Zeke(20)

I need to make a move, regain some power here. I set my mug on the counter, take the cup from her hand, place it next to mine, and turn to her. “So remind me again.” I slide my hand around her waist and rest my palm on her lower back. “If we were to go out on a real date …” I add light pressure and draw her closer to me. “What were those expectations again?” Her chin lifts, ready to battle; she’s prepared to hold her power. Her mouth opens, and I stop her. “No, wait.” I place my other hand gently across her slender neck. “It’s coming back to me now,” I say, slipping my hand upward to run my thumb across her cheek. “Ah, yes.” I drag my thumb along her partially opened mouth. Her lips are smooth, like the wet peaches I just held in my hands. I salivate, dying to find out if she tastes just as succulent. I look up from her mouth. She’s watching my thumb caress her lip. Her eyes flash to mine as the warm breeze of her breath bathes my thumb. “Oh, yes. It’s the soft and gentle good night kiss at your door.” With a discreet lick of my tongue, I wet my lips. Her eyes catch the action and remain fixated. I lean in, and her mouth slowly, and ever so slightly, opens and closes a few times. Her breasts rise and fall a little faster, clear signs of a woman ready to be kissed. I need just one little taste of her ... just one. “Let’s see if I can meet your expectations, Picasso.” With the last stitch of my trying restraint, I lower my lids and close my eyes. Inhaling her sweet scent, I place my mouth gently against hers. Our flesh unites and my skin shimmers with goosebumps, but I hold strong for a few long seconds basking in the innocence of such a surprisingly sensual kiss.

As I pull away, our lips separate, and I feel that last touch of her flesh as it leaves mine.





CHAPTER TWELVE





I’m numb from the lips down. All but that small, carnal kiss runs through my body. It was perfect; exactly the kind of good night kiss I’d want from any potential suitor. But Zeke isn’t boyfriend material. He doesn’t want to be any girl’s suitor. He’s your model one-night stand kind of guy, and I find myself hungry for the kiss he’d give me if I agreed to his damn rules.

“Well,” his hooded eyes view down upon my flushing body, “did I meet your expectations, Lurlene?”

“Yes.” I smile and bat my eyes. “But I think I’d rather have been disappointed,” I admit, surprised that I said it aloud.

His hand reaches around my neck. He grabs a fistful of my hair and pulls my head back. “I can disappoint you,” he lowers his head until our mouths almost touch, “if that’s what you want, sweetheart.”

“That is what I want,” I confess before my sensibility has a chance to catch up with the rest of me.

He pulls on the wad of hair procured in his strong hand, exposing my throat. Hot lips strike my neck. He draws my pliable flesh into his mouth. Sucking me, licking me, biting me, and kissing me, my skin turns to fire and he’s the accelerant. I grip his broad shoulders and pull him closer for more. He yanks my shirt off my shoulder to feast on me there, his tongue soothing the trail of bite marks. My back arches; I need more. He pulls my shirt and bra down, and the air hits my uncovered breast. He takes my erect bead into his warm mouth. Holy shit! I let out a moan. He bites my nipple hard. I’ve had my nipples kissed and licked but never has a man bitten them so ferociously as though they belong solely to him and he’s marking them, making me his. And the harder he bites, the more it hurts, and damn, the more it’s turning me on. My knees weaken, and I fold into him.

He catches my collapsing body and yanks me against him. “Fuck, babe,” he growls and captures my mouth with his. The kiss deep and passionate, our tongues tangle and play, taunt and taste one another. Heat builds. Desire ignites. I grab his shoulder, run my hand up his nape, and clutch his short messy hair, guiding his head as I devour his lips.

“Lurlene,” he breaks from my mouth, “babe.” Breathless, he tries to pull away.

“Don’t stop.” I tighten my grip on his hair and haul him back to my mouth. I want him. I lift my legs and wrap them around his sturdy hips. I need to feel him. I squeeze my thighs and moan against his lips as his impressive hardness imbeds me. “Yes.” I grab his shoulder and grate my pelvic against his. My wetness builds.

His firm, strong hands grip my hips. “Is this what you want,” he says, grinding me harder to him. “Your clit rubbing against my cock?”

“Yes.” I breathe into his neck, clutching his hair and shoulder. This is what I want. I want to have sex with him, but if he keeps this up, I might just explode before that actually happens.