“How is that any better?”
“It’s not.” He wrapped his hands around the small of my waist. “But you like it when I’m crude. You just won’t admit it.”
“Arrogant jerk.”
“I notice you’re not telling me I’m wrong.”
“About what?”
He leaned down and captured my lower lip between his teeth, nipped it, released it. “That you want to ride my cock, and that you like it when I’m crude.”
I shivered. “I really wish I could tell you you’re wrong.”
“But you can’t.” His eyes blazed. “Got anything else you need to say, Kitty?”
“I don’t think so, why?”
“Because I’m done talkin’.” His Oklahoma accent tended to come and go according to some whim or vagary of his personality, and when he said this to me, his eyes were on fire with lust, and his accent was a thick, syrupy drawl.
“Oh.”
His fingers danced around to the small of my back, found the skin where the dress left it bare, and traced their way up, up, to my shoulders. And then back down. His smirk was there on his lips, arrogant, knowing, infuriating, intoxicating. He found the tab of the zipper under my left armpit, and drew it down. My dress sagged apart, hanging from the tape and the straps, clinging to my hips. He ran a fingertip up the expanse of flesh bared by the open zipper, from thigh to underarm.
His eyes flicked to mine. “Why, Kitty Quinn…you’re not wearing bra or underwear, are you?”
I shook my head, the only response I could formulate.
“Holy shitballs.” He sucked in a breath. “How fucking perfect can you be?”
The raw need and appreciation in his eyes was worth every moment of self-consciousness I’d endured throughout the evening.
He shook his head. “You’ve been sitting there across from me all night, naked under that dress?” Roman’s jaw clenched, grinding. “It’s been torturous enough without knowing that.”
“Torturous?” I breathed.
“Yeah—keeping my eyes on yours instead of that incredible goddamn rack of yours.”
“You’ve done an admirable job of keeping your eyes on mine, I must say. I’m impressed.” I said this with a smile, a warm, genuine one. Because I really did appreciate it—it made me feel like he was truly listening and interested, and not just viewing me as a set of curves to be ogled.
He ran a finger down the center of my chest, from my throat to the V of my dress’s neckline. “How do you manage to not fly out of it every time you move? That’s what I’ve been wondering.”
“Good question,” was my only answer, along with a provocative curl of my lips.
He answered my smirk with one of his, and slid his finger back up to where the strap curved over my shoulder. He pushed the strap over and down, and then did the same on the other side, and the dress sagged even more, now held up solely by the tape and the generous swell of my hips. Taking his time, he pulled the fabric away from my body, in doing so peeling the tape away from me—my skin stretched away, snapped back into place as the tape gave way, sticking to the dress instead.
“Tape?” he said, laughing.
“Boob tape,” I said, laughing with him. “It’s a thing, I guess. I don’t dress up much, so I didn’t know about it until tonight either.”
“Boob tape.” He peeled the other side away, gently, carefully. “Who knew?”
“Lots of people, apparently, just not me.”
And then neither of us was laughing—he tangled his fingers in the fabric of the dress just below my hips and tugged down, once, firmly. The material slinked over my hips and fell to the deck in a pile of green, leaving me utterly naked. The wind caressed me, as did Roman’s eyes.
I wanted to cover up, to cringe, to hide—but I didn’t. I stood straight, shoulders back, chin up.
“Fuck,” Roman breathed. “You are so beautiful, Kitty.”
My chest constricted. His gaze made me feel beautiful—and not just beautiful, but desired. Wanted.
With a growl, he reached for me, and I knew, from the first rough scrape of his hand over my flesh, that tonight would be a night like no other.
10
Roman
* * *
Want, need, desire, lust—words failed me. Kitty Quinn standing naked on the deck of that boat was the single most erotic, arousing, intoxicating vision I’d ever seen in my entire life. My cock went rock hard in an instant, throbbing painfully against the zipper of my pants. I wanted everything, and I wanted it immediately. I wanted to bend her over the railing and lift her up onto it and put her on her hands on knees on the deck and on the couch in the saloon…
I wanted to kiss her stupid.
Kiss her breathless. Kiss her until we were both dizzy.
I wanted to just touch her—just put my hands on that perfect body and revel in the privilege of being allowed to touch her at all.
Where did I start? An impossible decision. Especially because for once in my life I didn’t want to rush, didn’t want to hurry right to the good stuff. Usually foreplay was just a means to an end, getting my partner primed for maximum pleasure, so I could take mine from her. With Kitty, it would be different; I knew this instinctively. I knew it in my gut, in my blood, in my bones. In my very synapses. I couldn’t rush this. Didn’t dare. I knew I might never get another chance to glory in such perfection—I didn’t deserve Kitty Quinn. I just didn’t. I was a brute, a fuckboy, a roughneck redneck with a filthy mouth and a sordid past. She was a quintessential good girl—the kind of goodness that was intrinsic in the fabric of who she was.
Her essential nature was just good. Mine was…not.
She was used to love and gentility and respect and care—more often than not I fucked rough and hard and discarded them after with hardly a thought or a care; I knew how to pleasure a woman, so they never left unsatisfied, but it was not my habit or my nature to give two shits about my partners, because their only purpose in my life was to provide me with a few minutes of pleasure, relief, release, absence of control for a handful of moments. Kitty deserved more than that.
I wanted to give it to her. For the first time in my life, I truly, deeply cared about the other person.
So, when I tugged that sexy jade-green dress off of her, leaving her utterly bare to the wind and the crimson light of a dying sunset, I was nearly paralyzed by indecision. Nature and instinct told me to take her and fuck her until she was begging me to stop. The truth was that my desires ran deeper than nature, deeper than instinct, something intense and breathtaking, something which drove me to take great care with the priceless treasure standing before me.
I wrapped a hand around her back, her silky flesh warm under my palm. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect I don’t even know where to start,” I admitted, my native drawl emerging beyond my ability to suppress it. I’d spent long enough in California that my Oklahoma accent only tended to show up at certain times.
Her liquid mocha eyes gazed up at me, blazing with arousal yet still warm and soft with tenderness. “Tell me more.”
I grinned wolfishly. “I’ve been fantasizing about getting you naked like this for so long that now that I have you like I want you, I don’t know what to do first.” I slid my hand down over the taut roundness of her ass, cupping it greedily. “Do I just touch you until I’ve gotten my fill of your curves, or do I kiss you until neither of us can breathe, or do I bend you over this railing and fuck you until you’re weak in the knees?”
Her breath left in a squeak. “Um. Yes?”
I laughed, pulling her away from the railing to stand freely in the middle of the deck, her feet braced wide against the gentle roll of the deck, the movement of the boat making her breasts sway side to side, jouncing every once in a beautiful while when the prow went over a wave and smacked back down. I backed up a step so I could just look at her. I needed to take a moment to soak up the vision, to memorize everything about her.
Her hair was loose around her slim shoulders,
dangling in loose spirals, and in the sunset it looked more brown than blonde, setting off the fiery chocolate brown of her wide eyes. Her face was heart-shaped, symmetrical, with high cheekbones and delicate features. Lovely, beautiful, breathtaking—pick an adjective and it would apply in spades. I could just stare at her face all day and not get enough, and every angle revealed a new facet of her beauty. Her makeup was done with absolute artistry, minimal and subtle, just enough to highlight the wide dark almond shape of her eyes and her plump kissable lips and flawless complexion. I let my gaze wander downward, next. Pale, creamy skin, dotted here and there by sprays of freckles—never just one freckle, but five or six in a group. Like the clump of freckles on her chest, just above the slope of her left breast. Or on her belly, just beneath her right breast. Or on her left shoulder, right on the round where shoulder became bicep. Or on her right hipbone, just where it indented toward her center. God, I wanted to kiss each freckle, lap at them with my tongue, nip at them with my teeth.
And I would.
But first, I needed to look at her some more.
She was growing impatient, I knew, but that would only emphasize the anticipation of awaiting me touching her.
Her breasts were absolute perfection—classically teardrop shaped, heavy, round and squishy and real, with wide, dark areolae and thick pink nipples. I only barely resisted the urge to bury my face in them and moan in raw pleasure.
Fuck it.
Why resist?
I licked my lips, staring at those luscious tits, needing to feel them, kiss them, luxuriate in their wondrous glory. Kitty’s eyes widened as I closed the space between us with one step, and sank to my knees in front of her. Moving slowly, I lifted my hands to cup her breasts from underneath—I met her eyes briefly, reading her self-consciousness and mounting need. Then, finally, I did what I wanted to do the first time I saw her, and even more so when I bared them at her apartment—I sank my face between the soft, creamy, silky, pillowy globes, rubbing my face and stubble against the flesh. My lips stuttered across the tender inner flesh, and my hands lifted them, framed them where I wanted them. I ran my thumbs over those plump pink nipples, flicking them to life, twiddling them in slow circles until I heard her breath catch. Gazing up at her from between her tits, I smiled, rubbing my face against them once more before backing away and standing up to resume my slow, appreciative approval of her body.
Her grin was confused and bemused. “What was that about?”
I shrugged. “I’ve wanted to bury my face between your tits from the first moment I met you. So I did.”
She frowned. “You’ve seen them already, though. You—you had your mouth on them.”
“Not the same thing,” I growled.
“So you’re saying you just had an urge to motorboat me?”
A laugh burst out of me. “Motorboat? That was not motorboating.”
“No?”
I shook my head. “No. That was just me appreciating with my face how soft and ample your tits are.” I moved closer to her again, cupped her breasts and lifted them up, buried my face between them and motorboated her properly. She cackled as if it tickled, and I backed away. “That’s motorboating. And while it’s fun, it’s not really all that sexy. It’s funny more than anything.”
“Oh, I see.” She frowned at me. “Why do you keep backing away and just staring at me? It’s weird.”
“Because I just like looking at you. I want to memorize what you look like right now.” I smiled at her, a slow, hot grin. “Why? Are you getting antsy for something else?”
She bit her lip, nodding. “Yeah,” she breathed.
I tugged her lip out from between her teeth with my thumb and forefinger, pulling it away from her mouth, let it go, and then bent over her and sucked that lower lip into my mouth until she whimpered. “I told you about biting that lip.”
“I can’t help it,” she whispered. “It’s a nervous habit.”
“It drives me wild.” I backed away again, letting my eyes roam southward down her body, to her thighs and the dark V between them. “You drive me wild. Everything about you.”
“You don’t seem that wild yet,” she said, her eyes sparking, daring.
“I’m trying to take it slow. I don’t want to rush this.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m going to take my time with you,” I told her. “I don’t dare rush.”
“But why don’t you dare?” she pressed.
I hesitated. “How truthful should I be?”
“All the way truthful.”
“I don’t dare rush this with you because I’m worried I may never get a second chance with you. You wanted vulnerability, well there it is, Kitten. Getting to have this with you, it feels like a once in a lifetime opportunity and I will not fuck it up by rushing it.”
“Oh.” Her eyes met mine, and I knew I’d said the right thing. “Roman, god…I don’t know what to say to that.”
“The truth, raw and unvarnished.”
She stepped up to me, running her hands up my chest, over my shoulders, down my biceps. “The raw, unvarnished truth, then, Roman, is that you’ll get a second chance. And a third, and a hundredth. If you can offer me yourself, if you can show me you care, if you can show me that I’m more to you than just a body and a night of sex, that you care about me…then you’ll have me.”
“I can’t promise I won’t be an arrogant jerk most of the time.”
“And I can’t promise I won’t want to smack the arrogance out of you most of the time.” She blinked up at me, and she bit that lip again, on purpose.
“Keep biting that lip like that and see what happens,” I growled.
A hot grin curved her mouth, even as her teeth kept hold of her lip.
“I plan to,” she whispered.
“You may get more than you bargained for.”
“What do you mean?”
I clutched her against me, palming her ass with both hands, caressing it possessively. “I mean, I’ve been holding back with you, Kitty. I’ve been holding back a lot.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to scare you.”
Her eyes were wide. “Scare me?”
“I’m not a gentle man, Kitty.”
She pushed me backward a few inches, slipping her hands between our bodies, catching hold of the silver buckle of my slim black leather belt. “I don’t mind being a little afraid, Roman.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying stop holding back. Stop being nice.”
“You sure you know what you’re asking for?”
“You.” She gazed up at me, her eyes honest and fiery. “Just…you.”
That delicate whisper, the quaver of need in her voice, it snapped the last of my restraint. I snarled, springing into action. I caught her wrists, pinioned them in one hand and held them up over her head, lifting her breasts. Her breath hitched with a gasp, setting those beautiful tits to jiggling, and I spent one last moment just appreciating them.
And then I was done appreciating.
Need ruled me.
I glared hungrily down at her, keeping her wrists in my fist. “I hope you’re ready for this, Kitty.”
“Ready for wha—?” she started, but didn’t get any further.
I released her wrists, caught her waist and lifted her up onto the ledge at the very stern of the boat—all that separated her from a tumble into the white wake was my hold on her. She quit breathing entirely, peering over her shoulder, not quite panicking but almost.
“Roman?”
“Better hold on, princess.”
Her hands caught at me, frantic, clutching at my shoulders. “What—what are you doing?” Her voice was tiny, a breathy whisper.
I just grinned at her as I sank to my knees, my hands on her thighs. “Can’t you guess?”
She scrabbled at my shoulders, and then caught at my head with desperate fingers. “I’ll fall!”
“Can you swim?”
�
�Yes, but—”
“Just hang on, Kitty.” I gazed up at her, brushing my thumbs over her center. “Trust me. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”
Her heels dug into my back as she wrapped her legs around me, clinging to me fiercely, and her fingers dug into my scalp, trying to knot into my short, gel-spiked hair. I kissed the inside of her left thigh, and then her right, nipping the tender velvety flesh closer and closer to her seam, letting my thumbs play over her entrance, one rubbing up and down the damp slit and the other circling her hardened clit. She sucked in a sharp breath, and then let her thighs splay apart as her heels dug into my back all the harder.
“Roman—” she gasped.
I let my thumb prize apart her slit, delving in. “Yes, Kitty?”
“Please—please don’t tease me.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I drew my thumb out, only to replace it with my middle finger, curling it up and in, seeking that magical spot high inside her tight, hot, wet pussy. “I love teasing you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re so sweet and good that hearing your innocent little mouth say dirty, filthy things to me is a turn-on.”
“I’m not all that sweet or good,” she murmured. “Especially not right now.”
“No?” I pressed my thumb to her clit, gently circling it until she whimpered. “Then what are you?”
She nodded, her hands wrapped around the back of my neck—she pulled me against her. “Please, Roman.”
I flicked her clit with my tongue. “Is that what you want?”
She whimpered, nodding again. “Yes. Please, that, please.”
“Tell me what you want me to do, Kitty.” I teased her clit with my thumb again, enough pressure for her to feel it, not enough to put her near the edge.
She groaned, and her eyes flicked open, raging with erotic fire. “I want you to lick my pussy until I scream your name, Roman. Make me come.” She flexed her hips, needy and desperate. “Make me come not just once or twice. Make me come until I can’t take any more.”
“Ohhhh fuck, Kitten,” I snarled.
Badd Kitty Page 17
