Oh, yeah, baby. In no mood to wait, he helped, shoving his pants and briefs down, toeing off his shoes, yanking off his socks. Warm fingers smoothed up and around his legs. Her palms ruffled the fine hairs on his thighs, braced the sides of his hips. She cupped his ass, kneading and caressing, tracing those inquisitive fingers down the center.
He braced both feet wide to steady himself and looked down over the solid plane of his belly. What he saw made him sweat. The goddess that was Sharon Timmons knelt before him, the pillows of her breasts mounded over the whispy bra, her dark hair contrasted against the creamy glow of her skin. He was a god to her goddess, powerful and impressive.
His balls contracted, drawing into his body. The heat of it, the suddenness, surprised him. He'd been more than half hard all night. All day. Thank God for long tux jackets. Now he was uncomfortably stiff, an almost painful pressure centered at the base of his cock.
She kissed his thighs, letting her hair brush over his dick, the light, fluttering sensations driving panting groans out of him. The little witch was purposely teasing him. Purposely not touching him where he wanted it most. Christ, he was going to pay her back. As soon as he could unlock his knees.
Her tongue. The wet slide across the head, like licking an ice cream cone. Delicate at first, then sloppy, greedy.
"Yessss. Suck me, baby," he pleaded, not too proud to beg.
Chapter Fourteen
She shook her head, hair brushing against his thighs. "I'm going to drive you insane first."
"Yeah, yeah, you are, sweetheart," Pete growled. He arched, his head dropped back. When she grasped him in her hot fist, he clutched her scalp. "Shit. I'm gonna get you for this."
"Ooo, I'm scared." She held him, licked the sides of his penis, dragged her tongue along the sensitive vein underneath, and sucked at the ridge circling the head.
Everything but the main attraction. His thigh muscles shook. He had little confidence his knees would hold. "Share," he groaned her name, cupped the sides of her face, drew fierce fingers through her hair. Insistent, demanding fingers.
She swiped her tongue base to tip.
"Yeah, baby," he whispered, his fingers scrabbling, mussing up her hair.
"What, Petey? What do you want? Tell me." Each word punctuated by suckling nips, a scrape of her teeth around the ridge, over the sensitive tip.
A searing need stirred deep inside his body. His balls ached, intensifying his desire. Desire to ram his cock into her mouth, to be enfolded inside the hot, smooth recesses, to feel her tongue, to feel her lips suckling him.
"Jesus, Share, take me in your mouth. Suck. Me. Dry." His voice cracked on a whimper.
"You mean like this?" She cradled his nuts in one palm, the other clutching an ass cheek.
He quickened. His muscles tightened, hardened. Then, Blessed God, her mouth enclosed him. God, yes. She pumped him with her lips. Her tongue did magical things. His brain shut down.
"God damn," he moaned, his teeth clenched. Bent double over her head, he came, his release exploding in thick, furious jets. He clutched her head against his belly and panted until some semblance of control returned.
A few minutes later Pete blew a puff of air. Or was it hours, or days? A woman who swallowed. Oh, man, was he the luckiest bastard in the world. God, he wanted to sleep. Curl up around her. "Share love, come here." He wrapped his fingers around her waist and pulled her upright against him, hot skin to hot skin. He kissed her neck, brushed over her cheek, and finally found her lips.
She moaned and clung to him, crooned his name, pressed her fingertips onto his spine. Her precious body quivered in his arms.
"Honey, are you all right?" He cupped her head and tipped it back, thumbs under her chin, to meet his gaze.
She gave him a long blink and her Cheshire cat smile. Women. They either liked giving blowjobs or they didn't, or pretended to like it. Sharon always looked so satisfied, so smug. He owed her like pleasure, and he loved to be in debt to her.
"Baby, you know I love you."
She tensed.
It wasn't just the heat of the moment. Beautiful, sweet, generous. What wasn't to love? He needed to show her how precious she was to him.
***
Sharon wanted to die. Of course, he loved her after she sucked his cock. Don't ruin this. Don't lie to me.
She moaned as Pete flattened his palm on her belly, flicking the elastic of the little scrap of lace covering her mound. He slipped a finger past the material to stroke her cleft. Heat. Sweat glazed her body.
"You're so wet." His fingers delved into her, into her slippery, swollen flesh. They brushed the sides of her clit. She forgot everything else.
"Yes, yes." Pumping her hips against his hand, she wanted nothing more than for him to fill her. Wanted his fingers inside her body. She bucked and cried out when he filled her up to his palm, her clit's heart beating strongly.
She crooned his name in a low, throaty growl.
"Come here, baby, I want to taste you." Nudging her toward the bed, he bore her down across the thick comforter. He pulled her toward him. His warm hands caressed her thighs and determinedly spread them wide, balancing her heels on the edge of the mattress.
She couldn't keep her hips still. He held her down, the restraint arousing in itself. His fair head dove in. His lips circled her clit, tongue lapping rhythmically. "Oh God!" His mouth was heaven, just the right amount of teeth scraping, of suckling, of his tongue pressing the sensitive area right below her clit. Sweep. Swish. Swipe. Around and around.
The harder she tried to pump, the more tightly he held her hips. She threaded her fingers through his hair and in a frenzy, hung on, pumping into his face. So close. She screamed his name. Begged him to end it. Begged for more. Her pussy was open and hungry. She was so close. "Holy God, don't stop!"
His mouth, hot and secure, stayed. Stayed firm, gently moving, riding her out over the crest.
He stayed until her cries became whimpers, until whimpers became moans.
"Sweet, sweet, Sharon," he growled, rising over her, scootching her toward the pillows. Then he thrust inside her, straight to the balls.
"Oh, Pete." She lost her breath. Filled fully and completely with him, it was an assault on her senses, on all her little nerve endings. The pleasure caught in her throat, raced her heart, and stopped her mind. Clutching his hips, fingers digging into hard muscle, she used his body to balance herself, to counter his thrusts.
Over her, he huffed and puffed like a racehorse beating down the track to the finish line. He dipped his head, caught her gaze. He paused, held himself suspended, his eyes glowing hot and sensual, possessive. Possessive for her.
"Share."
She read his lips more than heard his voice.
"Come for me." He kissed her. No finesse. Just teeth, lips, and tongue.
She tasted herself on his mouth. Wanted to get inside him, to surround him, become one with him.
He swiveled his hips, thrusting repeatedly as if he would never stop.
She climaxed, screaming, frantically bucking into him, and twisting her hips in counterpoint. I love you. God, she almost said it aloud.
***
Sunday morning, after a big breakfast at the hotel, Pete told her he had a surprise. A twenty-minute drive later, they parked in a north side neighborhood. Sharon hugged her arms against what she'd always heard was the typical Chicago wind, then instantly flushed hot. They stood right in front of a…sex shop. "Oh. Pete?" She gazed at him questioningly.
His eyes had that teasing sparkle, and his lips quirked up in his patented sexy smile. He tipped his head toward the store and pulled her into his arms. "Are you game?" he challenged.
She hadn't seen this coming, but she shouldn't be all that surprised. He was a man, after all.
"Don't worry, honey. Nothing heavy duty like whips and chains," he whispered into her ear. "Just a toy or two, okay?"
His arms around her, his heated breath against her skin always made her feel safe. He wouldn'
t hurt her. Physically, that is. No. They'd become so close this weekend. Crossed over a bridge. He'd said he loved her. Could it be real? Smiling up at him because it wasn't like she could help it—he looked so adorable and devilish and irresistible—she asked, "So what do you have in mind, big guy?"
Holding her tightly and pressing his aroused cock against her belly, he responded, "How about two things apiece? Two things we'd like to do to each other."
"Do we get a veto?"
"I don't think you'll need one," he replied with confidence.
"What about you? What if I pick out something too weird for you?"
Dark, hot lights danced in his eyes, a look of uncertainty mixed with curiosity, maybe. He held her serious gaze and licked his lips. "Okay, one veto."
Her eyebrows shot up. Hmm. Images shot through her mind, of him tied to the bed and of her inserting a butt plug in his ass. Not that she'd had any experience with one, but she had read a few novels.
As if he read her mind, he said, "Right now I'm vetoing what you're thinking about."
His husky murmur made her laugh. "You don't know what I'm thinking."
"Oh, I can read that calculating look on your face. You're thinking of something uncomfortable and embarrassing for me, aren't you?"
"Have you ever? How do you know it would be uncomfortable?"
"I'm a guy. A straight guy."
Chapter Fifteen
"Yeah." Her eyelids drifted to half-mast. "I'm aware of that." She rested her lips on his and sipped gently.
He took control of the kiss, his lips sensuously massaging hers.
"Take it inside the store!" An elderly woman toddled by them muttering loudly enough for them to hear.
Sharon broke the kiss and chuckled quietly. "I think there's our cue."
Pete opened the door for her. "One veto."
She burst out laughing. "Now who's the nervous one?"
Wow. The Pleasure Trove was huge, bright, and clean. Not at all what she expected. All very upscale. It didn't look like dirty old men in trench coats hung out there. Up front was clothing, if you could call undies with cut out crotches and nipples clothing. Bustiers in leather, satin, black, red, and even some other colors, like those she'd find in Victoria's Secret. Feather boas. Then there was the more hard-core stuff. Dominatrix whips, hoods, and high-heeled boots.
Shelves held scented oils and candles, boxes of games. Pete had already moved on further back, to the long counters. She wandered in that direction. Holy Toledo! Display cases filled with dildos and vibrators of every conceivable kind and lots she'd never ever imagined. Her eyes widened. All arranged on shelves along the walls too.
A store clerk was dealing with another customer. Several vibrators were lined up on the counter as they discussed their merits and compared them as if they were talking about…gloves or…umbrellas. She had always bought mail order vibrators, because she couldn't imagine buying one in person. Apparently, not everyone had that problem.
Where's Pete? She rolled her eyes when she spotted him in the back of the store, in front of the magazine display. Wouldn't you know it? Yeah, he's a guy.
Looking hunky and gorgeous, he leafed through magazines, putting one back before he moved on to another. She kept an eye on him as she rounded the counter to the other side. She almost lost her breath. Big, long, colorful glass dildos. Biting her lip at the thought of one of those big boys sliding inside her, she wondered about a smooth surface compared to ridges and beads. She supposed it depended on the fantasy...or on the man wielding the toy.
She made her purchases and returned to the clothing racks to browse while watching Pete purchase his items. He kept his back to her, thereby hiding his booty. If his was anything like hers…
***
Sharon dozed part of the way back to Parkersburg. She offered to drive at the half way point, but Pete winked and said he wasn't tired. Thoughts of her purchases kept her on the edge of arousal, and she wondered if they'd get to them tonight. One of hers was fairly tame, but the other was freaky. She shifted in the seat as her pussy pulsed, and she tightened her lips so a moan wouldn't betray her anticipation.
Her stomach took a nosedive when they approached her house. A car sat at the curb. Shit. Why is he here? The last person on earth she wanted to see was her father.
"Well, looks like you have company," Pete observed.
"Shit," she murmured under her breath.
"Do you want me to get rid of him, then we'll go to my place?"
She absolutely did not want to involve Pete in this sordid mess of a family of hers. Why was her father here to ruin all her good feelings from the weekend with Pete and the wedding? Resigning herself to another confrontation, she said to Pete, "Let me handle it. You go on home. I'll call you later."
"I don't like leaving you."
She closed her eyes in heartache. "No, I want you to go. I can handle this." God, please go, Pete.
After promising to come over later, at least call, she longingly watched him drive away, took a deep breath, and invited the man inside.
***
Alan Timmons plunked himself down in a chair, crossed one leg over the other knee, and jiggled it like an addict in withdrawal. Oh, great.
"Your mother and I are getting back together."
Sharon closed her eyes. Had she heard correctly? "Why?" she asked, her inflection flat. She didn't want to become emotional. "After all these years, you want to come back?"
"I told your mother you wouldn't like it," Alan said. "If she can forgive me, why can't you?"
Why indeed? She needed to get away. Just for a minute. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, she braced her fists on the counter and took deep breaths. Alan sounded unsure and nervous.
She couldn't let go of the anger at his disappearance so many years ago. Hurt, humiliation, confusion, self-blame. The adult Sharon didn't believe she was the cause of his leaving, but the child Sharon had. For so many years, it had been her fall back fixation. She wasn't worthy of a father's love. Why would she be worthy of any man's love?
Her heart in turmoil, she put all thought of Pete out of her mind. She had to do something about the man in her living room. "What do you want me to do?" she growled.
"Sharon, you always were hard-minded. Even as a little girl."
Oh, God, it was starting again. Her insides quivered. His criticism hurt as much now as it did then.
"Yeah," he said. "You never had a bit of sympathy for someone making a mistake."
"Okay, stop right there." Sharon finally found her voice. "I'm not going to take any blame for the past. I wasn't the one who didn't have the guts to stick it out. I'm not the one who ran away. You left with no warning, no word. Mother didn't explain anything, didn't act like she cared how I felt or what I did. She brought men into the house. I didn't like them. I didn't feel like it was my home any more."
He crossed his arms, put on a mutinous expression.
"I had to escape," she muttered bitterly.
"Did one of them ever touch you?" he asked, with a bit of trepidation at what the truth might be.
She felt as if a weight were pushing on her chest. She didn't want to remember this. Shaking hands matched shaking insides. "One did," she said in a soft voice. "I kicked him."
"Damn it!" Alan blurted.
"Don't act like you care now. Did you think I was so fat no one would bother me?"
He opened then closed his mouth.
"I grew up thinking I didn't deserve any love." She shook her head back and forth ending in an agitated tremor. "It took a guidance counselor to reach me." For some reason, the memory of that rescue, the liberation of someone finally saying none of it was her fault, helped her at this moment. "You know, this is like a Dr. Phil show. Except there's no resolution at the end of the hour. You're going to have to do…" She licked her lips. "…your own thing. And I'll have to deal with it. But don't expect me to jump for joy."
He didn't say a word. Didn't look exactly chastised, but didn't look re
pentant either. After he left, she sat in the rapidly dimming room too sapped to move, to turn on a light, to get anything to eat. Certainly unable to call Pete. Even after her little speech, she still felt insecure and unlovable.
For so many years, she'd pushed these feelings away. The men she'd gone out with had not been keepers. Even Hank. He was nice but was never going to last. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. Her feelings for her parents were so far away from warm and fuzzy. In fact, they were cold. She was cold. No one had ever really touched her deepest soul.
Chapter Sixteen
Pete Rayne touched her deepest soul. He'd said he loved her.
A week passed. He called her, left messages. She left him a message on his home phone when she knew he'd be on duty. "I'm all right. I need time to think. I'll call you in a few days."
At work, she focused on teeth, but otherwise her mind occupied with Pete and her feelings about him. Could she trust enough to let herself love him and commit to him? What if it didn't work out? Both of them could be hurt.
But what if it did work out? What if he was the one, and she let him get away? Was the uncertainty worth the risk of opening up her heart? All week this was the direction of her thoughts. She drove herself mad with them.
***
Pete lay sprawled on his bed, cross-eyed with ecstasy.
Just when he wondered if Sharon would ever call, he'd heard the doorbell and there she stood with fierce courage in her eyes. The confidence. The serene sensuality. His heart soared with the arousing, animalistic, lascivious scenarios invading his mind. She'd made her decision, had taken the leap of faith, and had come back to him. And the reward for both of them was the here and now.
In his bed. He held his breath while she opened the jar of chocolate body paint. Jesus. He grabbed a quick gasp before she layered it over and around his cock with delicate strokes of the tiny brush. He clenched his jaw, but a groan still slipped out. The sight of her kneeling between his thighs, the serious expression on her face as she stroked. It made him harder than he'd ever been, the sensitive skin stretched tightly over the broad head of his dick. His hips jerked when she flicked chocolate into the hole at the top, the sensation at once painful and ticklish.
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