“Do it.” He groans, clutching my waist and flexing his hips beneath me. “Grind on me.”
The melody spirals through my core, gathering a sensual energy deep inside me that builds and spreads outward, lifting my ribcage and rolling my pelvis.
His fingers dig against my skin, and his breaths fall out of rhythm. I hold his gaze, communicating with my eyes how much I adore him, how I love when he watches me, and how I’m going to come, just like this, grinding on his hard-as-steel cock.
I keep my movements small and unhurried, letting the pulse of the song carry me over his shaking body. I hold my hair on top of my head, my arms framing my face as I let go and ride the tempo. Gravity does the rest, driving me against him and pushing my clit along his erection.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful.” The intensity of his eyes bores into mine, and his hands skim upward, beneath the shirt, cupping and kneading my breasts. “So soft and strong at the same time. A fantasy and a reality. You’re a hell of a woman.”
His gravelly words shove me to the edge, and I hover there, rocking and panting and reaching…
His arm snaps up, and he grips my throat, pulling my mouth to his. I choke against the collar of his hand, mouth gaping as he licks my lips, thrusts against my clit, and propels me into a writhing, trembling, gasping orgasm.
Pleasure crashes through me for endless, strangling breaths before he releases my throat and hugs me to his chest.
“Watching you come is such a fucking turn-on.” He kisses my neck, my cheek, then moves to devour my mouth.
I pull back, twitching with the remnant sparks of bliss. The sexy song serenades me as I slide down his chest, eyes locked on his and lips curling with naughty intent. I grip his waistband, taking the boxers with me as I move down his legs.
He lifts his hips, easing the removal of that last scrap of clothing. The fact that he hasn’t spoken or tried to stop me is a testament to how badly he wants this. The moment he’s naked, I don’t make him wait.
Kneeling between his legs, I lower my head and take him fully into my mouth. He hits the back of my throat, and a low, needy grown vibrates in his chest.
Then I suck him, relaxing my throat, working my fist on his shaft, and massaging his balls.
His hands fly to my hair, controlling the pace and depth as he whispers commands in his deep, eloquent voice. “Faster…tighten your fingers… Fuck. That’s it…roll your tongue…so fucking good… Goddamn, Danni. I’m almost there…”
I keep my gaze on his, lost in the pleasure glowing on his expression. His thighs shake beneath my hand, and the sinews in his neck stretch with the bow of his spine.
“Fuck!” He slams against the back of my throat and stiffens with a long guttural grunt.
The force of his climax fills my mouth, and I swallow, licking his glans and sucking softly as he comes down from his groaning high.
“Incredible.” His chest heaves, and the fingers in my hair loosen.
I climb up his chest and spread kisses across his lips. “What’s incredible is how you can whisper Suck me harder and make it sound like a love song.”
He chuckles into my mouth, and the kiss that follows flows through my blood like a drug. I’m addicted to this man, an addiction that transcends lust and orgasms and physical attraction. Not only do I need his love, I need his patience and dominance, the kind only he can give me. It’s a soul-deep craving, one I will always come back for, again and again.
The kiss lasts forever and ends too soon. He sits up, pulling me with him as he straightens the oversized shirt around my shoulders.
“You’re staying here tonight.” He pulls on his boxers and reaches toward the nightstand to silence the music. “I already sent a message to Cole.”
This is so weird. I’m thrilled they’re communicating, but it feels as if they’re discussing my schedule like parents with joint-custody.
“I decide where I stay.”
I don’t know why I bother saying anything. One, he’s more stubborn than I am. And two, the little workout I just performed on his lap didn’t help the lethargic fog that’s taken up residence in my body. I don’t want to go anywhere tonight.
I decide to pick a different battle, one I’m far more interested in. “I want to see your texts.”
“Which texts?” He grabs the TV remote and reclines back against the pillows.
He knows which texts, and his phone is probably in the pocket of his pants on the floor. I eye the crumpled pile, wait a beat, and dive for it.
The moment I find it, I turn back toward him, expecting him to snatch it away. But he hasn’t moved, doesn’t even look at me as he scrolls through the channels on the TV.