The Best Man (Alpha Men Book 2)(51)

Her lips reached the same barrier her fingers had, and she lifted her face to contemplate the pajama bottoms thoughtfully. Her hands crept up to the waistband, and her fingers folded over the elastic and tugged. When they didn’t budge, she looked up into his strained face.

“Lift your tight little butt, big guy, I’ve got work to do here.”

“Daff?”

“Don’t make me ask again,” she warned him, feeling a little giddy with the extent of her arousal. She kind of liked bossing him around like this. She was drenched with need, and every time he wordlessly obeyed one of her commands, her lady bits clenched painfully. He closed his eyes and did as she demanded, lifting his hips just enough for her to tug his pajamas down over his lean hips. They snagged over the rigid pole of his penis, and she gently lifted the elasticized waistband up and over his pulsing staff.

She groaned hungrily when he was exposed to her and licked her lips at the beautiful sight just inches from her face.

Spencer wasn’t sure what her endgame was, and he watched her intently as she examined his aching cock without making a move to touch it. He was happy to let her play and discover, knowing that after years of feeling helpless during sex, she needed the opportunity to explore the true extent of her power over him.

Her small hand wrapped around his penis and peeled it away from his stomach, and he hissed in response to the sensation of her tight fist closing around him. He looked at her silky hair, unsure of what to expect, and then sighed in relief when he felt her hand begin to stroke him, slowly and sensuously. His breath was shuddering unevenly in and out of his lungs and, unable to resist, he reached down with both hands to caress her hair gently. Just this touch—surely she wouldn’t begrudge him this touch.

“Feels good, darling,” he encouraged hoarsely. “Feels so . . . Oh my God !” The top of his head just about blew off when he felt the first tentative stroke of her tongue on him. She licked him delicately, like she would an ice cream cone, along the top, down the sides, then back up to the top. His hips jerked abruptly and uncontrollably before he tried his best to minimize his movements, not wanting to scare her off. His resolve lasted only as long as it took for her to add a little suction, and that was when he cried out, his eyes welling with tears of bliss and frustration. His hands curled into fists in her hair. His instinct was to thrust, but he knew he couldn’t. She needed to control the movement. But dear God, it was killing him. Until finally, miraculously, she found a rhythm.

“Oh . . . Jesus!” She increased her suction, took more of him, moving her lips up and down the hard shaft so damned sweetly that he nearly wept at the incredible sensations. But—“Daff, you’ve got to stop . . . Stop, darling, I can’t hold off for much longer.”

To his eternal regret, she lifted her mouth to look at him.

“Why?” she pouted. For the first time, he noticed that her other hand was between her thighs as she took her own pleasure while giving it to him. It made him so fucking happy that she was taking enjoyment from this act, which had seemed so distasteful to her before, that for a moment he lost his train of thought.

“Uh. Because, I’m going to come,” he finally remembered to reply, and as if on cue his cock throbbed in her hand, which was encircled around the base.

Daff frowned, confused by his words. Of course he was going to come—that was the point. She wanted him to come. It was such a turn-on having him in her mouth, feeling his helpless responses to her every touch and kiss.

Who knew?

“I want to taste you,” she said resolutely, her voice sounding embarrassingly sexy even to her, and before he could respond, she went back to her task and this time didn’t let up until he cried out hoarsely, the sound filled with a crazy mix of anguish and ecstasy, and came so copiously she could barely keep up.

She loved how, during his orgasm, which looked and felt mind-blowing, his grip on her head never tightened. He never took over the rhythm or shoved himself all the way to the back of her throat. He allowed her to decide how much she was willing to take and she adored that about him. Her regard shifted to his face; his eyes were screwed shut, his head thrown back, and the cords in his neck were strained. He looked beautiful, primal and fierce, and seeing him like that sent her over the edge. She lifted her mouth from his waning hardness and cried out as she came violently and powerfully. She went limp and was dimly aware of him dragging her trembling body up until she was cradled in his lap, his softening penis fitting snugly against her bottom.

He planted little kisses all over her face and claimed her mouth for a hot, deep, very thorough kiss. Another surprise. In her—admittedly crappy—experience, guys didn’t like to kiss her after she’d gone down on them.

“Thank you,” he whispered, sounding completely drained.

“No, thank you. That was such a turn-on.”

“Hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you—” He didn’t complete the question, but she knew what he wanted to ask.

“Well, for starters, this movie blows. It’s boring as hell. So I found something more entertaining to do.” She heard the deep rumble of his chuckle beneath her ear and smiled. “I loved it. Now stop overanalyzing crap again. And you’d better get used to the bj’s, dude. Because the menu has changed and you’re now on it.”

He laughed outright at that.

“Cheesy, McGregor.”

“Give a girl a break, Carlisle. You’ve tired me out. My brain is on autopilot. And don’t change the channel—this movie is the perfect sleep aid.”

They went to bed early and, exhausted from their day of excessive sexual indulgences, they did nothing but sleep—naked and wrapped up in each other’s arms—all night long.

The following morning, Spencer cracked open an eye and groaned at the bright sunlight flooding the small bedroom. He flung an arm out, looking for Daff, wanting to introduce her to his morning wood, but she was nowhere to be found. He frowned and sat up. The room was empty.

Panicking for a moment, concerned that she was once again sporting a pair of cold feet, he flung the bedcovers aside and jumped out of bed, intent on finding her and kissing her doubts away. He was headed toward the bedroom door when it creaked open and Daff carefully shouldered her way in, clutching a breakfast tray in her hands. She looked startled to find him standing just on the other side of the door.

“Oh, you’re up,” she said, sounding a little disappointed. “I fixed us some breakfast.” His eyes swept down to the tray in bemusement. Two cups of coffee, scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. And a fresh flower in a slender vase. He peered at the flower closely.

“Is this a daffodil?” She went bright red at the question.

“It’s the only flower I could find out in the garden. Daisy planted a crapload of daffodils when she first moved in. I’m pretty sure she did it to annoy me or something. She knows I hate them. Anyway, they’re the only ones in full bloom this time of year.”

“Why do you hate them? I love Daffodil . . . s.”

Daff rolled her eyes at Spencer’s lame little quip, but he barely cracked a smile and she blinked uncertainly.

“Let me help you with that tray,” he offered, and the awkward moment slipped by. “This all looks awesome, thank you.” They retreated to the bed and sat cross-legged facing each other. Daff aimed an exasperated look at his lap.

“You couldn’t put on your pajamas?” she asked, tossing a pillow into his lap to cover up his eager erection. She was wearing his top as usual, and it was modestly tucked over her lap, concealing her from his hungry scrutiny.

“Couldn’t find them.” He shrugged. “Besides, putting them on just to take them off again seems like a waste of time and energy.”

“Uh-uh, Spencer, no time for any rumpy-pumpy this morning, boy-o. We’re taking Charlie out, remember?”

“Fuck. I forgot.” He’d made arrangements to pick her up at ten this morning, and while Charlie hadn’t seemed too enthused, Daff’s mother had ignored the girl’s surly reaction and had cheerfully agreed that Charlie would be ready and waiting for them.

“I figured. But you can’t cancel.”

“I know. I wouldn’t.” Of course he wouldn’t. He took his commitments seriously, and he would never disappoint the girl. Even if she probably wasn’t really keen on the idea of spending the day with them.

“What’s the time?” he asked while hastily gulping down his coffee.

“Eight thirty, no rush. Enjoy your breakfast.” He ignored her words and continued to gobble down his breakfast, occasionally buttering a piece of toast and hand-feeding it to her when she ate too little and too slowly for his liking. Daff rolled her eyes but accepted the offerings.

“I said there was no rush, Spencer,” she said when he’d polished off the meal in record time.

“Hmm.” He wiped an arm across his mouth, moved the tray aside, and then focused a predatory look on her. “Rush through breakfast, take my time through dessert.”

“Oh.”

In the end they wound up rushing anyway. After a lengthy and satisfying morning session, they broke all speed records to get showered and changed before dashing over to the McGregor farm in Spencer’s truck.