My pulse rate shot through the panoramic moonroof of the car. In a couple weeks. He wanted to make plans for a few weeks from now?
Lost for words, I stared at him for long enough that worry drew his brows together. “I mean, if you’d like to come along with me. No worries if you don’t.”
I wanted to grin—I wanted to squeal and do a happy dance and immediately call my sister for wardrobe advice. Instead, I cocked my head thoughtfully and said, “Hmm. I don’t know. Where is it?”
The flush that briefly stained his cheeks was utterly entrancing to me. “Ah, about that. You know how I pulled a string or two to get access to the British Museum’s private collection? Turns out there was a bit of quid pro quo and I promised to show up to their black-tie fundraiser. Apparently it will boost ticket sales if people think they might run into me over the prawn cocktail. It’s mad, I know. And it’ll probably be a right bore. You should give it a miss.”
Shimmying over his lap to face him more fully, I sucked in a gasp as the pressure of his erection rubbed the seam of my jeans in exactly the right spot. I bit my lip and his hands clenched on my hips.
“Are you kidding?” I breathed, scruffing my fingertips through the buzzed short hair at the back of his head. “Of course I’ll come with you. I live for prawn cocktail.”
“Anything you want,” he promised hoarsely. He spread his legs and sank down against the back of the seat until I rose over him like Venus coming out of the waves. And the way he looked up at me, as if I truly was some kind of goddess of sex—it made me giddy. Reckless. And so fucking hungry for him, I couldn’t wait another minute to have him.
“What I want,” I said, leaning down to whisper into his ear, “is for you to tell me there’s no way for that driver to see or hear what we’re doing back here.”
He swallowed visibly, the strong column of his throat moving, but I didn’t let up.
“And then I want to unzip these.” With determined boldness, I palmed the worn fly of his jeans.
Ian’s head tipped back, the muscles in his forearms standing out ropey and corded as he stared blindly at the roof of the car. My blood sang with heady power.
“And then,” I whispered, desire making me relentless and daring, “I want to swallow your cock.”
Chapter Seven
Ian growled and surged up to fasten his mouth to the pulse point in my neck, tangling a hand in my curls and tugging hard enough to sting. Somehow, it only made the fire in my belly burn hotter.
My cheeks were also burning. I couldn’t quite believe I’d said it. There was just something so dirty and fantastic about being in the back seat of this fancy car, like we were two teenagers making out on the way to prom. Except unlike my actual prom, tonight had every chance of turning out to be the best night of my life.
I pulled against Ian’s hand slightly, just to feel the sting again. His hot mouth opened on the side of my neck, teeth scraping at nerves that were already jangling with sensation. When he groaned again, I felt the rumble of it deep in his chest and it made me shudder. I wanted to hear it again. I wanted to hear it a lot.
The car slowed in traffic, and I took a moment to be grateful for the hazy darkness of the tinted glass in the windows. Because what I was about to do was definitely not street legal.
My heart nervously fluttering, I sent a questing hand down, down, down between our bodies. He sucked in a breath when my knuckles brushed his taut, muscled stomach. His gaze went slumberous and brooding when I lifted away from him enough to wedge my hand against the thick, demanding cock filling out his jeans.
But I was the one whose mouth fell open as my fingers measured his length. Sweet fancy Moses, he was huge. My hand stalled, shock reverberating through me, and my wide eyes flew up to meet his slightly rueful stare.
“Sorry,” he said, shifting his hips. “I know it’s not everyone’s cup of tea.”
I wanted to laugh and ask if he was kidding, but it seemed that, incredibly, he was not. And one-sided laughter in these moments never felt good. But I couldn’t vouch for what my face was doing when I gently answered, “I’ll learn to cope somehow.”
There was a strangely satisfied quirk to his mouth. “You’re taking the piss.”
“No, no,” I told him earnestly, walking my fingers up (and up, and up) and down (and down, and down) the rock-hard shape of him. “It might take some training, special warm-up exercises, but I’m committed to this process.”
His eyes narrowed to glittering slits. “If it’s training you want, we can start with something smaller.”
“Like a wine bottle?”
“Like my fingers.”
My brain fuzzed out with static when his big hand cupped my jaw, his callused thumb scraping gently across my lower lip. The weight of it made me hyperaware of how plush and open and wet my mouth was, practically watering at the thought of getting to taste him, and I flushed even hotter.
Locking eyes with Ian, I slowly opened my mouth and captured his thumb between my teeth. He sucked in an audible breath when I bit down delicately and his hips gave a quick, pulsing thrust that seemed involuntary.
I closed my lips around his finger and started to suck, tongue lapping at the salt-smoke taste, teeth scraping the sensitive pad. It was so suggestive, such a blatantly sexy thing to do, I had to close my eyes to keep from dying of embarrassment.
But that was a mistake, because with my eyes closed all I could do was feel. And taste. And hear—God. The quiet rasp of his breath, the shift of his hips against the butter-soft leather of the car seat, the muted roar of the powerful engine vibrating through both of us.
Ian slid his thumb out of my mouth and before I could protest he’d replaced it with two of his fingers. They filled my mouth deliciously, stretching my lips just a bit wider and making me squirm to imagine him filling me with something else. Something thicker, hotter, longer . . .
All of a sudden, I couldn’t wait another second. I drew off his fingers, savoring the slow slide against my tongue, and opened my eyes. Ian’s gaze burned into mine. His hair was mussed, and his cheeks were ruddy under his perfect tan. I leaned down to steal a quick kiss and got lost in it for a long, heart-pounding moment.
But I was a woman on a mission. Thanking God and the good folks at Mercedes-Benz for the generous space between the front seat and the back seat in this car, I slid down to kneel between Ian’s spread thighs.
When I looked up, nerves sparking in my belly, the heat of Ian’s gaze melted them instantly. He looked like he wanted to eat me alive. And God, but I wanted him to.
First things first, however.
I slid my hands up his thighs, the black denim soft beneath my palms, and savored the taut thickness of his thigh muscles straining the fabric. He was just so big, all over, and it made me shiver with delight. And a tiny bit of apprehension, if I was totally honest.
Best to grab the bull by the horn, I thought a little hysterically, and dove for his zipper.
Ian sucked in a harsh breath as I wrestled with his tight jeans. “Here, let me . . .” he grunted.
With a supple flex of his lean hips, he shifted and pulled his boxer briefs down too, groaning with relief when his cock and balls sprang free. I wanted to groan along with him, but my mouth was watering so much I was honestly afraid I might drool.
He was just so . . . big. And perfectly shaped, thick enough that my jaw ached pleasurably at the sight. He was so hard, his foreskin had rolled back to reveal the flushed, tender head. I stared, enraptured.
Apparently mistaking my awestruck gaping for discomfort, Ian immediately said, “You don’t have to, luv. I know it’s a lot.”
“It is,” I said, not taking my eyes off it. “But I’ve never wanted anything more. Um, I’ve also never been this close to an uncircumcised penis in the flesh, though, so I might not be any good at this.”
“Sweet Mallory. It’s you. Your mouth, my skin.” His tone was strained, rough with desire, and it enflamed me. “Do anything you like to me. I pr
omise I’ll like it too.”
It was exactly the permission I needed. Reaching out with bold fingers, I wrapped my hand around the meaty base of his erection and angled it toward my mouth. I licked a stripe up the underside, enjoying the texture of his skin and the salt-and-iron taste and the intensification of his natural musk. Down here, with my face in his lap, I felt surrounded by him. He overwhelmed all my senses. I wanted to live here forever.
I opened my lips and slipped them over the head, letting it bump the roof of my mouth. I bobbed my head and pulled with my fingers, and let my mouth water all it wanted so everything got wet and slippery in the best possible way. Starting up a slow, luxurious rhythm, I lost myself in the scent and taste of Ian Hale.
Above me, Ian bit off a curse. I lifted my heavy lids to gaze up at him, not letting go of my treat. His chest heaved with his breath and his huge hands were clenched by his sides, as if it was taking all his strength not to grab my head or thrust his hips. What a gentleman. It made my heart flutter a little, even as I wondered if I dared to ask for what I really wanted.
Ian hadn’t taken his eyes off my face. It was like he was afraid I’d disappear if he even blinked. Passion had blown his pupils wide and black, almost swallowing up the unearthly blue. His hips pulsed once, nudging the head of his cock against the soft back of my throat, and I swallowed reflexively.
He groaned, low and deep, and the sound made me clench around the aching emptiness between my thighs.
When I pulled off his dick to gasp in a breath, his head snapped up, concern crinkling the corners of his eyes. “Are you okay?”
Beyond words, I could only nod vigorously and dive back onto him. But this time I managed to snag one of his big, hard hands and bring it to the side of my head. Maybe that would be enough of a hint?
It was. Ian threaded careful fingers through my hair, and used them to tilt my face up to where he could see my eyes. He raised his brows. When all I did was moan pleadingly and kitten lick the tip of his cock, he cursed and gently, implacably guided me farther down his erection. The pressure of his hand, the slight tug at my hair, the smooth, heated hardness of him in my mouth—it all combined into an intoxicating swirl of sensation and tension that had to find an outlet.
Surrendering to Ian’s touch, I let the moment engulf me. The nagging voice in the back of my head, the shrill fear of being not enough or sometimes way too much, even the breathless anticipation of what might come next was all subsumed in the wave of pure physical pleasure.
Sucking him got me so hot I had to touch myself. And luckily, any inhibitions I’d ever had seemed to have been left on the sidewalk when we dived into the back of this car. So I snuck my hand down to investigate the soaked seam of my jeans, shivering a little at the brush of my own fingers on the throbbing, denim-covered flesh.
“Oh bloody hell,” Ian grated out. “Are you touching yourself while you suck me?”
I froze, humiliation scorching up the back of my neck like a blowtorch. “I’m sorry,” I blurted, pulling back.
Ian blinked once, then scowled. “What the fuck are you sorry for?” he growled. “That was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Oh.” I wiped my sweaty palms on my thighs. Trust me to shatter the sexiest moment I’d ever personally lived through. “Um, okay? My last boyfriend got annoyed when I was, um . . . distracted during blowjobs. But I can just get back to it, if you want?”
“I want. God, do I want. So many things, and most of them involve you on your knees exactly like that.” He ran both hands over his short-cropped hair in a gesture of frustration. “But I admit one or two involve finding and beating the shite out of the wanker who made you think his pleasure mattered more than yours.”
I blinked. “That . . . might be the sexiest thing anyone has ever said to me.”
And, truly inspired, I got my mouth around the hot, hard length of him and sucked furiously. I was in a frenzy; all I wanted was to taste him, to have the salt and musk of this man in the back of my throat and know down to my bones that I had made him feel good. That I had made him lose control.
Ian didn’t disappoint me. Eyes flashing, he hunched forward with a groan I could feel. Cupping my head gently in his giant hands, he whispered, “I can’t hold back.” When all I did was suck harder and drop my hand between my legs to frantically open my jeans and rub at my aching pussy, he grated out, “God, yes, do it. Make yourself come, gorgeous.” And then he shot.
Hard jets of come pulsed from him, filling my mouth before I managed to swallow it down. I’d never loved swallowing before, but there was something about the raw intensity of Ian’s release that sent me right over the edge with him. Shuddering, thighs clamping shut, I rode out the tremors of our shared orgasm.
On my knees in the back of a limo, with my hand down my pants and Ian’s massive dick still half hard in my mouth, I had the hazy thought that I’d never felt more treasured in my life.
By the time the car glided to a smooth, noiseless stop a few minutes—or hours, who knew?—later, I was sitting sideways on Ian’s lap with my head leaning on his shoulder. I’d never been with a man who could make me feel like fine porcelain, delicate—but not weak.
There was nothing weak about the pressure of his long fingers curled possessively around my hip.
The door opened as if on its own, and I immediately wondered if the smell of sex wafted out.
The chauffeur certainly didn’t betray it by the flicker of an eyelash, if so. A solidly built white guy only about ten years older than Ian, I thought, although it might have just been a more weathered, rough-hewn face. He looked more like a bodyguard than anything else, and I experienced another of those strange moments of vertigo contemplating Ian’s life.
I’d just had car sex with someone who could conceivably and legitimately need a bodyguard.
And the dizzying strangeness wasn’t over, because holy shit. A glance past the impassive driver to the street told me it was residential. One of those posh, extremely luxurious and lovely rows of quiet houses curved gently away from us. The car was parked in front of a creamy three-story building with clean lines and high, arched windows. A riotous garden nearly burst over the low brick wall in front of the bright blue door.
“Is this . . . your house?” I asked Ian, dazed.
I hadn’t exactly been thinking clearly, but if I had, I would’ve expected to be brought to a hotel. Or even my own flat. Ian Hale was notorious for guarding his privacy—it was known he lived in London, but nothing else, not even his neighborhood. And yet, here I was, staring around at a pretty Camden Town street.
I’d been right. He lived within walking distance of Primrose Hill, where we met. In the daytime, it must be visible from where we stood.
“Sorry,” he said, grimacing slightly. “I shouldn’t have assumed. Would you like to come up for a bit?”
The sweetness of this man sent a rush of confidence through my blood that was almost intoxicating. “Oh, honey,” I said softly, leaning up on my tiptoes to murmur the words into his ear, “a bit? We’re definitely going to need all night.”
His eyes fired with possessive need. “What about Pilot?”
I bit my lip and fought off a blush. “Um, you’re not the only one who made a few tiny assumptions here and there. I asked my upstairs neighbor to dogsit for the night. Pilot is fine.”
“Perfect,” Ian rumbled. He gently ushered me out of the car with a hand low on the small of my back. The sound of water shushed and murmured under the distant noise of traffic from Prince Albert Road a block away. The bustle and bright lights of London felt far away, though I knew we were still tucked right into the heart of the city.
“Thanks, Bobby,” Ian said to the driver, exchanging a quick, familiar handshake with the man. “This is Mallory Pritchard. Mallory, Robert Martin, one of the best men behind the wheel that you will ever meet.”
“Retired stunt driver,” Bobby confirmed, tipping two fingers against his nonexistent chauffeur hat
.
“What an interesting job,” I replied, my mind suddenly whirring with questions, but I reined it in. “Thank you for the rescue back there.”
“Yeah, Bobby is the real hero here, I think we can all agree,” Ian said, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’m in for the night, mate. Tell Felicia I said thank you for the cottage pie.”
“She would’ve sent along enough to share,” the driver said, a smirk tugging at his hard mouth, “had she known you were having company.”
For some reason, I blushed at this gentle teasing, but Ian wouldn’t let me play it off casually. Interlacing our fingers together, he locked eyes with me and said, “I didn’t know myself, until she said yes.”
“Miss, I feel I must warn you,” Bobby said gravely as I stared back into Ian’s mesmerizing gaze. “He’s not usually this slick.”
“Oi, don’t be telling all my secrets,” Ian protested, towing me up the walk behind him while I snickered.
“It’s okay, I already figured that one out on my own,” I told him, waving goodbye at Bobby’s delighted face before Ian whisked me inside and shut the blue door behind us.
Ian pivoted and pressed me up against the door, his big, hard body a wall of heat and strength at my front. “Cheeky,” he grunted, his nose brushing my temple.
The sound of doggy toenails clattering on hardwood preceded Roxanne into the foyer. The big, muscular dog pranced up to us as if her paws were on springs, tongue lolling and eyes bright with happiness at seeing her human. I was treated to a minute examination with her sensitive nose, inspecting me for any messages from Pilot or hidden treats. Ian and I both simultaneously knelt to say hello, and as our hands smoothed over Roxanne’s stout, well-groomed body, my heart swelled with delight. It was just so . . . domestic.
I shivered, my skin instantly feeling oversensitized and too small for my body. Ian looked over with a crinkle between his brows.
“Are you cold? I’m crap at playing host, sorry. Come here, come inside. I’ll get you a cuppa.”
Naughty Brits: An Anthology Page 31