And I am.
“Fuck, you’re soaked, sweetheart.”
I have nothing else to say.
Nor does he.
Talking is overrated when there’s this.
This man sliding his hands up my thighs then pressing the most decadent kiss to my center.
24
Crosby
The instant I brush my lips over her heat, she trembles.
And she moans.
It’s the most fantastic sound ever, the kind of ohhh that says her toes are curling.
Hell, maybe mine are too.
Because . . . my God.
She tastes spectacular.
So slick and soft and aroused.
I want to bury my face in her sweet pussy, but I want to take my time too, to savor every second of the unraveling of Nadia Harlowe.
She’s a delicious conundrum, and unwrapping her sexuality is the best gift I’ve ever received.
As I kiss her wetness, I groan, an electric charge zapping through me. My God, she’s incredible, and so damn responsive.
Writhing.
Moaning.
Sighing.
I want to imprint each sound she makes, every lift of her hips. My hands run along her thighs as I kiss her, letting her scent go to my head, flood all my senses. She tastes like longing, like lust, like that dreamy escape into a tropical garden.
It’s wild and heady, and I want so much more. But I need to pace myself with Nadia, so I press gentle, tender kisses to her pussy, my hands traveling up and down the soft skin of her thighs. When I flick my tongue across that delicious rise of her clit, she arches her back and unleashes a strangled oh God. Her hands fly to my head, her palms curling around my skull.
Oh yes, sweetheart. Grab my fucking face. Grab me hard.
I will happily spend hours devouring her pussy.
With a wicked grin, I listen to her cues, giving her more kisses, more flicks of my tongue, and long, lingering licks as I lap up all the flavors of her desire.
Sweet, salty, desperate.
She tastes like the woman I’ve been craving.
She ropes her fingers tighter into my hair as I press a little harder, kiss her more deeply.
My hands travel behind her legs, over her ass, curving over her flesh.
That sends her reeling. Her hips jerk, and her voice hits the ceiling in a long, loud “Yessssss.”
So my Nadia likes a little ass attention. I’m down with that. I’m definitely down with that.
As I worship at the altar of her clit, I grip her flesh, squeezing her cheeks harder.
“Please,” she murmurs.
Consider it done, sweetheart.
I knead her ass as I devour her wetness, kissing her harder, licking her faster, and squeezing this most fine ass as I go.
Hard as steel, my cock throbs in my boxer briefs. Hell, my dick is leaking, and I don’t fucking care, because she’s losing it. Arching and moaning. Crying out and rocking her hips.
It’s beautiful and wanton, the way she seeks her pleasure.
She’s so shameless.
So bold.
And I love that I’m the lucky recipient of all her desire.
All her want.
She spreads her legs wider, opening herself up, a debauched invitation to consume her flesh.
Why, yes, I will gladly accept.
I break contact for a second, raising my face. My mouth is covered in her slickness. “Fuck my face, sweetheart. Go wild on me,” I rasp.
She gazes down at me, her brown eyes glimmering with darkening desire. She parts her lips, licks them, then locks eyes with me. “I’ll fuck your face,” she whispers, saying that filthy word for the first time.
Letting go of her ass for a second, I run my hand up her body and brush a finger over her lips. “Your naughty mouth.”
She nips my finger. “Fuck me with your naughty mouth,” she murmurs, and I nearly die of being ridiculously turned on.
This woman. Her words. Her need.
She delivers.
I return my hands to her ass, my face to her pussy.
And we go wild.
She lets go, rocking and thrusting, having a field day. I’m her toy now, my tongue is her vibrator, and she’s using me fiercely, expertly, her hips arching up, up, up.
As my tongue goes flick, flick, flick.
As my hands grip her ass, digging in deeper, squeezing her.
“Yes, oh God, yes,” she moans, her fingers gripping my skull.
We work together to find her bliss. Hands, hips, mouth, tongue, and sweet, frenzied friction.
That’s what she needs.
That’s what I give her as she begs for release.
She cries out, a delirious, keening sound that’s half my name and half “Coming.”
And wholly hot as fuck.
She tenses, then shudders, her thighs squeezing my face as she comes on my tongue, my lips, my mouth.
I devour her climax, losing my mind at the taste of her release.
At her moans.
Her pants.
Her oh Gods as she comes down from the high.
When she lets out a soft laugh, I take it that she’s hit a wall, that she’s too sensitive. Letting go of her ass, I look up, meet her gaze, and smile like a happy fool.
Because, fuck, that’s what I am.
I’m so damn happy with her.
She’s blissed out, her hair wild, her smile gloriously filthy, and her cheeks flushed orgasm-pink.
“Hi,” she whispers.
My heart slams against my chest.
My cock thumps inside my jeans.
For the first time in a long time, the two organs are utterly in sync, working in tandem, and that’s terribly dangerous.
But it’s a risk I’m taking.
I need more of her.
Wiping a hand across my face, I crawl up her, brace myself on my palms above her, and meet her gaze. “Hi.”
A smile comes my way. “Which rule number was that? I can’t think.”
I wiggle a brow. “Rule number four, sweetheart. And it’s still in effect.”
“Right.” Her sex-drunk frown is adorable. “And rule number four says . . .”
“Rule number four,” I say, “says that I get to make you come.” I pause. “A lot.”
I push back onto my knees, then offer her a hand. She takes it, and I tug her up. “And now I’m going to take you to your bed, where I’m going to fuck you and make love to you,” I tell her.
She lets out a satisfied sigh, her lips twitching in a grin. “Thank God for the lucky corgi butts.”
In her bedroom, Nadia tugs on the hem of my shirt, her heated gaze drifting downward, checking out my clothes.
I’m still dressed. She’s half naked, which mostly works for me. That blouse needs to go. The bra too.
Stat.
“Do I get to undress you now?” she asks, playing with the fabric of my Henley, lifting it a few inches so her fingertips trail over my abs.
Her touch ignites goose bumps across my flesh. I want to feel those hands all over me, turning me on, making me crazy.
“Take it off. Take it all off.” I want everything off. Her clothes. Mine. I want to get naked and roll around with her all night long, arms and legs wrapped around each other. I want to feel her bare skin. Explore every inch, discover every reflex.
Laughing, she pulls the fabric over my head. “Don’t you want to admire my candlelit seduction, roses, and soft music?” She gestures to her bedroom as she tosses my shirt on the floor.
With a quick glance, I appraise her decor—no candles, no flowers, no tunes. Her bedroom is simple—a cranberry-red cover on her king-size bed and gobs and gobs of pillows.
“Woman, where is the seduction? How do you expect me to get turned on without rose petals all over the place?”
She spreads her palms over my chest, and I draw in a sharp, hot breath as sparks shoot through me.
Her touch is electric, and it short-circ
uits my brain.
“I don’t know. Are you turned on, Crosby?”
My eyes narrow as I rope a hand around her bare waist, jerking her against the ridge of my cock. “You tell me.”
She murmurs, “Seems so.” Then her busy hands continue their journey, traveling over the planes of my stomach on a path for the button of my jeans.
Working the snap open, she heads for the zipper next.
I waste no time either, fiddling with the rest of the buttons on her pink shirt, spreading it open, revealing the tops of those luscious tits I’ve only sneaked a peek at.
Tonight I get to gawk. I get to indulge in them.
She lets go of my jeans to shrug out of her shirt. I help the nudity cause by unhooking her bra, letting the white lace fall to where-the-fuck-ever.
“Fuck me,” I groan as I free her tits—gorgeous, perky breasts with dusky rose nipples that stand at attention. I cup one in each hand, and she lets out a throaty gasp, arching her back, pushing into my touch as I knead these beauties.
“I like that,” she purrs.
My dick tries to wrestle its way out of my jeans, jerking against my clothes, doing a skyscraper impression to get some attention.
But fuck my dick.
Because . . . these breasts.
I drop my face between them, nuzzling, licking, sucking.
Groaning too. I could spend all day here. I could get lost in the valley of her breasts. Don’t bother with a search and rescue crew; I’m not leaving.
Doesn’t seem she wants me to either. Nadia grips my hair, tugs me closer, urges me to lavish attention on her gorgeous globes.
“Yes, Crosby. God, yes,” she says, but then a few seconds later, her hands still, and she whispers, “Hey.”
At the sound of her alarm, I instantly look up, searching her face.
“I love second base,” she whispers, not actually alarmed at all, but encouraging, it turns out, as she says, “but I kinda wanna get to home plate.”
I grin, then laugh, shaking my head. “What’s wrong with me? Getting all stalled out on second, when it’s clearly time to score.” I clear my throat and lecture sternly, “For the record, though, the rule book dictates that I get to return to second base and spend all night here. There’s so much I want to do to these beautiful tits.”
“And so much I want you to do with your . . . baseball bat?” she asks as she cups my hard-on.
“Dick, shaft, cock.” I cover her hand with mine, pressing hers more firmly against my erection.
Ah, yes. Fucking yes. That feels so good.
With a mischievous grin, she mutters, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I sigh happily, at her words, her deeds, her palm stroking my dick through my jeans. She’s where I want her to be.
Well, I do want to move us horizontal.
Gently removing her hand, I bend to take off my socks, because no woman should see a man in only his lucky socks—that’s how they become unlucky.
Next go the jeans, and soon she’s shoving off my boxer briefs and my dick is greeting her with a hello and a Let’s get intimately acquainted right this second.
Her breath rushes out sharply, and she goes still, standing in front of me with her hands at her sides.
“You okay, sweetheart?” I ask, worried at how awkward she suddenly seems.
She presses her lips together then takes an audible breath. “It just hit me. I don’t know what to do next.”
Her voice is small, but not shy, not nervous. It’s an admission and a request for guidance.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” I whisper. All I want is to be her guide.
But then, as I lead her to the bed, gently laying her on it, I know that’s a lie. I want to be more.
More than her friend.
More than a fuck buddy.
I want to be her man.
Why the hell did I have to be in self-prescribed time-out when I reconnected with the woman of my dreams?
Because I’m pretty sure that’s what Nadia Harlowe is.
Bold and beautiful, open and vulnerable, spread out on her red bedcover and waiting for me to make love to her for the first time.
As I crawl over her, reaching for a condom, I stop, cup her cheek, and ask, “You still sure?”
Her brown eyes are so deep, so beautiful as she locks them with mine. In those irises I see trust, certainty, maybe even . . . years.
“I think I’ve been ready for this for a while,” she whispers, reaching for me, curling her hands lightly over my shoulders. “With you,” she adds, and my dumb heart trips over itself, racing to get closer to her.
That’s what I want.
To be close to her.
Maybe it’s what I’ve always wanted. Maybe this wish has been knocking around in the back of my mind for a long time.
Only now, she’s front and center.
I’m not sure she can stay there, but that’s where I want her. For tonight and beyond.
I drop a soft kiss onto her lips, whispering, “That’s why I want it to be good for you. Because this is so much more than sex.”
She trembles all over, and it’s a beautiful sight.
Even more beautiful is the way the happiness spreads to her eyes.
A happiness that says we’re in this together.
The question isn’t are we ready to screw, but are we ready to stay together?
25
Nadia
Goodbye, virginity. Hello, better-than-my-rabbit action.
At least, I’m pretty sure the real thing will be better than silicone. Though, in defense of that plastic material, sex toy manufacturers can mold some seriously lifelike schlongs.
Girth-wise, my rabbit isn’t that far off from this man, or his length either. Which means, yes, Crosby could be a cock model.
The thought brings a smile to my face.
But the smile disappears when he moves closer, settling between my legs, making it all much more real. I swallow roughly. “What do you want me to do?” My voice pitches up, threaded with nerves once again.
“Just relax, sweetheart. I’ll go slow. It’ll probably hurt for a bit. But I’ll stop anytime you want, okay?”
I nod a few times, my hands curving over his shoulders. “Okay.” I gulp, taking a breath. “Leave my hands here?”
“That’s perfect. You can put your hands anywhere, but shoulders work,” he says, then he settles between my legs, rubs the head of his cock against me, and I jump.
But it’s a good jump.
A pleasure jump.
My pulse spikes, and my heart skips a beat at the intoxicating feel of his dick on me—of hardness against wetness.
Breathing in purposefully, deeply, I let the air fill my lungs, my whole body. And I imagine relaxation flooding me.
My legs fall open wide as he continues rubbing the head against me. I stare down at us, mesmerized, utterly mesmerized, by the erotic sight—his big hand curled around the base of his cock, the slow and sensual way he rubs the crown through my wet folds, then how he presses it against my clit.
A blast of pleasure smashes into me, and I curl my hands tighter around his strong shoulders, digging into his muscles, his flesh.
“Feels so good,” I murmur.
A smile curves his lips. “You fucking bet it does.”
His eyes darken, arousal coming over them, but passion too—passion for me.
I feel it.
I sense it.
This is not just sex.
We’re not just fucking.
We’re connecting.
Anticipation ignites a fresh rush of tingles down my spine. Pleasure rolls through me as he pushes in.
My thighs clamp, tightening for a second, gripping his hips. Then I laugh, letting go. “Hi.”
“Hey,” he says, bracing himself on his palms. “You good?”
“So good,” I whisper as I hook one leg over the back of his thigh, tugging him a little closer, a little deeper.
He sinks in another inch, and I
arch up, savoring at once the utter intoxication of him starting to fill me at the same time as I bite back a burn.
He goes deeper, and I’m being stretched.
It’s good, but uncomfortable too.
So much pressure, so much pushing, like an invasion.
My fingers dig in. I need to grip him, and as I grasp him tighter, he groans, a long, slow sensual sound that sends a wave of hot sparks across my skin.
From his reaction.
From his unrestrained response to sinking into me.
His noises help me to relax, and relaxing helps me to take him in.
He’s halfway there, maybe more, and I coax him deeper, my thigh hooking more tightly around him as I grit my teeth momentarily.
His eyes lock with mine. “Nadia, it’s hurting you. I can tell.”
Shaking my head, I breathe in, out. “It’s a good hurt. Let me feel it.”
“Are you sure?” His question is desperate, like his eyes, like his expression.
He wants this as much as I do. He wants me like I want him.
And I do want him.
In every way.
Deep in my bones, far into my heart.
Thank God I am a toy aficionado.
I’ve done this, I’ve been here.
Yes, the real thing is different, but I can handle this, and I want to.
I want to so much. I wrap both legs around him, hooking them over his firm ass, then I jerk him closer so he sinks deeper into me.
“Oh God,” I gasp.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groans, then grits his teeth, clenches his jaw.
The realization that he’s as affected, as lost, as I am unravels me.
It wrecks me and takes me apart.
I inhale deeply, slide my hands down his body, cover his ass, and hold on tight, closing my eyes as he sinks all the way in.
All. The. Way.
I tense, tremble, bite my lip at a rush of pain.
It radiates in my center, a burn, and a sting.
But I breathe through it, again, again.
And soon, the pain ebbs, like a tide flowing out to sea and leaving a gentle lull in its wake.
A tender push, a delicious pull.
And the sensation of being filled, of being one.
That’s how I feel with Crosby.
The Virgin Rule Book (Rules of Love 1) Page 17
