Risking It

by Angela Quarles

  Because I also know, deep down, she needs to lead this encounter.

  Jane

  Aiden’s palms slap against the wall by my head, bunching his muscles all along his forearms and biceps. His bare chest is now on full display, though it’s shadowed from the scant light filtering through the window.

  Holy shit. He’s magnificent.

  If I could grab my Polaroid without breaking this moment—and if the flash wouldn’t ruin the lighting—this sight would make a wonderful portrait. Shadowed light cuts across masculine planes and angles and muscles.

  The sight also has me shaking with need. It has the potential to freak me out if I think too hard. Because, holy hell, I feel as if I’ve unleashed something powerful, not only with him, but in myself.

  And the thrill of it is almost equal to the need. Almost.

  I’ve never, ever been this attracted to someone.

  I need to be careful, though. I can’t read more into this than what it is.

  Sex.

  And I want that. With him.

  Hence the reason I jumped him in the elevator.

  I tighten my legs around his waist, relishing how he fits so perfectly against me, pressing against the part of me that’s now aching for him.

  Aiden’s chest expands out and in as he takes measured breaths, and I reach up and drag my fingers along the tendons standing out on his forearms. A work of art in flesh. That I can touch.

  He closes his eyes and drops his head back slightly, which only draws attention to the perfect lines of his neck, the Adam’s apple that bounces up and back down on a swallow, the stark lines of his collarbone topping his pecs.

  All of it—all of it—acts like a frame to his impressive chest. The huge beefcake kind of guys don’t put the zing in my thing, but I do like the power and definition of Aiden’s muscles. A sprinkling of hair teases his nipples, then gathers in a line from there, in ever increasing darkness, straight down to his low-slung jeans.

  A happy trail indeed.

  And this is all for me, apparently.

  At least for tonight.

  And that’s all I want, I tell myself.

  And you know what? This gives me the freedom to be exactly who I want to be right now.

  And right now, I want to be the woman who rakes her fingers down that chest and sees what happens.

  I lightly scrape my short nails around his nipples, which surprisingly peak a teensy bit. Wow. He inhales sharply, and his stomach contracts, showing me that he’s sporting at least a four-pack.

  While I trail my fingers across his taut skin, he slowly rolls his hips against me, a steady beat like the waves pushing against the shore on the other side of the window.

  I pinch a nipple, and his whole body jerks against me. He drops his head to mine, but his mouth stops shy of touching my lips, his breaths skimming my skin on each exhale. I knead along his pecs and close the distance, nipping his bottom lip. Tasting.

  He grinds his hips against me more urgently, and our mouths clash, nipping, dipping, exploring. I swear to God, I feel as if my whole body is alive. Alive and excited. I want him closer. I push my hands around to his back, running up and down, and try to mold him tighter to me.

  On a gasp, he tears his mouth away and rests his forehead against mine. “I can’t,” he rasps. “I can’t anymore.”

  Oh God. Boneless with horror, my legs slip from around his waist, dropping my feet to the floor. I’ve misread everything and pushed myself on him…all unwanted. I’m no better than men who force themselves on women.

  But then the next instant, I’m being pushed up the wall, and his hands are fitted around my waist, gripping tight. His mouth collides with mine, taking and taking, and my body lights up all over again, though I’m still confused as hell.

  He breaks our kiss again. “Clothes. Off.” His voice is husky with desire and urgency.

  “I thought…I thought you just said you can’t do this.”

  He stares at me, his eyes wild, though clouded with confusion. Then they clear and seem to glow more intently. “No. Jesus, no. I can’t hold back anymore, letting you lead. I tried. I want you. I want you so fucking much.”

  “Oh. Oh!”

  And in the soft glow of the ambient light, I tremble in anticipation as I slowly peel my shirt up.

  Through the fabric, I can hear him breathing. When my shirt plops to the floor, he says, “Whoa,” his voice…reverent? His strong hands skim up my waist, raising goosebumps in their wake. “I need to see you better. It’s too dark right here.”

  Before I can respond, he grips my hips and marches me backward toward the bed. The whole time, his hooded gaze is darting all over me.

  I’m wearing a plain white bra, but he’s taking me in as if I’m sporting a Victoria’s Secret number. A thrill runs through me that he sees me as sexy.

  This hunk. Sees me as sexy.

  My calves hit the back of the bed, and I buckle and fall flat against the firm mattress. I don’t know what animates me, maybe my promise to be exactly what I want to be right now, but before I even recognize what I’m doing, I’m holding his gaze and unbuttoning the top button of my Capris.

  His eyes flare with heat, and he avidly watches my unsteady fingers unbutton the clasp and slowly unzip. His hands are flexing at his sides, doing amazing things to his tendons and muscles. Feminine power streaks through me, arrowing down my belly to pool in my sex.

  I’m starting to wiggle the Capris down my hips, when he lurches down, grips the waistband, and whips them off. My panties follow a second later, and I gasp at the cool air hitting me. I’m wet.

  He drops to his knees and gives me an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Told you I can’t hold back anymore.”

  Don’t hold back.

  And then he pins my hips to the mattress with his strong hands, his thumbs smoothing back and forth along my skin. Oh wow. I feel so exposed and…desired.

  He circles my belly button with his nose, the short puffs of his breath tickling my skin, and I arch my hips.

  “I’ve got you, baby,” he whispers. He traces his tongue along my skin as his hands leave my hips and brush down my thighs. I clench in anticipation. He grips my knees and pushes my legs apart, and I swear to God, I almost break apart right then.

  I shudder, and my hips buck as urgency races through me. Oh God, I want… I want to push myself on him, or…or touch myself, push against my clit and relieve some of this building, delicious pressure.

  Then his tongue is right there, and he flicks my swollen nub.

  “Oh, shit.” More. Harder.

  He clasps my knees harder and spreads me wider. My nether lips part, and the cool air kisses my wetness, a sensation I don’t think I’ve ever felt. He hums in appreciation and sucks hard on my clit, and that’s all it takes.

  “Aiden!”

  Heat and pleasure bursts through me, and I shatter. The tension releases me, and I start to relax, but he’s nuzzling and licking and sucking, and I gasp as the tension snaps right back to my clit and everything in me tightens again, coiling. Holy cow, how is this possible? I arch my hips because it’s too much and not enough.

  He groans, and his velvety tongue delves inside me, and then he’s back teasing my clit as if it’s his only mission in life. And it’s working, cuz, ohmygod, liquid heat is coiling coiling coiling. One hand leaves my knee, and I feel a blunt finger, and then two, stretch, then curl into me—the invasion that my body craves but not enough. All the while, he keeps flicking his gaze up to me, watching, gauging. And I’m riveted, watching him pleasure me as another orgasm is right, right, almost, yes, right there, and bam, that liquid heat tightens then bursts inside me. I’m shaking and gasping and going, “Aiden, Aiden, Aiden.”

  My brain’s signaling grab him, drag him up, but I’m like a limp noodle on the bed as I ride out the aftershocks.

  Holy, holy shit.

  I’ve had guys go down on me before. Sadly, not a great percentage. Okay, I’ve only had sex with three different guys
before. All of them long-term boyfriends, and only one would occasionally, begrudgingly do it. As if it was the price he had to pay to get me to reciprocate.

  I never came from those few occasions, and to save ourselves from the time and energy it would take for him to get me off, I usually pulled him up after a minute or two.

  But this? Holy shit. Not only was I not thinking or worried about how much work it was going to take to get me off that way, and should I stop him before he starts feeling bad about that, and, and, and everything else my mind usually throws into the moment, but I was also keenly aware that he was doing this because he was enjoying it too.

  I open my mouth to say all this, then close it, my normal second-guessing making a belated appearance in this room with us.

  He skims his amazing hands up my thighs and hips and grasps my waist. He gently squeezes. “What is it?” he whispers.

  Chapter 12

  Jane

  I squirm at Aiden’s question, but I remember my promise to myself. “That’s the first time a guy’s gotten me off that way.”

  His eyes flare with heat again. “You’re killing me, baby. For real?” Need seems to stretch his voice darker.

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “Shit, you just made me feel like Superman.”

  I giggle. “Supermouth.”

  He gives a huge grin. “Supermouth. I like that.” He drops a kiss onto my belly, then another a little lower. He glances up at me, eyes swear-to-God twinkling. “Let’s see if I can do it again.”

  He licks, long and firm, along my seam. “You seemed to like it best when I did this.” He closes his lips around my clit and sucks hard. I buck.

  “Yes.” My voice comes out all breathy.

  “And this.” He presses his tongue hard on my nub and gives it a languorous roll. Heat and pleasure build again, but this time, I know not only will he succeed, but also that I don’t want him to. I want him inside me when I come next.

  His fingers and tongue are skilled, yeah, but I’m feeling a different ache, one that will only be satisfied when he fills me completely and moves inside me.

  But God, I also want to touch him. Explore him. This could be my only chance. In fact, I know it is.

  It might be the only time this new sexual confidence animates me.

  And I want to make him feel good. But he’s on his knees between my legs as if he’d rather not be anywhere else.

  I slide my butt off the bed, startling him, and drop down to my knees in front of him. He falls back, bracing himself against the floor with one hand, and I take the opportunity to pull at his belt buckle. He’s hard, straining against his jeans.

  He pushes his hips forward and takes a sharp breath. Still stretched back and holding himself up with one arm, he reaches forward and grips my waist as his smoldering eyes avidly watch my fingers. I yank his zipper down, and he gasps. “Careful, baby.”

  He rises back up on his knees, making his stomach muscles contract. He cradles my face and brushes a soft kiss across my lips. I eagerly kiss back, shove his jeans down to his knees, and drag my fingers down the small of his back, tunneling under the waistband of his boxer briefs. Warm, firm glutes fill my palms.

  God, his backside. I grip it, giving it a good, meaty squeeze, and he moans into my mouth, his kisses more urgent.

  I shove his boxers down, but they bounce when I tug. Combining that with his pained groan with each tug, I realize they’re hung up on his erection. I can’t see what I’m doing, so I pat around and extricate him. Then my hand wraps around his firm, hard length.

  His hips buck, and he hisses against my lips. He holds me more firmly, but his kisses have become distracted. Oh wow. I’m affecting him. Me. My ego plumps up a bit, and my libido gives me a high five.

  He gives up altogether, resting his forehead against mine, his breaths uneven but warm against my cheeks. Now I’m able to glance down. My pale hand’s gripping him, and, whoa, he’s easily the biggest guy I’ve ever been with. I drag my thumb over the swollen tip and smear a bead of moisture.

  I’ve never enjoyed giving head, mainly because my boyfriends would immediately push my head in that direction whenever we got hot and heavy and half undressed. I’d be like, yeah, yeah, yeah, I get the not-so-subtle hint, but also because I felt so inadequate to the task. Somehow guys want you to both be experienced enough to know what to do, but at the same time they don’t like the idea of girls having experience in bed. I never understood that. So yep, I always felt this pressure to perform, which robbed the whole experience of any pleasure.

  But now, for the first time, I want to taste him. See how far I can push this newfound sexual confidence. Maybe I’ll be able to make him feel as good as he made me feel.

  But my back is to the bed, and I have no room to maneuver. I grip him tighter and start to rise. “On the bed,” I say.

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says on a whoosh.

  Oh. God. I’m practically pulling him up by his dick.

  I’m such a dork.

  I let go, and he launches himself up onto the mattress, the movement morphing into an ungraceful dive as his feet tangle in his jeans and boxers.

  He curses and kicks his feet in an attempt to free them, but I giggle, because I think it’s adorable.

  I yank them from his feet and bounce onto the bed. And then I gasp, because I’m finally able to see him in all his naked glory.

  Corded thigh muscles, that V-shaped muscle by his hips framing the erection pressed tightly against his muscled abs. The pecs. The biceps.

  My throat goes dry. Holy wow.

  I glance up to his face, and he’s watching me intently, his gaze hooded. I can tell he’s about two seconds away from snatching me up, so I lean down and stroke a tongue slowly up his hard length.

  He jerks, and his fingers tunnel into my hair, but he doesn’t hold me in place or take over. I’m in control. Which I so appreciate. He arches his hips, though, as if he can’t help it.

  God, he’s beautiful.

  I lick him again, this time around the tip, and am rewarded with another lift of his hips. I part my lips and slide down while I grip him at the base and stroke up. He moans. His fingers jerk against my scalp. And his scent surrounds me, intoxicates. I breathe in through my nose and give another suck and swirl, relishing how he seems to grow in my mouth, and I think, I’m enjoying this. It’s turning me on, and based on his reaction, I’m not doing too shabby.

  Until he says, “Yes, just like that, baby. A little tighter.”

  I pop free, my heart hammering in mortification. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this.” My words come out super-fast.

  He jackknifes up, eyes wild. “God, baby, you’re doing just fine. You have no idea.”

  Lord help me, he seems sincere. I bite my lip. I’m still holding him, and I grip tighter and pump once. He hisses in. “Erngunk-unh, like that. And I loved the swirly bit you did with your tongue.”

  “Yeah?” I say with more confidence.

  He must hear something I didn’t intend to reveal, because his gaze latches onto mine, questioning.

  He cups my cheek, his palm warm and soft against my skin. It’s such a tender gesture, I swear I almost forget myself and get all gooey. “I’m just letting you know what I like. It’s not a criticism. Believe me. Jesus. I think you could just suck on me once more and I’d go off.”

  Really?

  And then I truly listen. Listen to what he’s saying. And flash back to him working me with his mouth and how he looked at me, watching. Oh wow. He wasn’t Supermouth from knowing the exact technique to use with any woman. He was adjusting to what turned me on.

  Then anger swells within me. Anger at my past boyfriends for making me guess what turned them on, making me think there was some skill I should magically know to apply.

  And the anger disappears in a puff, because I should have realized there was no shame in asking. Everyone’s different. It’s okay to not know.

  And now I really want to know what turns
him on. I hold his gaze and lick around his engorged head, running my tongue across the little slit at the top. A spicy saltiness pops my taste buds. His tip has a soft plumpness that’s such a contrast to the rest of his cock. This time I take him deeper into my throat and swirl around with my tongue, gripping him tighter with my hand. He falls back against the bed with a moan. Yes. I pay attention to his movements, the noises he makes, and adjust. Again, excitement courses through me, and heat coils in my core.

  But I feel as if I barely get started before he gasps and clasps my shoulders, his fingers digging in. “Told you. About to blow,” he says as he pops me off his dick.

  “Isn’t that good?”

  “Only if I want you to think I have the control of a teenage boy. Plus, Jesus—” He drops his head back against the pillow, his eyes shutting tight. “I want to be inside you. So bad.” His eyes snap open, and he pins me with a fevered gaze. His Adam’s apple bobs. “But only if you want that. Oh, God. Do you want that? Please say you want that.”

  I laugh and throw a leg around his narrow waist. Going by instinct now, because I’m always too much in my head worrying whenever I have sex, I place myself right over him and let my wet sex glide up his hot length and then back down. I shudder. “Yes. I want that.” So much.

  “Thank God.” He sits up, his hand stretching toward his jeans at the end of the bed, but then he plops down with a choked gasp because I’m sliding up and down him again. I can’t help it, okay? He groans, and I thrill.

  I nab his jeans, and he snatches them from me. He shudders as he pulls out his wallet and fishes out a condom. “I don’t think I can get this on fast enough.”

  The foil packet crinkles as he rips it open. I ease back to give him room, and he deftly sheathes himself. Before I can move again, he grasps my waist and lifts me straight into the air. He’s still curled up into what’s basically a sit-up, his stomach muscles tight. The sight of him below me, his erection so hard it’s lying flat against that taut belly, has me thrashing my legs a little, I won’t lie. Anticipation coils its heat in my stomach.