“I know you want to take things slow. I can respect that even if I don’t want to participate in the same restraint.” She smiles, then lets her shirt float to the ground. She reaches behind her back to unzip the skirt and steps out of it, exposing a blue lacy thong that matches the bra I saw earlier. Her body is tight and beautiful, kissable, more than fuckable. “You do owe me, though,” she says, more confidently than I thought her capable of. All I can do is nod my head up and down like some sort of Neanderthal. I’m focused on the panties—that match my sheets, that match her eyes.
I swallow and shake off the fucking trance that is Windsor Forbes. I have a damned job to do. And by the looks of her, I better do it well or I’m in fucking trouble. She drags one finger over a chaise in the corner of the room and my gaze is glued to her every movement. I couldn’t look away if I had bullets flying at my head. It’s like she’s a mirage or something perfect my mind conjured. This woman is made for me. She looks at me sideways, and continues her slow walk around the room. Like she’s at a museum instead of in my fucking bedroom walking around practically naked. A growl rips from my throat.
“Get. Over. Here. Now,” I order, standing from the bed. That gets her attention. Her slim body glides toward me. And it’s like this slow motion moment.
It happened once when I was down range. The convoy in front of us hit an IED and the Humvee blew into a million pieces. It was a moment of pure clarity when I knew exactly what the outcome would be. When the bomb blew, I knew everyone in the vehicle would be dead. Now, watching Windsor approach, I know the outcome of whatever is happening between us. I’m falling for her. And there is no fucking stopping it.
Standing in front of me, she takes off her bra. She hooks both of her thumbs onto the sides of her panties and pulls them down slowly. She’s bare. Her creamy, tan skin is flawless. This sight—of her naked in front of my bed –is my new favorite thing in the entire universe. She merely stands there, hands by her sides, a half smirk on her face, waiting for me to make the next move. She’s handing over the reins. Fortunately for her, I’m more than willing to take them.
I cock my head and push my lips to one side. “Guess it’s time to settle old debts then?” The display of mock irritation makes her laugh out loud. She throws her hands out in a what can you do motion. Windsor crawls over and kneels in the middle of my bed.
I change my mind. This is my favorite thing. The tiny landing strip at top of her pussy is mouthwatering. I keep my jeans on and walk on my knees to meet her front on.
She gives me a little frown. I brush the tiny crease between her eyebrows with my finger. “Slow,” I remind her. Her cool fingers grab the front of my jeans and underwear and jerk me forward. One of her fingers rubs the tip of my dick. I suck in a breath through my teeth. “If they come off, I’ll be buried in you before you take your next breath,” I whisper.
“Maybe that’s what I want,” she replies.
“Kiss me,” I order. I know I can distract her with my mouth. She leans up on her knees and presses every inch of her bare skin against me. Tracing my lips with her tongue, she rubs her tits on my chest. It is so fucking hot. I grab her sweet ass in my hands, rubbing it at the same tempo she’s moving. She moans into my mouth. I bring one hand around and find her sweet, wet pussy. Her mouth stops moving against mine at first contact. Her blue eyes open and her gaze meets mine. She spreads her knees to give me better access to her.
Carefully, I dip a finger into her. She is sopping wet and tight. Too tight for my dick, I’m sure of it. Not that I plan on putting my dick anywhere near her pussy. At least not today. Which is unfortunate because I want her so bad it hurts.
But this is about her and her alone. She’s breathing with her mouth open, tiny pants of pleasure. I drag my middle finger against her channel making a come here gesture with my finger. A tiny whimper escapes between breaths. My cock twitches. Leaning her head on my shoulder, she rocks her hips into my hand, trying to get my finger to go deeper.
“You’re so tight, Win. You feel so fucking good,” I say, crooking my finger, creating the perfect pressure against her wall.
She pulls away from me, her hands still on my shoulders and moans. I look down, because now I can see everything. My finger disappearing inside her, the way she grips my finger when I pull out a little.
Windsor makes some indistinguishable noise and I know how good I’m making her feel. If my finger wasn’t dripping wet, her face would give it away. Her gaze falls down to watch me work my finger in her, and I fucking love that she’s watching. “You like that?” I ask. All she can do is nod her approval. “Lay down,” I say, inhaling the scent of her hair. I want all of her scents in me, on me, smothering me.
She makes a move to slide back but pauses. “Don’t move your hand,” she breathes. I can’t help but smile—the big one.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, baby,” I say, pushing in my middle finger as far in as it will go. The moan that comes this time is loud. Her back hits the bed and I am on her in an instant. Her pink nipples are hard. Which means they need to be in my fucking mouth. I lick and suck each one. And just because I can’t help it, I cover her mouth with another kiss. I want to taste all of her whimpers and moans. Memorize them.
I circle her wet clit with my thumb and really start the tempo. Brushing my tongue down her throat and back to her perky tits, I make my way lower. When my mouth finds her belly button, I lift my gaze to find her watching me. It’s always like this. It’s the silent asking for permission to go downtown. Some women are funny about it.
“Yes, yes. My God, yes,” she says in one rushed breath. Access granted. I smile up at her, but she just throws her head back and whimpers. I never stop moving my fingers and I know she’s close. I can see it.
I replace my thumb with my tongue. I suck on her clit and flick it with the tip of my tongue at the same time. She raises her hips. I push them back down to hold her in place. Very slowly, and also very carefully, I insert another finger into her. I can feel her hips trying to move.
“That feels so good,” she moans, grabbing my hair, pulling my face closer to her. I work my fingers a little faster, but always keep the same tempo with my tongue. That’s the key. My mouth is so wet from her, and she tastes so sweet that my head is clouding. Usually when I go down on a girl I can think about other things, not right now though. I have single-minded focus.
When her whimpers grow a little more quiet I know I’m about to make her fucking thighs tingle. I hook both fingers and rub her spot. She yells out. It echoes in my room, and I think it’s probably the loudest and sweetest sound that has ever come from my bedroom. Her whole body stiffens, and I let her hips go so she can fuck herself with my fingers to her heart’s content. Her pussy grips my fingers over and over and over; it’s the orgasm that went on and on and I’m the one who gave it to her. She flops down, totally spent, breathing hard, her eyes closed tightly.
I slip my fingers out of her, after the spasms stop. I leave my mouth on her, knowing how sensitive she is right now. She sighs, this contented, happy fucking sigh, and it rocks me to my core. I lick her wet slit, wanting to taste it directly. I grab under her thighs and drag her to me until her legs rest on my shoulders. I drive my tongue into her and the taste is indescribably good. She shudders. I look up to find her arms propped behind her head, her eyes on me.
“Do you have any idea how good that feels?” she asks. I lick her from the bottom all the way up to her clit in one stroke. A quiet moan escapes her mouth. Her cheeks are flushed. She looks perfectly fucked. My bulging dick contests that idea.
“Not exactly, but I have some idea,” I reply, lapping a few more straight trails up and down, only stopping to stick my tongue in her as far as it will go on my way by. Her pussy looks like perfection. “Do you know how good you taste?” I ask. She shakes her head.
Making sure my lips and tongue are coated in her, I slide my body up to come face to face with her. I smile. She smiles. I kiss her. She sucks my lips more than
she kisses. When my tongue enters her mouth, she sucks that too. She grabs my fingers, the ones that were just inside her, and she sucks them. It’s like my fingers are directly connected to my cock because when I feel her warm mouth sucking them, my hips rock into her, hoping to find a wet hole to play in. She bites my fingers a little. I rock into her again.
“You should take your pants off and try that,” she says. I lick her neck and bite her ear lobe.
“Slow,” I remind her. Even though right now I want nothing more than to bury myself in her and call it home, lock the door, and never leave.
“You’re the first guy I’ve ever let do….that,” she says, pointing down and then licking my mouth.
Pure male pride courses through me at the thought of being the only one. It’s like I own it. Just because I feel like it, I drop down and kiss her directly on her pussy lips. I smile my widest smile when I see her smiling at me.
Sighing, she says, “Also, do you have any idea how your dimples affect me? Not only can I not think straight, but I can’t tell you no either.” I run my hands from her breasts all the way down the sides of her body, stopping at her thighs. Goosebumps rise on her skin everywhere I touch.
“I like responsive,” I say.
“Too responsive?” she asks, furrowing her eyebrows. I shake my head in disbelief.
“You can never be too responsive. You probably can’t help yourself now that you know what my tongue can do,” I joke. Something mischievous flickers in her eyes. “Not even if you beg,” I say, reading her mind directly correlating with the look in her eyes.
“It’s only fair that I reciprocate, Mav,” she says. Dick twitch. He’s raising his hand. His turn. His turn. If her face gets an inch away from my cock, I’m sure I’ll explode and embarrass the hell out of myself. That’s not a problem I’ve ever considered. I’m breaking all the fucking rules today. I have more problems now than I’ve ever had.
Windsor grabs my jeans and has them unbuttoned and unzipped before the word “no” can come out of my mouth. Which is just as well, because I may be able to stave off putting my dick inside her, but a blowjob is something I don’t think any male can refuse.
“Please let me suck your cock.” Especially when your girl is begging for it.
Standing I pull off my jeans and boxer briefs in one swoop. I stand there, giving Windsor the opportunity she gave me. Her lead. This is her show now. She bites her fucking lip. Another dick twitch. My balls are in her hands and my cock is in her wet mouth a few seconds later.
I immediately regret standing up because my knees feel like they’re going to buckle at any second. I fist her long hair, but I don’t push her down, I let her swallow it at her own pace. And it is a fucking perfect pace. I look down and there it is. The sight a million wet dreams were made of. Blue eyes, full of emotion, staring up at me, sucking my dick. Her tiny hand pumps the bottom of my shaft and the other hand grazes my ball sack. It feels even better than it did when it was only a mental image.
I can’t resist; I push her head a little bit and she takes my cock deeper. It’s so warm and so wet. Her mouth was made to suck my dick. She keeps her hand moving and licks the sides, the bottom, the tip, around the edges, like a fucking lollipop before sliding it back in her mouth, all the way to the back. There’s no way she can fit my whole package in her mouth; it’s big. Windsor gets an A for effort. She gets an A for everything because I’m already about to fucking come. I knew it would be quick, but this is a new Maverick record.
I rock my hips into her mouth and tighten my grip on her head. Should I give her the gentlemanly tap? Usually I don’t. I tap the back of her head a few times, the telltale I’m-going-to-blow-my-load-any-second signal and she speeds up her pumping hand. Green light. I tilt my head up and close my eyes as I come, like a fucking geyser, down her throat. My legs feel weak. I look down to watch her swallow the last of it. Sex, even almost sex, is the best damn kind of messy. Her spit and my come are all over her…and me. Windsor stands, wipes her mouth off the back of her hand, and then leaps into my arms. I collapse back on the bed, taking her with me.
“That was the best not sex of my life. Just so you know,” I say, still trying to rein in my breathing. She props herself up on her elbows to look at me, a huge smile stretching across her satisfied face.
“Seriously? That really means something…given your extracurricular activities. I’m sort of honored,” she replies. She does this tiny fake bowing motion. What I want to say is that she could have given me the worst blow job of my life—all teeth with no clue what the fuck she was doing –and it still would have been better than a deep throating porn star. Because it’s her. I don’t say that though.
“I’m serious,” I say, kissing her shoulder because it’s bare and it’s right there taunting me. “You are amazing.” She kisses me back, whispering sweet things in my ear. She gets under the sheets and lies down on my side of the bed. I change my mind for the third and final time. This is my new favorite sight. This time though? It scares me.
And then I know. I’ve fumbled with my fucked up thoughts long enough to know why I can’t fuck Windsor. If I do, what I feel would be too real—because it won’t be fucking or bagging or laying pipe.
It will be making love. And then she will own me forever without even knowing it.
Chapter Twelve
Windsor
“If I knew you could cook I probably wouldn’t have disappeared on Halloween,” I say, teasing. I feel like a real bitch for that move. Making fun of it makes me feel better. Hopefully it makes him feel better too.
I’m sitting at his dining table, an industrial chrome masterpiece, wearing only his t-shirt. He’s making lunch. A very late lunch. We just left his bedroom for the first time in three hours. I’m all weak-limbed and deliriously happy. We didn’t even have sex. Oh, but now I can picture it so vividly that it’s almost enough. Almost. I have never thrown caution to the wind like I did with Maverick. The liberating feeling was a rush. I didn’t worry about if I was doing something right or if my butt looked big. He made me feel comfortable in my own skin without even trying.
“How exactly did you disappear that night? A security guard told me you left in a taxi, which I’m beginning to think is not a fact,” Maverick says.
“Your human lie detector must be off kilter.” I smile. “Gretchen picked me up. She owed me that night for…well, you remember what happened,” I trail off. So damn embarrassing. He turns back to the stove and I take this opportunity to check my messages.
“You should really be a little more thankful. I think she does fine work,” he says, laughing. I groan.
It’s not because Maverick seems to have forgotten about the second-degree burns Gretch graced me with, but my mother called and texted me today. One of them reads I need you. She’s stooping to new levels to get my attention. She couldn’t be bothered to call or visit or be a mother during most of my formative years, but now she needs me. She wants me to visit her.
I sigh. “I have to visit my Mom soon. I read on Google that Navy SEALs go through some pretty horrible, intense training. You don’t sleep for days, they torture you, and so on.” I swallow. I’m about to ask him something I never thought I’d ask anyone else for the rest of my life. “I know you have some time off before you leave, you know, to deploy. Do you want to partake in my personal brand of torture? Maybe visit Kathy with me?” He’s leaving in a month. I think it’s the first time I’ve said it out loud. It’s sort of scary, and odd because I have no idea what I expect when he leaves. Will he pause the relationship and we’ll just pick back up when he returns? “I have no idea why she wants me to visit. We’re like oil and water. She’s horrible, Maverick.”
Still shirtless, he comes over to me. He lifts my chin up. “I would be delighted to meet your mom. If she’s half as horrible as you make her sound maybe I can scare her a little for you. Throw off the bad guy vibe,” he tells me, flashing his dimples. “I wanted to ask you to come on a trip with me before I l
eft anyway. We can stop in Georgia before we head out. If you say yes.”
I scoff. Is he serious? “A secret trip and you’re wondering if I’ll go? Of course I’ll go. That actually makes me feel a little better about visiting Kathy. I know it’s just a means to an end. I even have vacation days to use. Where are we going?” I ask.
“I have a training trip in San Diego. There’ll be a lot of down time though, so I want to take you with me. You like the beach and dolphins right?” He remembers my long ramble from our horrible first date. He sits down in the chair opposite from me.
“I love the beach and dolphins. Do you love the beach and dolphins?” I ask, but he knows I’m asking a much bigger question. What the hell does he like? I feel like he never gives out details unless I ask for them. He’s so internal in all ways.
“I actually do like the beach, even though I’ve spent many a nights freezing my balls off in it. I won’t go in the Pacific without a wet suit, though.” The huge smile crinkles his eyes. “Dolphins are okay, but they can be mean too. We have trained dolphins that help catch bad guys in the water. Training with them is painful. I got a cracked rib one night,” he explains and I just kind of stare at him blankly. Normal isn’t something that will ever be associated with Maverick. Getting used to that will take some time. “I can show you them when we visit, if you want.”
“Wow. Okay,” I reply. I look around his spectacular home filled with very expensive, yet tasteful furnishings, and wonder what exactly I’ll find if I can peel away a few more layers of Mr. T. H. Stone told me things that makes some of it make sense, but I feel like there has to be more. I chew on my lip a little bit, searching my thoughts for the right question. He gets up and walks back to the counter.
“I’m sort of a Renaissance man, Windsor. I try to do a little of everything,” he says. I look up at his unexpected confession. When I smile, he goes on, “I built the Chevelle from the bottom up. I enjoy cooking and can even do a little sewing. I can speak a couple foreign languages. During my last deployment I finished up my Masters degree. I appreciate good art and music, electronics make me happy, as does playing a little guitar,” he says. He puts a plate with a pressed Panini sandwich on it in front of me. He takes his seat again in front of me. “I also know that you never button the bottom button on a suit jacket. Tell your friends that tidbit.”
Crazy Good Page 12