“There’s a generator. Want me to find it?”
In the low light I can make out his eyes trained on me. “Becca.”
“What?”
“We could have another drink. Postpone this another hour or two. Ask more questions about pop culture and each other’s pasts.”
I shake my head because I don’t want to overanalyze or stall or weigh my options.
“Or?” My voice is a breath of anticipation. Dax stalks toward me, all that bulk moving at a seriously sexy pace.
He’s front of me, surrounding me. I’m delicate in comparison to the sheer size of him.
“Or.” His one word is followed by his chilled fingers sinking into my damp hair. He tugs my nape, forcing my chin forward and up, and I come a step closer and rest my hand on his soaked shirt.
“I have something else in mind.” His gravelly promise gives way to a heated kiss, his warm lips covering mine. He pushes his tongue into my mouth but takes his time once he’s there, mingling, dancing, teasing. I taste him and taste him until a clatter sounds in the room—my phone hitting the floor. The light illuminates the immediate area, but I don’t need to see him to know what he’s doing.
Dax runs his hands down my shoulders, down the sides of my breasts, around my waist. Then he stops. Tugs me closer. Deepens the kiss.
Oh, man this guy can kiss. Really, really kiss. My brains are turning to mush and my knees to jelly. I wouldn’t be surprised if all of me puddled at his feet like rainwater rolling off his body.
He stops kissing me, robbing me of his heat as he pulls his pelvis away from mine.
“Bec, I need a ‘yes.’”
“What?” I’m dazed.
“You sure you want to do this?”
Yep. I’m melting. This time from the inside. I take a bold step forward and press my breasts against his solid chest, rub the part of him he shielded from me a second ago with my torso. The many steely inches buried beneath the fly of those well-worn jeans.
“You know it, Magic Mike,” I tell him with a saucy grin. He can’t see it, but I make sure he can feel it. I push up on my toes and throw my arms around his neck and kiss the life out of him.
Luckily, he’s as good on his toes as I am on mine. When I lean heavily, he adjusts his weight to support me. When I slide my tongue into his mouth, he accepts it gratefully. When I snake my hand down his chest and over the ridges of his abs—seriously, this is one hard-bodied dude—he lets loose an exhale that’s more a feral grunt against my lips.
Sexy.
I push his shirt over his chest and he peels the sodden material off the rest of the way. When I reach for the button on his jeans, he growls into my mouth and extracts my hands.
“Where the hell’s the bedroom?”
“There are two on this floor. Which—eeeee!” My shriek turns into a giggle as Dax literally throws me over his shoulder. I didn’t even sense it coming. One second I was standing on the floor, and the next I was airborne, then upside down. In a dark, dark room he sets me on my feet before the room is lit by his phone.
“I wonder if the flashlight makers have suffered a business slump since the invention of the smart phone,” I wonder aloud.
“Not what I’m thinking about.” Dax props the phone up on a lamp with a base made out of faux deer antlers. He thumbs open the stud on his jeans and works the wet denim over his legs. With the helpful spotlight pointing about waist high, I can see the outline of his erection in a pair of tight black briefs.
Before I can further admire his muscular, thick thighs, he’s in front of me, lifting my shirt and tossing it aside. I shiver. It’s a chilly spring night, and not warm in this cabin.
“Once we turn on the generator, let’s also turn on the heat.”
Dax pulls me close, his big hands warm despite the room’s temperature. “I’ll keep you warm, Princess.”
Again with the Princess?
“Are you under the impression I’m a diva or something?”
I sigh when Dax’s mouth hits the space between my neck and my shoulder. He sucks my skin gently and that sigh becomes an appreciative moan.
I . . . What was I saying?
“Shimmy onto that mattress.”
I do as I’m told and when I’m there, he tugs at my shoes.
Ineptly.
Not his fault. The wedges are fastened by tiny straps with tiny buckles at my ankles. Dax’s wide hands aren’t nearly nimble enough to—
I gasp when one shoe hits the floor with a dull thud.
Did he just . . .?
I prop myself up on my elbows and watch as he delicately lifts my other ankle. He slides the tiny strap from the tiny buckle, frees my other foot, and tosses the sandal aside.
Our boy has skills.
He’s over me a moment later, strong arms caging me in, eyes dark with intent.
“Want me to take off my pants?” I ask.
“That’s my line.” He kisses me briefly. “Still waiting on that ‘yes,’ Princess.”
My, but he is a stickler for that rule.
“Yes, Princess,” I repeat.
He doesn’t waste a second. He kisses the space between my breasts, tongue gliding into one of my bra’s cups, teasing the flesh there before kissing a path to my tummy and then reaching my jeans. Stud undone, zipper down, he wriggles me out of wet denim without chafing my legs. Impressive.
At the end of the bed, he stands over me and I do my best to pose. Arms overhead, I stretch out, pull one knee in and tilt my head to one side.
“Lucky cabin thirteen,” Dax says as a smile hitches his mouth.
I let out a hearty laugh. Being wanted, being attracted to someone, is incredible. He crashes down on the queen mattress without crushing me to dust.
“You’re remarkably agile given all your bulk.” I wrap my hand around his biceps and give them a squeeze. He shifts between my legs and several inches of hardness presses my inner thigh.
“You’re fucking beautiful.”
The harsh word paired with a compliment causes the throb of my heartbeat to traverse lower until it’s between my legs. I pivot my hips and press against his hard-on.
“You promised to warm me up,” I say, my voice husky with need.
“What’s your pleasure?” He kisses that spot on the side of my neck again and I thrust my hips.
One of his fingers traces the lace of my bra, sliding over my nipple and around before moving away.
“That’s nice,” I let him know.
“Not going for nice, Princess.” Without preamble, he tugs the cup of my bra away and sucks one nipple into his mouth. I jolt at the sensation, opening my mouth to let out a sound steeped in pleasure.
He lets me go and kisses me briefly, saying, “Closer,” against my parted lips.
Closer?
Then he’s on the move, sliding my bra cup back over my breast and licking his way south. My hips tilt toward his mouth as his heated breath hits my inner thigh.
“Think I know what you like,” he says.
“Everyone likes this,” I say, my voice paper thin.
“Not everyone.” He spares me a glance and lifts one eyebrow before tugging my panties aside and delivering a slow lick along my center.
It’s like the lightning flash outside happened inside my veins. I spark on contact. The sound that rolls off my tongue isn’t a scream of satisfaction but a whimper of “Don’t stop.”
“Bingo.” He tugs at the side of my panties—nude lace, matching my bra—and drags them down my legs. I lift my feet to help, impatient for another of those long licks, but now Dax feels like taking his time.
He parts my legs, propping me wide and smoothing his palm up the inside of one leg while he strokes the inside of the other with his tongue.
I’m quivering, fists bunching the quilted bedspread, a kaleidoscope of color behind my lids. The room is chilled, my nipples pebbled, Dax’s damp hair sending a trail of goosebumps to the surface of my skin. But his mouth is warm, his lips are warm, his t
ongue is hot.
Like the rest of him.
Higher he kisses. I eagerly shift my hips, my desperate whimpers lost under the pounding of the rain. The thought comes that he’s doing this on purpose; that he’ll get me wound up and then pull away and leave me wet and ready. But Dax is into no such cruel game.
He’s into me.
Thank. God.
At the junction of my thighs, he tenderly lifts one leg and props it on his massive shoulder, and then does the same with the other. I’m open and vulnerable to him but I lift my hips, ready for what he’s about to deliver.
The wait is over, and so is the teasing.
He lowers his head and devours me.
Chapter 4
Dax
Finding what turns Becca on and being rewarded by her shouts of “Yes!” isn’t a bad way to spend a Friday night.
I haven’t surfaced from between her legs yet. Not only because she tastes like a heady mixture heaven and sin, but also because I’d like to wring one more out of her.
She’s new to me, and chances are we’re only going to have this one night. I want her to remember this for a long, long while. Like when she’s gumming her food well into her eighties and whispering to her granddaughter about the stranger in Tennessee who took her to greater heights than any man ever had.
Hey, it’s my fantasy.
I swirl my tongue, speed up, slow down. I can tell she’s close by the way her back bows. I slide one finger along her seam before slipping it deep, and then she blows.
That’s the one I was looking for.
I gentle her out of the orgasm, easing my finger away and leaving a few light kisses in my wake. I pepper a few over her flat stomach and climb her body, pulling back the cups of her bra to deliver a wet kiss onto each nipple. Each of those earns me a shudder.
It’s like winning a gold medal.
“Found your pleasure,” I say against her mouth, curious if she’ll kiss me with the taste of her on my tongue. To my surprise she does, lifting her chin and pressing her mouth to mine—hard.
“Yes,” she whispers, and whispers, “Yes, yes,” again as she tries (and fails) to push me onto my back.
“Yes to what?” I know what she’s doing. I was adamant about getting a “yes” before I took her and now she wants more.
She reaches between our bodies, palms my dick, and strokes once. Twice.
Third time’s the charm.
“Tell me you have a condom or I’m going to cry so much I’ll flood the inside of this cabin, too.” She pushes her bottom lip into a cute pout and I kiss it.
“Don’t worry, Princess, I’ve got it covered.”
I packed condoms. I always have a few in the Jeep just in case too. I’ve always been a bit of a Boy Scout about that sort of thing because you never know. Or maybe I’m optimistic when it comes to getting laid.
I have to take the phone to see my way to my bag by the front door. I have the packet in hand and return to Becca in record time. Once there, I don’t put the phone down right away. Starting at her toes, I take inventory. Slowly.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she asks, but I hear a smile in her voice. See it too, when I jerk the light to her mouth.
“Having a look. Do you mind?”
She shakes her head. “Not at all. Just warn me first.”
She bends her body, striking a pose that would make any professional voguer proud. I move the light to her toes again. Watch painted red nails stroke the side of her other foot. The way she moves is like watching water lap the shore. Like I noticed at the bar, Becca knows how to use her body.
Her knees rub together as I inspect her long, long legs. Legs I had resting on my shoulders. Smooth, golden legs. Up to the V of her thighs. She moves her hands there now, but only to tease as she brushes her fingers over the thin line of hair. Now my path of light follows her fingers as they move up, up, up.
She reaches behind her back to unhook her bra, and when the cups sag, I swallow heavily. My dick jumps, eager. Another teasing smile finds her face and she slips the straps off her arms and tosses the garment to the side.
Oh, fuck me.
I stare, mesmerized by the sight of her delicate fingers circling perfect nipples. Becca’s breasts aren’t big, but they’re pert and she’s not the least bit shy about showing them off.
I don’t want to lose sight of her, so I take care to rest the phone on the lamp again before returning to cover one of her breasts with my fingers and the other with my mouth.
She gasps, undulating like a wave.
“Ready?” My voice is little more than a deep growl, and hers isn’t much more than a high-pitched sigh. but I heard the word she said on that sigh. A “yes” that floated out and nailed me dead center in the chest.
I make quick work of the condom.
“Head on the pillow, Princess.”
She obeys. I like that. I like the nickname for her too. I’ve never called any woman “Princess,” but it suits her. Becca moves like she’s royalty. There’s an elegance that cloaks her, even when she’s wearing jeans. Even touching her nipples and writhing on the bed for my own private flashlight show.
Propped over her, I brace my weight on my elbows and lay a kiss on her mouth before nudging her entrance. One roll of my hips and I’m sliding home—my breath hissing from between my teeth.
Heaven.
Her nails scrape down my back, thighs tightening around me. “Yes, Dax.”
Sweet Jesus, that’s nice to hear.
Another push and I’m seated deep. We each blow out a ragged breath and her giggle accompanies a compliment.
“That’s as big as the rest of you,” she says before she nips my earlobe.
“Getting bigger if you keep that up.”
She legitimately clears her throat and then my siren says, “I’ve never felt anything so huge in my life. Take me, Dax Vaughn. Take me hard and fast—”
I smother the rest of her words with my mouth as another giggle shakes her petite shoulders. I draw out as I take my lips from hers. I can just make out the curve of her smile fading as her eyelids dip.
I slide in slowly.
Out again just as slowly.
Back in. Out.
She’s no longer trying to be cute. She’s absorbing what I’m giving her and I’m giving it to her really good. For me, sex borders on sacred, and every reverent push and pull is done with the intent to make her come.
I’m reduced to the nerve endings concentrated at the head of my cock.
She bends her body as I stroke into her, her fingers playing along the back of my head where my hair is shaved short. When she rakes her nails through the longer strands at the top, a quake works its way down my spine.
There’s no talking after that. I move, watching her closely to make sure she’s enjoying herself. She lifts her eyes to mine. Even though half of her face is in shadow, we lock gazes as I work faster.
In the muted lighting her eyes are dark and fathomless.
Her mouth drops open when I go deep.
Found it.
I wrap one hand around her hip and tip her ass up, driving forward again. A sharp sound of pleasure escapes her dropped-open mouth. A charge of Hell, yeah shocks my system. I repeat the move, sliding out slowly, back in—deeper.
She clutches, squeezing every part of me tight with every part of her. I tumble down into the abyss with her. My release is louder, harder than hers, my mind blanking as thunder rumbles and the room vanishes behind my closed eyelids.
Sheer magical silence follows, blinding bliss erasing everything apart from now. I may have lost a minute—two—because the next sensation I’m aware of is Becca softly kissing my eyebrow.
Then she kisses my temple.
Her fingers dance over my shoulders as she kisses my cheekbone.
I turn my head and kiss her, still embedded deep. My tongue tangles with hers but there’s no urgency. Sated, satisfied, we take our time, no longer frantic to get to the good stuff. Now it�
�s all good stuff.
I’m as pleased with the limp smile on her lips as I am with the drowsy droop of her eyelids.
Then I pull out and we’re disconnected.
And damn if she doesn’t look as disappointed as I feel that it’s over.
Becca
W. O. W.
Wow.
I didn’t know that every part of my body could tingle simultaneously. It’s not like after I finish leading an hourlong Zumba class and stand catching my breath, my body soaked with sweat and my chest heaving. No, this tingle more resembles the best yoga buzz ever. I’m not soaked in sweat but damp from the rain—damp from, well . . . the . . . you know. The other thing.
I bite down on my bottom lip as I recall what it felt like to have Dax over me—inside of me. Totally dominating and demanding, but his domination was all about me enjoying myself. I could tell by the way he watched me carefully, his sandy-brown eyebrows drawn together in concentration.
He took the time to find the right spot to kiss me before. Sex with Dax was memorable—mainly because it was him giving me what I needed before he took what he needed.
And, oh, I made sure he took his release.
My grin emerges as a shadowy figure strolls in from the attached bathroom.
“Ow! Fuck!”
I bolt up, adrenaline dumping into my bloodstream at the shock of hearing him yell. I find Dax bent over, hand holding one foot, knee raised.
“Busted the shit out of my toe,” he grumbles.
I laugh. The idea of him hurting his toe when he looks like he could take a bullet is a humorous thought indeed.
“Oh, you think that’s funny?” he asks, his tone sliding into playful.
“Yes,” I answer as he returns to bed and slides close.
He kisses me long and lazily, which seems to be his signature. I like it way too much.
“That’s fair.” He rolls to his back and drops one arm over his forehead. “I can’t be mad at you about anything at the moment. Do your worst.”
Man Candy: A Real Love Novel Page 3