by Mari Carr
It was as simple as that.
“You know what I’m thankful for, Monet?”
She shook her head, her gaze never leaving his face.
He gave her a slow smile. “I’m thankful Annie and I got our wires crossed. I’m thankful she went to Australia and I came here. I’m thankful Qantas lost my luggage and took so bloody long to find it and I’m thankful I finally pulled my finger out and called my brother.”
Monet’s chest rose and fell on a shaky breath. “Because?”
Dylan straightened to his feet, rounded the coffee table and, with a gentle tug on her hand, drew Monet up to stand before him, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, chest to chest. “Because it means I can do this.” He lowered his head and brushed his lips over hers. “And this,” he murmured, a heartbeat before he slid his arms around her back and under her knees, scooped her off her feet and carried her to her bedroom.
He had no fucking clue what was going to happen after tonight, but he knew one thing beyond doubt. He was deeply in love with Monet Carmichael, and right now, he was going to make love to her.
The way he’d wanted to the moment he’d first laid eyes on her five days ago.
Chapter Nine
She should have stopped him from lowering her to her bed and undoing her fly with sure fingers. Stopped him from stretching on top of her and kissing her senseless.
She should’ve stopped him from exploring her mouth and lips with his tongue as his hand ran over her flesh to cup her sex, his fingertips stroking the seam of her pussy with gentle pressure.
Yes, Monet should have done all those things.
But she didn’t.
Instead, she planted her feet on the bed and shoved her ass off the mattress so she could wriggle her jeans over her hips, all the while continuing to kiss Dylan with a hungry greed she should be embarrassed by.
But she wasn’t. Because she couldn’t fight this anymore. And if Dylan’s hands on her body and his tongue in her mouth were anything to go by, neither could he.
Annie…
Her best friend’s name whispered through her mind. She moaned, part in guilt, part because Dylan’s fingers dipped into her sex and stroked the throbbing button of her clit.
Annie. You can’t do this to Annie.
Fresh guilt rolled through her, threading through the sheer pleasure of Dylan’s fingers in her pussy. Tainting it. She moaned again, this time from misery, and pressed her hands to Dylan’s chest, giving him a shove.
“We,” she panted against his lips, “we can’t, Dylan. Can’t do this to Annie.”
He lifted his head, and for a split second Monet’s breath caught in her throat at the raw desire in his green eyes. And then the corner of his mouth curled into a slow smile and her breath left her on a shaky whimper of utter want.
“Apparently Annie and my brother,” he murmured, teasing her clit with gentle pressure, “are doing their bit for foreign affairs.”
Monet gazed up into Dylan’s eyes, heart thumping a little harder at the way he’d stressed the word affairs. “Do you mean…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it. What if she’d misunderstood?
Dylan gave her one slow nod. “I do, and they are. Which means I can do this…” He slipped one finger, then another into her sex. Deep into her sex. And wriggled them. “Without feeling like I’m a deceiving bastard.”
She hissed, arching her spine as ribbons of pleasure unfurled through her body.
“And this.” He lowered his head to explore the base of her throat with his lips.
“And this,” he murmured, withdrawing his hand from her wet pussy to inch her shirt over her belly, her rib cage, until he’d exposed her breasts to the room and captured her tight nipple with his teeth.
He nipped the pebbled tip of flesh, sucked on it through the silk of her bra and then nipped it again. Monet gasped, the squirming tension in her core escalating quickly. She pressed her thighs together, the ache inside her—the need for Dylan to finally fill her with his cock—almost overwhelming. There was no guilt anymore. No fear of being traitorous to her best friend. No self-doubt or disgust. With Annie and Dylan’s brother doing their own for the U.S.-Australia relationship, there was no reason for Monet to hold back on her desire for Dylan. Her response to Dylan.
And by the way Dylan was suckling her taut nipple, he wasn’t holding back anymore either.
He kneaded her breasts with sure, strong fingers, the calloused texture of his hands scratching on the silk of her bra. It was a minute detail, a tiny sensory recognition in an ocean of stimulation and pleasure. She could hear the roughness of his palms catching the material every time he raked his hands over her breasts and it aroused her even more. That his hands were roughened by a life of hard manual work, that his fingers were calloused from roping cattle and riding horses… The sheer masculinity of his touch sent waves of raw need through her and she succumbed. Willingly let herself get lost in every sensation.
“Oh yes, Dylan,” she murmured, fisting her hands in his hair. “That feels so good.”
In response, he drew harder on her nipple, laving its tip as he did so, soaking her bra. She closed her eyes and pushed her hips high, her pussy pulsing with urgent demand.
His hands rasped over her skin, down to her hip. They dipped beneath the waistline of her panties and cupped her ass. Her heart rate quickened, tripping over a beat when the tips of his fingertips brushed the clenching ring of her anus.
A soft gasp escaped her and Dylan lifted his head, his green gaze an inferno of desire. “I won’t touch you there if you don’t want me to, love.”
The low words stroked over Monet like a caress. She shivered. There were many things she’d done in her sex life. She wasn’t a prude, but her ass had always been off-limits. There were other parts of her body that enjoyed being touched, sucked, licked and fucked, thank you very much. Other orifices. But when Dylan’s fingers feathered over her puckered hole…
Another shiver rippled through her and she shifted in his cupping hands. Heat filled her cheeks and she caught her bottom lip with her teeth. “I…I’m not…”
Dylan shook his head. “Shhh. When, if, you’re ready, you tell me. Otherwise it’s a no-go zone. Promise.”
I’m ready.
The words almost slipped from her lips. There wasn’t a molecule in her body that didn’t trust Dylan. That didn’t want to go with him to whatever plane of pleasure he took her to.
She studied his face, her pulse wild in her throat, her mouth dry, her pussy a hot throb, and nodded. “When I’m ready,” she said, her voice a husky whisper.
Dylan’s nostrils flared. “Until then, there’s always this.” He smoothed one hand between her thighs and dipped two fingers into her folds.
Shards of wicked sensation sank into Monet’s very center. She whimpered, lifting one leg to hook it around Dylan’s back. Deeper. She wanted his fingers deeper.
No, that wasn’t right. She wanted all of him. Now.
“Dylan,” she murmured, sliding her heel up his back as she tried to draw his cock closer to her sex. “Inside me. I want…” His fingers wriggled within her heat and she released a shaky moan. “Please fuck me. I can’t wait…any longer.”
“Yes you can.” His lips grazed the cleft between her breasts, up her throat to her earlobe. “I want you so fucking much, love, but I’m not rushing.” His lips nipped at her earlobe. “I’m going to take this slow. Make you come over and over again. With my fingers…” He stroked her g-spot with two purposeful swipes and, as if to prove his point, liquid heat unfurled through her cunt. “With my mouth, my tongue.”
He nibbled on her neck, each gentle bite sending fresh moisture to her pussy.
“Oh God.” She couldn’t stop her moan.
He explored her neck with his lips, all the while seeking the sweet spot within her sex time and again with his fingers. Just when she didn’t think she could survive much longer, when the orgasm building in her core threatened to detonate, he withdrew his hand and ea
sed down her body.
Dylan stripped her jeans and panties completely off with excruciating slowness before, with a low groan, he captured her clit with his mouth.
She cried out, the abrupt change in stimulation providing a wicked jolt of electric sensations. He continued to work her body that way, building her climax to an exquisite crest with his mouth and then swapping to his fingers, letting her orgasm ebb to a thrumming need before returning to her pussy, her clit, with his mouth and tongue again. Over and over, layering pleasure upon pleasure. Building tension upon unbearable tension until even the slight kiss of his breath fanning her inner thighs was enough to almost make her scream with release.
And all the while, she begged for more. Begged for fulfillment. Pleaded with him to bury himself to the root in her cunt and fuck her.
She’d never used such words before, but the raw want Dylan had awoken, the utter craving for his turgid cock and the completion it would bring pushed her there. She scraped at his shoulders with her nails, a distant part of her mind recognizing he was still fully dressed.
It didn’t detract from the rapture claiming her. He had reduced her to a being of pure want. A creature who existed for one reason only—to be pleasured by him. When he hauled her roughly to his face, her knees draped over his shoulders, his tongue lapping and rolling over her clit, it was all she could do not to drown in elemental need. She fisted her hands in the duvet, stared blankly at the ceiling of her bedroom and hung on, just hung on until, toes curling, a keening sound tearing from her throat, her climax smashed into her. Pummeled her. Made her cry out and buck against his face.
He lashed at her sodden pussy and swollen clit with his tongue, blunt nails digging into her hips. She closed her eyes, wordless pleas of mercy falling from her parted lips, her breath shallow and rapid.
He gave it to her. A reprieve from the mastery of his touch.
A brief reprieve.
Before the throbbing pulses of her orgasm could begin to fade, he slid up her body and covered her with his weight, his thumb on her clit, his flesh on hers.
Flesh. Skin on skin. At some point he’d removed his shirt and Monet’s mind detonated with the velvet perfection of his warmth sliding over her. His chest was finely dusted with hair, the strands tickling her nipples through the thin barrier of her bra.
“Do you have any fucking clue how good you feel against my body?” The question left him on a growl, his lips working the sensitive area of her collarbone, her shoulder.
She laughed out a ragged breath, shoving her hips upward into his incredibly talented hand. “Do you have any fucking clue how good your fingers feel on my cunt?”
Her cheeks flooded with heat at the vulgar word. Dylan’s cock nudged her inner thigh. She could tell by the way he groaned he liked the sound of it passing her lips.
He thrust into her with three fingers, wriggling them within her tight feminine walls. “I’ve had your fingers wrapped around my cock, remember?” His grin was carnal, hungry. “I know exactly how good it feels.”
“D-Dylan,” she gasped, the mounting pressure in the pit of her belly telling her she was going to come again. Soon. “I want…my…”
Dylan’s jaw bunched. “Want what, Monnie?”
The request wouldn’t leave her. But nor would the ache in her core.
He thumbed her clit, one long leg entwining with hers, his cock a thick pole in his jeans, and it was only then she noticed the tiny beads of perspiration forming at his temple. How strained must he be, to still be in control? The realization only made her unspoken desire burn hotter.
“What do you want, Monet?”
She gazed up at him, blood roaring in her ears, her pussy throbbing, her breasts heavy, her anus contracting. “I-I want…I want you to fuck my ass with your tongue. Please?”
The plea burst from her in a gushing tumble of words, the last lost to the mattress when Dylan flipped her onto her belly, hauled her hips off the bed and ran his tongue over her anus.
New pleasure speared through her. Pleasure Monet had never experienced before. Forbidden. Wanton. Debauched.
She moaned, loving every sinful lick of rapture claiming her body as Dylan swiped his tongue over her back passage. She buried her face in the duvet, her hands bunching the soft material. Dylan’s tongue laved her anus in hungry swipes, each time pressing with firmer strokes. She whimpered, the very core of her sex twisting and contracting. Her pussy dripped; she could feel her juices slicking her flesh. How could a tongue on her ass make her so…so…aroused? How could Dylan licking her hole feel so good?
Was it the salacious contact? The man responsible for it? Or both?
With a low groan against her flesh, Dylan smoothed one hand up her leg, over her inner thigh and dipped a finger into her pussy, all the while wriggling the tip of his tongue against her anus.
“Oh fuck!” Monet cried into the duvet. “Fuck, that feels…”
He stabbed at her hole again, his fingers inside her in perfect harmony with the thrusts of his tongue. Tight ribbons of pleasure whipped through her, threading together, turning into thick fingers of sensation she could barely fathom.
“So good,” she moaned. Her legs trembled, her belly hitched. She pushed her ass back toward Dylan’s face, the firm strokes of his tongue, the wriggling penetration of his finger driving her wild. “So…so fucking…oh, oh, oh yes!”
Her orgasm exploded, a detonation of unexpected, delicious heat and pulsing tension. She writhed on her knees, her hips bucking uncontrollably, Dylan continuing to fuck her ass with his tongue as his fingers plundered her gushing sex.
Throb after constricting throb claimed her pussy. She clawed at the duvet and whimpered into its silken softness as Dylan took her to a place of sexual release and awareness she’d never known before.
Monet’s climax pulsed through her, tight and absolute. She cried out, her legs trembling harder as Dylan withdrew his finger from her pussy and gently lowered her to the bed.
She rolled her head to the side, the fading force of her orgasm still beating in her sex. “I…” She stopped, licked her lips and pushed her hair from her face. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Dylan chuckled behind her, the mattress shifting as he pushed himself off the bed. “How ’bout ‘more please’?”
Monet snorted. “I think you tongue-fucked me into paralysis. I can’t feel my limbs.”
She waited for him to laugh. When he didn’t, she twisted on the bed, looking over her shoulder to find the bedroom empty. “Dylan?”
Silence.
Monet frowned. She righted herself on the bed, settling onto her knees as she chewed her bottom lip. Where did he go? Should she go after him? What was he—
The question died in her mind as Dylan strode back into her bedroom. Naked. Completely naked.
Save for his hat.
She burst out laughing. The grin on his face, the jaunty angle of his hat, the massive erection jutting upward from the dark-blonde thatch of pubic hair…it was all so delicious. So naughty. So perfect.
The dimple in his right cheek flashed at her as he moved closer to the bed. He held up his hand, a small black square between his fingers. “Ready for more?”
Before she could reply, he placed one knee on the end of the bed, followed by the other, and then extended his hand toward her.
Monet’s sex constricted. She didn’t think it was possible. Not after the orgasm he’d just given her, but it did. It constricted and throbbed and squeezed a cock not there. A cock currently pointing straight up, its hard length thick and demanding her attention. Waiting for her to sheathe it in the condom Dylan offered.
Condom.
Monet’s gaze slid to the small square of black foil, making out the word “Studded” in gold script. Her pulse quickened, her breath catching in her throat.
She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Studded?”
He nodded with a grin. “For your pleasure.”
Monet’s gaze dropped back to the condom packe
t. She plucked it from his fingers, raised it to her lips and tore it open with her teeth.
Dylan let out a long breath. His cock, already leaking beads of liquid need from its tip, twitched.
Withdrawing the slick circle of latex from the foil packet, Monet shifted on the bed, repositioning herself until her knees were almost touching his. She reached for his erection, watching the way his balls rose as her fingers brushed his flesh.
Dylan hissed in a breath. His stomach hitched, his abs coiling with the raw reaction to her touch. “Bloody hell, Monnie, if you don’t get that on soon I’m think I’m gonna—”
She covered the head of his cock with the condom and rolled the latex sheath down his length.
Dylan’s groan was low. Ragged. His cock throbbed in her hand, the tiny raised studs of the condom’s surface grazing her palm. Her pussy contracted, her mind telling her exactly how good they would feel sliding inside her pussy as Dylan pumped into her over and over and over again.
When he thrust into her. Filled her.
Fucked her.
Made love to her.
Monet’s head swam. Make love to me…
She lifted her gaze to Dylan’s face, her pulse leaping fast in her neck at the smoldering desire burning in his eyes. “I want this to last forever, Monet,” he murmured. “I’ll do my best. But I want you so fucking much I think I may embarrass myself.”
His confession made her pussy flood with heat. She cupped his balls in her palm and gave them a little squeeze. “How many condoms did you pack?”
”A few.”
She smiled, tugging on his heavy scrotum again. “Then who the fuck cares about the first one?”
He laughed, the sound wonderful and real and so totally Dylan. “Bloody hell, love, you know how to make a bloke feel—”
He didn’t finish. Probably because Monet was pulling him down on top of her, nails digging into his bare butt cheeks, legs spreading beneath his weight.
They hit the bed together, Dylan’s cock nudging at Monet’s folds, her clit, his mouth capturing her lips. He kissed her, his tongue swiping into her mouth. A distant part of Monet’s mind noticed he tasted of mint, as though he’d freshly rinsed with mouthwash. A warm wave of joy rolled through her, the knowledge he’d thought of that small detail before coming back making her love him even more.
