The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)(26)

This wasn’t half bad. She snuggled close to his seriously ripped bare chest—ah, the perks of stealing his pajama top—one cheek resting on a firm, smooth pec, his tight nipple just an inch away from her mouth. She tucked one hand into the dip of his taut waist and rested the other in the small of his lower back, just where the curve of his butt began.

Beneath her calves, she could feel the swell of his penis, and it was hard, which gave her hope that she wasn’t a complete failure at the seduction thing. Still, he did nothing about it, just gently kneaded the balls of her feet with one hand and toyed with her hair with the other.

“What are we watching?” she asked. Feeling so safe and warm and comfortable that she could barely form the words.

“Captain America.”

“First one?”

“Second.”

“Oh, I’ve seen that one.”

“Me too, but it’s a fun one to rewatch.” His voice rumbled beneath her ear. She traced little patterns on his chest, and his breath hitched. She smiled at the reaction, but he lifted his hand from her feet and plastered it over her wandering fingers. Pressing her hand flat against his chest.

“Behave. We’re watching a movie.”

“But I’ve seen it.” She could hear the pout in her voice and was appalled by how girlish she sounded. What on earth was this man doing to her?

“Nevertheless, we’re watching it.”

“Spoilsport,” she grumbled, but she decided to go with this for the moment and see where it led . . .

Where it led was to the end of the movie. He did nothing for nearly two hours, just watched the movie while stroking her hair, then her back, her feet and occasionally her calves. His erection waxed and waned . . . mostly waxed. The thing had been an almost constant companion throughout the movie. And occasionally she’d rub her legs against it to get some kind of reaction from him, but he’d just still her movements with his quelling hand. He had some serious Jedi mind tricks when it came to controlling his hard-on, because any other man would have had her pinned and staked hours ago. Spencer had phenomenal willpower.

The credits started rolling, and he made a satisfied sound.

“Great movie,” he said, letting go of her toes to stretch luxuriously. He turned his attention on her, his eyes heavy lidded and intent.

“Nobody’s ever thrown me over for Steve Rogers before,” she complained, and his lips quirked.

“You haven’t been thrown over, just put on hold for a moment.”

“Still, I’m a little irked.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.” It was hard to get a mad going when you were snuggled up to the hardest, hottest, and sexiest chest in town, but Daff was for damned sure going to give it the old college try.

“I didn’t mean to irk you,” he said and quickly shifted his hands to her waist and dragged her into his lap. “C’m’ere, darling.”

Before she knew it, she was straddling his lap, her naked mound coming into immediate contact with the hard, thick ridge beneath the crotch of his flannel pants.

“Hmm,” he purred, the long, drawn-out sound brimming with satisfaction. “You’re so fuckin’ wet.”

She was, embarrassingly so, and had been for most of the movie. A result of all his petting and cuddling and the feel of that constantly hard penis beneath her legs. Her moisture immediately dampened the crotch of his pants, leaving absolutely nothing of what lay beneath to the imagination.

“And you’re so hard,” she replied, her voice sultry. He lifted his hands to her hair and tugged her down for a kiss. She crossed her forearms around the back of his head, her elbows digging into his shoulders as she clung to him while his mouth ravaged hers. His tongue was hot and demanding, and she was very willing to acquiesce to his every demand right now. He dragged his mouth away and, with shaky hands, fumbled with the buttons on the pajama top before losing patience and ripping it open. The plastic buttons went flying, landing on the wooden floor with little pings.

He peered at her breasts for a long moment before going to work. Oh, but the man knew how to play. Daff had never even known how sensitive her nipples were before Spencer. He sucked, he licked, he grazed with his teeth and with his stubble and drove her crazy. She still had her arms crossed behind his head, and she arched her back, writhing wildly in his lap as she bordered on orgasm just from having her nipples sucked. It wasn’t anything that had ever happened to her before, and she was almost mindless with passion.

Without moving his mouth from her breast, his hands slid from her waist to her hips. He stilled her frenzied movements and then led her, showing her the rhythm he wanted from her.

“Oh,” she whispered when she slid up against his massive hard-on and the rigid shaft aligned perfectly with her naked furrow. As her clitoris rode up and then down the heavy erection, she realized that her movements had dragged his pants down enough to uncover the plump glans. Her clit bumped against the underside of the broad head with every upward slide, and that, combined with his continued lavish attention at her breasts, felt absolutely incredible. His hands steered her to move faster and she happily obliged, sensing that they were both nearly there.

“Spencer,” she gasped. “Don’t stop. Please. I’m nearly . . . Oh! Oh! My! GOD!”

Spencer grunted and his arms wrapped around her back in an almost bone-crunching hug; his mouth went slack at her breast as he gasped and then jerked. Daff was too focused on her own orgasm in that moment to recognize Spencer’s. She could not stop coming, her body remaining clenched and spasming for what seemed like hours, before she finally came down from her intense climax.

Spencer was panting against her chest, and she could feel his penis throbbing beneath her still gently thrusting pussy. Judging from the sticky wetness on her abdomen, he had climaxed, too. Hard, if the still-frantic jerking was any indication.

Her blurry eyes focused on the television, and she laughed, her voice sounding hoarse.

“What?” He sounded completely spent, as if just formulating the single-syllable word had taken all the energy he currently possessed.

“The credits are still running,” she said with a chuckle, and he opened his eyes with effort to focus on the television. Where the end credits of the movie they had just watched were rolling to a close. The after-credits bonus scene popped up, and he chuckled.

“Just a little something,” he managed to huff. “A little something to . . . take the edge off.”

She laughed weakly and collapsed onto his chest, content to just stay there for now. A very happy, very sticky, and very replete mess.

They sat there for a while, Daff still straddling his lap. Her knees were drawn up on either side of his chest, and his arms were wrapped around her narrow back. They were both in dire need of another shower, but Spencer didn’t want to move right now. He was so content to just hold her.

Her perfect little breasts were flattened against his chest, and he relished the memory of how responsive they’d been to his every touch.

She was getting heavier as her body went slack with sleep, and he grinned. She had to be exhausted. They’d both had only three hours of sleep the night before. He checked the clock above the mantelpiece. It was late. Time for bed.

He hated to disturb her, but there was no way he could pick her up without waking her, not from this position.

“Daff? Daff, darling,” he whispered into her ear, and she groaned. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

“Just a little longer,” she pleaded.

“We’ll both be more comfortable in bed.” He shifted her until she was lying sideways on his lap and picked her up in the same way as the night before. Her eyes opened, and she looked at him with a dreamy smile.

“You can’t keep carrying me everywhere, I’ll get spoiled.”

“You deserve to be spoiled,” he replied, and her smile widened.

“Silly man.” She rested her head on his shoulder while he carried her upstairs. Once there he deposited her on his bed—he could get used to seeing her there—and unfastened the one remaining button on the pajama top. He went to the en suite, returned with a warm, damp cloth, and gently wiped the stickiness off her belly. She smiled gratefully, her eyelids heavy with sleep.

“Thank you,” she said in a slurred voice.

“We could both do with a shower, but I’m too fucking tired to bother right now.”

“Me too.”

“Sorry about the mess.”

“It’s your mess,” she said hazily. “I didn’t mind it.”

And wasn’t that just fucking mind-blowing as hell? Not sure what to make of her words, he cleared his throat and climbed into bed next to her.

“We’re not doing the sex bit of the no-strings sex thing properly, Spencer,” she said, her voice thick with sleep when he tugged her into his arms, spooning her in front of him.

“Says who?” he asked, planting a kiss on her temple.

“We haven’t even had sex yet.”

“You in some kind of rush?” he asked, turning off the light. “You got a sex deadline or something? An intercourse record you need to break?”

She giggled and then yawned.

“It’s just this is the second night without sex.”

“You came, I came, everybody came. That’s a win for Team . . . Spaff? Dense? Both of those are terrible, let’s never do that again.” His improvised couple names just made her laugh even harder, while he kept a perfectly straight face. “Now get some sleep, darling. Maybe we’ll get the sex thing right tomorrow.”