown eyes. Then it was gone.
“So, wow,” she said. “That was pretty unreal.” She slipped out from under me, pushing me to the side, when all I wanted was to pull her closer. “And that head,” she went on, a regular Chatty Cathy, “you certainly know what you’re doing down there. Since we’re in agreement, and I was sober for the fireworks, we don’t have to do this again. But it was fun. The next girl you’re with will be very lucky.” She gathered her jeans and underwear, holding them over her body. Then she bit her lip. “Do you have a T-shirt I could borrow? My blouse didn’t survive intact.”
Neither had my heart. Still, if she wanted to pretend we hadn’t shared something intense, I’d play along. I’d promised her as much. It didn’t mean I had to make it easy.
I strode to my dresser, naked, and pulled out a gray T-shirt. I sauntered toward her and held out my offering, but when she reached for it, I tugged it away. “You sure you want to leave? I was just getting started.”
Her gaze dropped to my dick, and she licked her lips. “Yeah, no. Probably best if I go. I have an early shift at the gym, and I like to be punctual. Get there early, actually.”
“I could wake you up. I’m really good at wake ups.” I hid the T-shirt behind my back, and her focus stayed on my dick. “I also make killer pancakes.”
Her determination wavered. “Your cock?”
I squinted at her. “My cock?”
She waved a frantic hand as she blushed. “Cook. You cook. Not your cock. Jesus. I just can’t picture you cooking.” She pursed her lips and reached around me, snatching the shirt from my hands.
“Like a five star chef,” I said. “Spent time at a restaurant in Italy. I make pasta from scratch.”
Ignoring me, she marched into my bathroom and slammed the door, but I shouted, “I often cook naked, so you can still look at my cock.”
“Such a comedian,” she called.
I chuckled and pulled on a pair of sweats. I should have stayed pissed, frustrated that her fears drove her actions, but I had my own demons to slay. A woman like Rachel deserved a man willing to risk things for her. A man with a future, and I’d had one, once upon a time. I’d had a winery and would have been able to offer her everything. If I wanted Rachel, I needed to get my shit together.
The sooner I forced my family to fix their wines, the sooner I could move on. If their deceit came to light down the road, it could hurt me. Tarnish my reputation and prevent me from returning to the wine world. This way it was under my control. I’d give my real name at the final round, claim I’d just learned of the fraud, and let the drama unfold. If it happened by my hand, I’d rise above the scandal. Distance myself from it until the mess blew over.
Find some peace.
But queasiness clogged my throat, those grapevines tied to who I was, at my core.
My grandfather and I had tended them. Gave them life. When he’d started our winery, he’d struggled to make ends meet. If someone gave him a sob story about their money woes, he’d practically give his wine away. If customers claimed they’d fallen on tough times, he’d tell them to pay him in a week or a month, but the money never came. My father took over the operation and called him a fool. I called him smart and generous and loving.
Destr
oying the vines, even by reputation, was akin to destroying my grandfather’s memory, killing a piece of myself. But I was floundering, my options always circling back to my plan, a way to forget the cruel things my father had said to me. To forget that my family had put me in this position.
Until that time, better to focus on Rachel.
Our next sommelier session was in two days, but I’d wager my Harley she’d text before then. I looked for her purse in the living room. I fished out her phone and changed my name to Eight in her contact list, chuckling to myself.
Seconds later, she hurried into the room, my paint-stained T-shirt hanging over her jeans. She snatched up her purse, but hesitated. “I just want to make sure things will be fine on Tuesday. I don’t want it to be weird.”
“It won’t be weird.”
“Okay. Good. Thanks.”
“Especially since we’ll be doing this again.”
She fisted her hands. “It’s not a good idea.”
I crossed my arms and leaned against my couch. “It’s a brilliant idea.”
“Jimmy, you promised this was casual.”
“I didn’t propose marriage. I just suggested you’d be so desperate to fuck me again you’d be begging for another round. So it won’t be weird. Sitting in Crush’s cellar, imagining me taking you from behind, will be fun. Don’t you think?”
Her slender fingers drifted to her neck. She stared at my bare chest. “Maybe…”
“Definitely?”
“God, you’re annoying.” She hurried toward the door.
“I aim to please. And Ray,” I said, as she was one step out, “I changed my name in your phone. Thought you should know. Don’t want you freaking out when you can’t find my number.”
“I won’t be using it.”
“You will.”
Her breathing escalated, a deep rose coloring her cheeks. Like at the bar, her brown eyes went hazy, everything about her telling me she wanted this, too. Then she blurted, “I have to go,” and left.
Legs (One Wild Wish, #1) Page 12
