What the lady wants . . .
I undo the clasp then slide my hands over the globes of her breasts as her bra slips off. Her tits are . . . words fail me.
Because they are perfect. There’s no other way to describe them. A perfect handful with tiny brown nipples that I’m desperate to suck. And I do.
Greedily.
She rewards me with a moan as she throws her head back.
And holy fuck.
That move right there makes my skin sizzle.
The way she wants this, the way she wants me.
Her nipple hardens in my mouth, making my cock strain tighter against my pants. My hands pay a visit to her ass, squeezing her flesh, all while my lips lavish more attention on her breasts, first one, then the other.
It’s only fair.
“You are so fucking sexy, London,” I rasp as I come up for air. “These freckles on your chest have been driving me wild all night.”
“Seems like fair play. Since you’re driving me wild right now.”
“Good. Because that’s exactly what I want to do to you. You’re gorgeous, and I am so unbelievably attracted to you.”
“Same. Same for me,” she whispers, then lets out a soft, throaty moan before she grinds against my erection. I push up against her, groaning too.
My eyes swing briefly to the wall clock in the kitchen. The countdown is on. “We’re at about sixteen minutes before pumpkin dog. That means . . .”
Spinning her around, I lay her back on the couch so she’s all stretched out. I lean over her, my lips returning to her neck, nibbling on her ear. She yelps lightly in surprise at the speed of our turn but settles in as I pepper her body with kisses, licks, and sucks.
I trace a line down her front with my tongue, enjoying every inch of her lightly tanned skin, then I slide off the couch so I can kneel on the floor.
This is the only place I want to be on earth—between her legs. I slide my hands up her thighs, delighting at the feel of the soft hairs as I make my way to her hot, wet center.
Face-to-face with her matching blue panties, I trace the lines of her underwear with my finger, a sweet hint of her arousal darkening the middle.
The temperature in me spikes.
There’s nothing sexier than the woman you want wanting you right back.
Not a fucking thing in the world.
I hook my finger around the center of her panties and pull toward one thigh, revealing her to me. Soft and glistening with a tuft of hair on her mound, London’s pussy shines like a temple, one I am only too happy to worship.
I lick her once, teasing her. And my God, she tastes better than salted caramel. I need access to all of her, want to feast on her, so I guide the lace down her shapely legs, enjoying every inch of her body as I undress her.
As my gaze returns to her center, she parts her legs for me, and my dick thumps harder, my skin heats more. My tongue traces the outline of her pussy, and she gasps then moans low in her throat.
Her sounds urge me on, right up to her clit. I lap gently at first, teasing the pleasure out of her.
As I lick and suck, her body responds with arched hips, hands in my hair, and delicious moans, telling me what’s working and what’s not. I listen, I adjust, and then I ravage.
I hungrily devour her, and I don’t ever want to stop.
But I do like her tits, and judging from the sounds she made earlier when I kissed them, I roll the dice that she’ll enjoy double the attention.
My hand flies up her belly, on a fast track for her chest. I cup her breast, massaging and squeezing her nipple as her hips grind against my face.
Yes, I am getting my fill of London right now—my mouth and hands are very happy.
So is she, it seems, as she shouts her approval.
Yes.
So good.
Oh God, oh my God.
Her hands curl tighter around my head, and her moans take on a rhythm of their own as my mouth seeks to match it. I concentrate on her pleasure, driving my face between her legs to the pace she’s set.
Her tempo picks up speed.
Her fingers grip me tighter. Hands tug me closer.
“That. Do that. Don’t stop,” she gasps as I continue my sensual assault. My cock throbs for release, but my focus remains only on her.
Her breathing quickens, and it’s time to push her over the edge. I reach for her other breast, squeezing both of them roughly as she grinds against me.
She rocks as I lap at her clit, indulging in every second of her taste, her smell, her pleasure. Soon, her ass is thrusting off the couch. Her thighs grip my head in the best vise grip known to mankind, but even in that position, the fuuuuckkk she cries out is unmistakable to my ears.
She freezes in ecstasy for a breath, lets out several wild shudders, and groans.
Best chorus ever.
Slowly, she relaxes into the couch with a happy moan. I gently release her breasts while blowing softly on her core. As her ass hits the leather and she lets out a blissful sigh, I kiss her inner thigh once, twice, and slowly exhale with her. I take a moment to enjoy this charged, wordless silence, the sweet sounds of her satisfaction, her hums and moans. I rise between her legs, gently caressing the tops of her thighs as I sprinkle kisses on her belly.
I make eye contact with her and smile. She grins back, brushes her hair from her face, and exhales deeply. “That was . . .”
Those two words don’t even need an adjective.
“Yes, that was.”
I head to the kitchen to grab a glass of water, then return and hand it to her.
“Thank you,” she says, sitting up straighter on the couch to take a thirsty gulp.
When London sets down her glass, she arches a naughty brow.
Then she asks the best question ever. “Can I do that to you?”
Too bad I can’t give her the answer I want to.
21
Her question is an arrow piercing my heart.
Right now I’d choose blow jobs over tacos. Blow jobs over riches. Blow jobs over air.
But I’ve got a good-guy rep to protect.
The no forming on my lips pains me for all of humanity.
It wounds me across the halls of time.
But . . . dogs.
“Pretty sure I would love that more than my next breath, but Mr. Darcy needs you. And I won’t stand between a dog and his need for after-midnight companionship.”
“You are a good guy.”
I brush my fingers along her arm. “Speaking of, how did I do defending our honor for Emery and Olive?”
She drags her fingers down my chest. “Can I tell them you made me see stars? Supernovas? Galaxies light years away?”
“How about another solar system?”
“All the solar systems,” she says, still sounding high on her climax.
And hell, I beam.
Just fucking beam as she gathers her clothes and gets dressed.
I knew great sex would be great fun. And this is officially the most fun I’ve ever had. Making London’s skin flush and her heart pound is everything I imagined great sex would be.
“You have carte blanche to tell them anything about how many constellations you saw. Come to think of it, it would be cruel of you not to share it with your girlfriends.”
She curls her hand over my shoulder. “Or taunt them with it.”
I’d like to thump my chest right now. Stage a halftime show for my prowess tonight.
But I do neither. Instead, I seize this chance.
“We should do it again,” I offer. I’m generous like that.
Also, I want her, no matter the risk.
She bites the corner of her lips. Rises onto tiptoe. Brushes a soft kiss against my lips. “Yes.”
One perfect word.
She raises a finger. “And I would like to cash that reciprocal rain check very soon.”
I give a no big deal shrug, even though blow jobs are the deal. “I believe I would be completely amenable to that.”
“What do you know? I would too. But right now, I need to take off,” she says.
“I’ll drive you,” I say.
With a grateful smile, she grabs her purse, puts on her glasses, then we leave. I take her home, giving her a quick kiss at the curb, before I return to my place.
Back inside, I’m intensely satisfied.
And also not in the least, considering I’ve had a raging erection for most of the last hour, and once my eyes swing to the couch and I picture what transpired there moments ago, it returns.
Great.
Fucking dicks.
And this one I’m pretty sure can win the honor of Boner Most Likely To Be Mistaken for a Viagra Overdose.
This au naturel diamond cutter needs some tending to.
I head to the bathroom, shed my clothes, turn on the tap in the shower, and stand under a hot stream of water. I take my aching length in my hand, groaning at the first hint of relief.
This won’t take long at all.
I slide my fist up and down my shaft and picture all the things I want to do next with London.
Her scent lingers in my nostrils, drifts through my mind.
I imagine her riding me, and my dick likes that a whole helluva lot.
But my dick has an equal opportunity imagination, so I flip through all the positions I want to try with her—her on top, her reverse cowgirling me, me on top, me on top with her legs draped over my shoulders—oh, yes, that would be fantastic. And how about her on her hands and knees, me pushing her shoulders down so she can raise her ass high in the air?
My senses crackle as I grip harder, stroke faster, a movie reel of all the ways I want to touch her, taste her, have her racing before my eyes.
I want to worship her body with my tongue. Kiss her everywhere. Touch her all over. Slide into her. Feel her clench around me.
Pleasure jolts down my spine, sharp and hot.
My hand shuttles in a blur. Seconds later, I grunt, coming hard, picturing the woman I should stay away from and knowing there’s not a chance in hell that I will.
22
The next morning
From the Woman Power Trio, aka the text messages of London and her two besties, Olive and Emery
London: All I’m going to say is you’re both wrong. Absolutely incredibly wrong.
Emery: *sits up in bed* *puts glasses on* *perks ears*
Olive: Yes, we want to hear what you’ve learned about good guys. So please serve up all the salacious details, like the heroine does in a sexy romance novel when she gabs with her besties.
London: Because you love dirty details served in your earbuds.
Olive: Yeah, because earbuds were invented for men with deep, sexy voices to whisper sweet, dirty nothings into. Prove me wrong. Also, since you’ve heard Dax Long giving it good, then you understand why I go on and on about him.
Emery: After that kitten, let’s have a threesome clip, yes. Yes, we do. But wait. What’s his other name? He goes by the Ostrich, right? Or is it the Rooster? Wait. No. It’s the Lizard King!
Olive: *rolls eyes* It’s Pegasus. He’s the Pegasus.
London: Pegasus, as in the mythical Greek creature?
Olive: He is a man of legend.
London: Hello? Can we discuss real men and real orgasms?
Olive: The Pegasus has given me lots of real orgasms when my hot hubs isn’t around. Solo Os are real. Don’t be so judgy, you dirty girl. But feel free to make up for it by telling us everything.
London: Let me just say . . . le sigh. Le big happy, dirty cloud nine sigh.
Olive: Yay! More, more. Give us more.
Emery: Was it sheet-grabbing, bone-rattling, back-arching good?
London: Let me put it this way. I felt like I had an out-of-body experience when he went down on me.
Olive: So he is kind of a Pegasus.
London: It felt quite fantastical. So yes, let’s call it a Pegasus-level O. But . . .
Emery: Uh-oh.
Olive: Did he do butt stuff to you, London? Please say yes. Please say yes.
London: There was no butt stuff, you pig!
Olive: Oink, oink. So what’s the catch?
London: The catch is I like him so much. And I’m pretty sure he really likes me too.
Emery: Liking a man can be hazardous to your health.
London: I know. Trust me, I know.
Emery: What do you like about him?
London: He’s funny, clever, kind, and thoughtful. And he listens. He actually listens. So, obviously . . . he’s too good to be true.
Olive: Kind and thoughtful? He does sound like a book hero. Do you think if your story is made into a romance novel, we could have the Pegasus voice him?
London: Well, he is quite magical with his tongue.
Emery: Should we call him the Lizard King, then? And does he have any new tricks we should know about? Not asking for a friend.
London: The trick is this—he was just super into it and so was I.
Emery: *swoons*
Olive: *breaks out emergency nightstand BOB*
Emery: Olive, can you not start diddling yourself while we’re texting?
Olive: What made you think I just started?
Emery: You’re such a pervert.
Olive: Takes one to know one. And speaking of perverts, I want to hear from pervy London. Tell us more about the Lizard King’s magic tongue.
London: Honestly, I think he just wanted me to feel really good. That was the magic.
Olive: You are so far gone. Also, that’s kind of how it should be. But you’ve probably forgotten because it’s been such a long time. I think you might be suffering from sex amnesia.
London: That comes after the sex drought, right?
Emery: But it ends with the sex feast. Are you having a sex feast?
London: I would like to be. I kind of can’t stop thinking about him. What the hell am I supposed to do?
Emery: Only one thing to do. Emergency meeting to discuss. Because it sounds like it’s way more than just sex.
London: I think it’s been more than just sex from the first day I met him. He never seemed like a “just sex” guy. Is that good or bad?
Olive: Let me be serious for one hot second. It’s good. It’s also dangerous.
London: Ugh. That’s my worry. He’s made it kind of clear that he’s not really interested in anything more. Because of working for my brother and all that.
Emery: Your brother is hot.
London: Wow. On that note, my lady boner is gone.
Olive: Mine’s not. Archer is a babe.
London: You’re married!
Olive: Married. Not dead.
Emery: But on a more serious note, are you going to say something to Archer?
London: Not yet. But if something came of it? Yeah, I would. I don’t like lying to him.
Olive: Sweets, you’re not lying to him. You’re just not telling him till there is something to tell.
London: True. I guess we will see if anything happens.
Olive: I bet it does. And in the meantime, if the Pegasus plays the Lizard King with the magic tongue in the audiobook of your love life, here’s a great primer on dirty talk. I listened to this the other night, and then texted Hawke to be good and ready when he got home. I’m going to send you a snippet of All Night with the Inked Biker Next Door, read by Dax Long, aka the Pegasus.
“I’m going to give it to you and give it to you hard. That’s the only thing I want on earth. To make you feel so fucking good.”
London: Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I was busy with my BOB.
Olive: Knew it. Called it.
23
As I finish up a long walk with Bowie, a text message pings on my phone.
Like a trained circus monkey, my dick stands at attention.
Hopeful fucker.
But not without cause—the message is from London.
London: I did as promised.
Teddy: Told your friends?
London: Yes.
Teddy: And?
London: Olive sent me a naughty audiobook full of dirty talk, and I . . . well, did I mention you give good dirty talk?
Teddy: Is this another good-guy hurdle?
London: It is. Also, I just learned I really like dirty talk. Can I order up some more for the next time I see you?
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