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With a Hitch

Page 23

by RC Boldt


  I release a disgruntled whimper and nip at his lip before soothing it with the tip of my tongue. Instantly, his fingers tighten, tugging on the hair at my nape with a delicious pressure, silently communicating his need.

  He turns us around, switching our positions to trap me between his firm body at my front and the wall to my back. My taut nipples press against the hard wall of his chest. He angles his head, his tongue delving inside to spar with my own. It’s impossible to restrain a ragged moan at finally tasting him, the faint traces of the breath mint he must’ve popped in his mouth after dinner still lingering on his tongue.

  I clutch at him, fisting my hands in the smooth fabric of his shirt before I impatiently tug it from his waistband. His lips and tongue partake in a frenzied, sensual dance with mine as the desperation to touch him, to have my hands on his skin, overwhelms me. Once my fingertips dive beneath both the dress shirt and his plain cotton undershirt to graze along the sides of his ridged abdominals, he groans beneath my touch.

  The kiss turns even hotter, more devouring, as though he can’t seem to get enough. The pressure of his lips on mine, the sensation of his tongue tangling with my own when he detours briefly to take my bottom lip between his two and suckle it all serve to increase the wetness pooling between my thighs.

  Dax kisses much like he does anything he puts his mind to: with one hundred percent concentration and dedication.

  One hand skims down my side before it gathers the fabric of my dress and glides up my thigh before veering off to the center to cup me over my panties. I gasp against his mouth when he traces a long, thick finger along the crease of my entrance. He breaks the kiss, chest rising and falling with labored breaths. His eyes burn hot, singeing me with its fierce intensity.

  “Is this for me?” His gravelly voice curls around me. His finger skims over the fabric that’s already incredibly damp from my arousal, and he lowers his mouth to my ear. As he draws my earlobe between his teeth while simultaneously dragging a finger over my clit, then lower to nudge his finger inside me through the fabric, I gasp audibly.

  “So wet,” he whispers on a ragged breath. “You like this?” He presses his finger deeper. “You want more?”

  “Yes,” I say breathlessly. I arch into his touch, aching for him to slide beneath my panties and touch me, skin to skin.

  “Fuuuck.” Gritting out the word as though he’s in pain, he presses harder against the fabric with two fingers now, more insistent. A sharp intake of breath is all I can manage as I clutch at him and shamelessly press myself against his probing fingers.

  “You’re so goddamn wet.” His teeth tug on my earlobe. “So responsive.” His tongue soothes where his teeth abraded my skin. “Trying to fuck my fingers like that.” His tongue traces a path along the shell of my ear, and shivers shimmy down the length of my spine. “I can’t. Get. Enough.”

  When he lowers himself to his knees on the thick carpeted floor, I gaze at him in a sensual haze. Those hypnotic eyes gleam when they tangle with mine as if gauging my reaction while he slowly slides my dress up my legs and over my hips.

  Once I’m bared to him, his attention is drawn to my panties. Those honey-colored eyes darken at the sight of the fabric dampened with my arousal and clinging to me. He bites his bottom lip with a look of anticipation, and I’m caught by surprise at the mischievous hint of a smile that tempts his lips.

  “Darcy Cole,” he breathes. “You’re so fucking beautiful.” His eyes lift to mine, expression sobering. “In. Every. Way.” My heart stutters in my chest at his emphatic tone as if he’s attempting to convince me of this.

  Drawing my legs wider apart, he slides his hands up my thighs before leaning in closer to my core. His thumbs, bracketed on either side of my pussy, trace back and forth over the smooth fabric of my panties. “I can’t wait to make you come.”

  My knees grow weak, and I’m grateful for the wall’s support at my back. His gaze—hot, hungry, and possessive—holds me transfixed.

  I can’t help but remark on a ragged breath, “I don’t know about you, but in my experience, panties usually need to come off first.”

  His mouth stretches into the most heart-stopping, wicked grin. “Ah, but it’s not nearly as fun.”

  Eyes flaming with heated lust, he dips his head and drags his tongue along my entrance before placing his lips over my clit and sucking. I didn’t think it possible, but the layer of fabric between his mouth and my pussy serves to heighten my desperate need for more contact.

  He releases my clit only to move lower and stab his tongue inside me, my panties creating an added friction. His thumb finds my clit to circle it in maddening motions.

  His name falls breathlessly from my lips. “Dax.” My eyes fall closed, and I splay my palms flat against the wall as my hips rock instinctively into his touch. When he adds a second finger, pressing as deep as the fabric will allow, I choke out a gasp.

  “That’s it, Duchess. Show me how badly you want it.” His hot breath ricochets against my skin with each word. The wet heat of his mouth incinerates me. When he increases the pressure on my clit, my muscles clench in anticipation, my body edging closer to release. He adds a third finger, the thick digits pressing in and out insistently, increasing the pace, and I teeter on the precipice. He’s relentless, tonguing my clit while his fingers continue their probing thrusts.

  “Dax.” My own voice sounds ragged to my own ears. “Dax,” I repeat in warning. It’s all I can manage to utter.

  In response, he speeds up his motions to send me flying over the edge, my inner muscles tightening around his fingers. Body bowed, my eyes fall closed. My lips part on a silent gasp before I clamp them shut to muffle my keening moan as pleasure crashes over me. My hips cant as I strain for more, shamelessly thrusting myself against his tongue and fingers as I ride out the waves of my climax.

  Once I finally find the strength to open my eyes, he’s still between my legs with his attention riveted on where my soaked panties cling to me. With what appears to be reverence, his eyes drift closed as he presses a kiss directly on my core.

  He leans back a fraction, lust-darkened eyes darting up to meet mine. At his expression of blatant male satisfaction, a whimper escapes me. With a tenderness that does something odd to my heart, he carefully lowers my dress and smooths it back in place before rising to his feet. Suddenly, I’m overcome with an unfamiliar sense of nervousness.

  “So…” I say awkwardly. Embarrassment batters away at me over the fact that my sister, Becket, and the baby are downstairs, and I just came from Dax’s fingers and tongue.

  He grins, flashing me that dimple. “So…” he repeats softly. “How about I give you a ride home tonight?”

  I frown. “Home?” Crap. I honestly thought maybe he’d want to—

  “My home.”

  My lips form an O. “Riiiight.” I internally plead for divine intervention to prevent me from sounding like more of an imbecile. “Your home.”

  He skims his lips over mine. “I want you in my bed.” Another light dusting of his lips over mine. “Wet.” He grazes my bottom lip with his teeth before leaning back. “What do you say, Duchess?”

  I tip my head to the side with a smirk. “No panties this time?”

  His slow-forming grin, so full of boyish mischief, has my heart stuttering. “No panties allowed.”

  “Let’s go.”

  32

  Darcy

  Hitched® Tip #9:

  Be a giver. A giver of your love, time, and efforts.

  ♥

  I keep wondering if I should feel nervous because I’m embarking on something so new, so different, and with someone I could never have predicted I’d be in this position with.

  Dax Kendrick. The man who graces ads galore. Whose face and well-honed body are plastered on billboards and displayed on TV commercials.

  My friend.

  I glance over at his profile as he navigates the streets leading to his house. One hand rests on the steering wheel, commanding i
t with his large, competent grip. The fingers of the other interlace with mine.

  I drop my eyes to our joined hands, and I find myself fascinated by the sight of his neatly trimmed nails at the ends of long, tapered, thick fingers. The fact that he was the one to reach for me, to take initiative for that connection, sends warmth flooding through me.

  I part my lips to ask him what it all means but then pause. The last thing I want is to come off needy. Like one of those women who needs everything definitively defined. If this is just one night and we’re scratching an itch, I’m okay with it.

  I can’t lie to myself and say I don’t yearn for it to be more, though.

  I withhold a sigh and turn to face my window. I can do this. If whatever this is expires tomorrow, I’ll pull up my big girl panties and be nonchalant. I’ll go back to normal. I’ll return to the task of finding him his perfect match.

  I wince at the thought, a sudden barrage of searing pain radiating through the center of my chest.

  “Hey.” His low tone draws my attention. When I turn to look at him, his eyes are trained on the road. “What are you thinking so hard about over there?”

  “Noth—” I stop short at the sharp look he gives me. It practically says, Don’t bullshit me. With a long sigh, I turn back to my window. “I’m just rationalizing.”

  “Rationalizing,” he repeats slowly. “About…?”

  “This. Tonight.” I’m grateful we’re nearly at his house because this is becoming awkward as hell. I hastily add, “Just so you know, I won’t be clingy or anything tomorrow.”

  His only response is silence thick enough to suffocate us within the truck’s interior. Approaching his driveway, he presses the button on his dash to open the garage door and quickly pulls inside.

  He turns off the ignition but makes no move to get out. With an indecipherable expression painted on his features, he turns to face me.

  “What do you think this is, Darcy?” He poses the question quietly in an oddly hushed tone.

  I search his features for even the barest hint of what might be going on in that brain of his but come up short. “I assume this is just us acting on something. Scratching an itch. Nothing serious.” Like that night, I tack on silently.

  “Is that what you want?” His eyes bore into mine with an intensity that has me hesitating with my answer.

  No. No, that’s not what I want. But I’m scared. With any other guy, I would be speaking my mind freely, laying out all my cards on the table. Because, looking back, I realize I never had anything to lose. I was never truly invested.

  But with Dax, so much more is at risk here. It feels like I’m embarking on a tedious, emotional tightrope of a path with him. Hesitantly, carefully outstretching my leg to place my toe on the rope. Knowing that with one wrong move, one misstep, I stand to lose everything. Losing him would be significantly more devastating than being dropped by a client.

  For the first time, I’ve allowed myself to truly open up to a guy and make myself vulnerable to him, so for him to turn me away would eviscerate me.

  Dax is the first man I’ve been tempted to risk it all for.

  But, predictably, fear wins out. I drop my gaze from his and cross my fingers before I whisper, “Yes,” in the silence of the vehicle. A questioning lilt lingers at the end of my answer, and I pray he doesn’t detect it.

  The silence is deafening. Once I find the fortitude to risk looking at him, my breath hitches.

  He wears an expression of fierce determination, similar to the images that photographers capture while he’s on the field with the ball snug in his hold.

  “Darcy Cole,” he murmurs quietly. His gaze radiates scorching heat, eliciting goose bumps in its wake, and my throat goes bone-dry. “I hope you know”—he lifts our joined hands to press his lips on top of mine, maintaining our locked eyes—“I accept it as a challenge to change your mind.”

  A whoosh of breath escapes my lips at his words. Dax is making his intentions clear. Because he believes I don’t want more.

  He has no idea how wrong he is. I want more. I want it all. I’m just terrified to admit it.

  Deep down, I’m still that same fifteen-year-old girl without a family who had everything ripped from her. The one who learned the hard way never to let her guard down.

  The girl who experienced a harsh lifelong lesson that left its vile imprints on her soul.

  He releases my hand and turns to exit the truck. I follow suit, and once I circle the rear of the vehicle, he’s waiting with a hand extended. I slide mine into his, and wordlessly, he yanks me toward him, sending me stumbling into his arms.

  His fingers sink into my hair and cradle my head to guide my lips to meet his. His kiss contains a unique combination of urgency and tenderness. When I nip softly at his lush bottom lip, he makes a rough sound in the back of his throat, instantly deepening the kiss.

  His other hand glides along the length of my spine before smoothing over my ass, cupping me and pulling me even closer. The kiss turns feverish, more urgent, the unmistakable hunger evoking flickers of heat between my legs. His hard cock presses insistently against my stomach.

  The pressure of his lips eases from mine, and he backs away slightly, drawing my moan of protest. A smirk plays at his lips, but it’s at odds with the blazing-hot hunger in his eyes. “If we don’t stop, there’s a good chance I’ll end up fucking you against my truck.”

  The rough, gravelly quality of his heavy, lust-filled words has me sucking in a ragged breath. I raise a fingertip to my lips and tap them, feigning thoughtfulness. “It would be a little uncomfortable against my back, but it might— Hey!”

  I’m lifted, my legs draped over his arms while the other arm bands around my torso, holding me snug against his chest. “Behave, woman.” His low, husky growl sends shivers along my spine. His tone serves not as a warning but a decadent promise of what’s to come.

  He disarms the security system and enters the house. I wordlessly slide off my heels and carefully drop them onto the mat inside the door, where a pair of sneakers and leather flip-flops sit. He toes off his own shoes before striding up the stairs to his bedroom. He moves with far more ease than I’d expect from a man who’s lugging a five-foot-nine woman. Then again, he probably benches double my weight at the gym.

  I’m gently laid back on his bed, my knees dangling over the edge of the mattress. The comforter and sheets are half turned down, much as they were when I’d spent the night of my birthday.

  Moonlight trickles in through the slight gap in the venetian blinds, illuminating the man before me. Eyes hazy with lust, I drink in the sight of him. His chest rises and falls steadily, cock straining against the material of his pinstriped pants encasing those large, solid-muscled thighs.

  “You have to stop looking at me like that.” His clipped words indicate he’s barely holding on to his restraint.

  I rise slightly, resting on my elbows, and lift my chin to gesture to his pants. “I think you should lose the pants.” A naughty smirk forms at my lips. “While you’re at it, might want to lose the shirt, too.”

  One edge of his mouth hitches up. “That so?”

  I nod. “Uh-huh.”

  His heated gaze scorches a path down my body, and he steps closer, forcing my legs wider. Large palms skim the outside of my legs and drift upward. Our eyes remain locked, the intensity of passionate lust in his gaze making it impossible to look away.

  His hands duck beneath my dress, hitching the fabric higher as they glide up farther. A mischievous glint sparks in his eyes. “You need to remember who’s in charge here.”

  “Oh?” My attempt at a playful tone ends up high-pitched and wispy when his fingers tuck beneath the waistband of my panties. He tugs them down over my knees and slides them off. His movements become more insistent and less patient when he slides my dress up my body.

  “Wait.” I stop him to shift. “There’s a zipper here.” I reach for the pull on the side of the dress, but he gently moves my hand away to do it
himself. He draws the zipper down slowly as though he’s unwrapping a present and anticipating the surprise so much that he wants to savor the moment. Once he’s unfastened my dress, he slides it off me and discards it to join my panties on the floor.

  His lips quirk as he looks down at me. “So, that’s what you were talking about, huh?”

  With dismay, I realize he’s referring to the adhesive nipple covers. God, this is embarrassing. They’re not exactly the sexiest thing for a guy to see. “Oh my God.” I wince, pulling them free and tossing them aside. A flush of heat spreads across my cheeks as I brave a look at him. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be.” The slow burn of heat in his gaze sets me at ease. Hands grip my hips to guide me to scoot back on the bed. He lifts my legs to place both my feet flat on the mattress, my thighs bracketing either side of him. The cool air washes against my bare pussy.

  “Are you planning for me to be the only one naked?” I ask nervously.

  His mouth forms a wicked smile that sends a surge of slick arousal gathering between my spread thighs. “You want me naked?”

  I attempt a flippant response to battle my nerves. “Well, I sure wouldn’t mind it.”

  His entire face transforms, humor crinkling the corners of his eyes, and he laughs. “Then your wish is my command.”

  He looks sexy as hell, so damn handsome, and I’m assailed by the fiercest sensation of yearning. I’d give just about anything to experience this—Dax peering down at me with that mixture of lust, affection, and humor with that sparkle in his eyes and that adorable dimple making an appearance—again.

  Maybe even for the rest of my life.

  33

  Dax

  I’ve never had a woman look at me like this.

  Don’t get me wrong, having women undress me with their eyes or those who blatantly come out and tell me they want to get me naked isn’t foreign. With Darcy, though, I know she doesn’t just want to fuck an NFL player or a guy who’s on TV, on billboards, or in commercials.

 

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