by TC Matson
“Good. You’ll love it.”
I pull off, driving in the direction of the restaurant. Silence fills the cab and all of a sudden, my nerves are high. I’m nervous? I never get nervous. Everything I think about saying sounds stupid and inconsequential. It fuses my lips closed in fear of looking like an idiot. I can’t tell you the last time I felt this way. I grip my steering wheel, frustrated that I’m hitting every damn red light this town offers.
Finally, she breaks the silence. “You need to talk. It’s awkward. I get uncomfortable in awkward situations and this has me debating on jumping out and walking the rest of the way.” Her lips quirk into an apologetic smirk.
Her admission makes me feel a bit better about being nervous. I glance to her with a smirk. “I’m afraid if I tell you how good you look, you’ll bail. So I’m in my head.”
“You’re saying my looks have stolen your voice? As in the horror of Quasimodo?”
I chuckle. “I’m positive on your worst days, you’re beautiful.”
She doesn’t reply, not that I expected her to. I’ve learned compliments fluster her like she doesn’t get them enough. I’ll be the first to tell you, she deserves them by the minute.
I park the truck and we slide out. Meeting her on the other side, I almost reach to clutch her hand, but instead of pushing her off her comfort ledge, I place my hand on the small of her back and lead her into the high-end burger joint. The hostess rakes her bright green eyes over my body from head to toe before blinking to Jolie with a small tentative smile.
She seats us in a booth beside the dark tinted windows and takes our beer orders.
After she leaves, I’m determined to find out more about the lady who has my head in the clouds. “How was your week?”
There’s a gleam in her eye, the lighting bringing out the gold flecks that are confined by the blues and greens. “Good. My brother spent time with me while I mattress shopped, and work was uneventful.”
New bed means it’s never been broken in…
I shake the thought from my head. “Where do you work?”
“Twisted Motor Sports. It’s my brother’s place.”
I pause while the waitress sets our beers down and takes our orders.
“They build street bikes, right?”
Her head lilts from shoulder to shoulder. “Also sell and repair. Jordon is a bit of a speed geek.”
“What do you do there? And I swear if you say you’re a mechanic, I’m going to hump your leg right here in front of everyone.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “I know enough to be dangerous, but I’m not mechanically inclined. I run the office.”
“A few years ago, I had a friend buy a bike from there. He bragged about the place,” I tell her.
Her eyes shine. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. What about you?” She pans over my arms and across my chest. “You don’t seem like the type to sit behind a desk.”
I tighten my lips, shaking my head. “I work security at Mirages Casino.”
She pushes up her glasses. Fuck, she’s pretty. “That brings light to your size now.”
“My size is thanks to my brother, Ryker. He’s an MMA fighter and owns a gym in town. I’ve worked out with him for years,” I tell her.
Her eyes widen slightly. “As in Ryker the Striker MMA fighter?”
Hello, shadow… “Yeah.”
She rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “We have two mechanics who are diehard fans of his. They even have a poster of him between their bays. Like they’re sharing custody.” She rolls her eyes again. “It’s got to suck sometimes to have a famous brother.”
“It has its advantages, but for the most part, it sucks very fucking much so.”
Jolie takes a sip of her beer and grins. “I think you’re cuter than him.”
My brows hike high. “Cuter? As in the cute for puppies or as in I’ll never be sexy as fuck?”
She drags her tongue across her bottom lip leaving a glistening trail on the pink skin. I watch, spellbound. “You know you’re sexy. We’ve already established this.”
“No. You said my arms are sexy as fuck.”
She tilts her head. “Well, they are attached to you.”
I chuckle. “Thank fuck for that.”
The waitress comes back with our burgers, sets our plates down, and then leaves. Jolie’s first bite has her eyes closing and her throat humming a foodgasm. My dick twitches as I watch her jaw work, the way she uses her tongue to lick the mayonnaise from the corner of her lips… Eating has never been such an aphrodisiac.
“Why are you watching me eat?” she asks, snapping me out of the trance.
“How well do you like liars?” I jest, and she playfully warns me with narrowed eyes. I take that as she doesn’t. Who does? “The way you’re eating is sexy,” I say honestly.
She laughs, covering her mouth. “Oh my god. You’re going to make me self-conscious.”
I force myself to look away and take a bite of my burger.
“There was nothing sexy about that,” she says, a flirtatious humor riding on her tone.
I finish chewing and swallow before raising my view to her. “I’m positive the things I can do with my mouth you’ll deem sexy and you’ll moan better than what the food can make you.”
The left side of her lips tic. “Is that so?”
I arch a brow, answering her with a smug gaze. “I’ve wanted to taste your lips again since the night at the club. I’m willing to sell my soul to feel them.”
“That’s brutally honest,” her voice rides out on a whisper.
“While I’m being honest, I want to fuck you.” I scrape my teeth along my bottom lip and her eyes latch on to my movement. I grin. “Just like you want me to.”
Heated lust warms her hazel beauties. Her mouth parts slightly.
“Come back to my place with me.”
“We’ll see,” she answers, her tone coy.
Our talk moves to safer grounds. Less sexual. More relaxed. Giving my dick a breather since it was about to burst through the seams of my jeans in anticipation.
After finishing our meal, I open the door for Jolie to hop in the truck before rounding the front and getting in myself. Instead of cranking the engine, I run off the sexually charged air around us and reach over, pulling her to me. I crush into her lips, eager to feel them again. Our tongues guide one another, tangling and dancing. She moans and I inhale it as she melts against me. This time she doesn’t warn me by digging her nails into my skin. This time she pulls me closer by the back of my neck, deepening the kiss.
Pulling back, she sucks my bottom lip before releasing it. “You’re a fabulous kisser,” she sighs.
“I’m a fabulous fucker too.” I’m breathless. “Come back to my place. I promise you’ll be pleased.”
A shudder rolls down her body, a salacious gaze giving me the answer.
I waste no fucking time and pull off in the direction of my house, which is thankfully three minutes away. Pulling into the garage, I’m trying to keep my cool and not look like a fraught mess, but she has no idea how badly I want her. No notion that after that kiss I’m about to explode.
“You live alone?” she asks stepping into the living room and scanning the house.
“Yeah.” I toss my keys onto the coffee table. Reaching out, I grip her hip and tug her against my body, flexing my hips against hers. She drags her hand up my chest and I bend, kissing her again. Harder. More desperately. My body’s blazing to feel her skin, slick with sweat and sheer arousal. I’m frenzied to see her naked body, to hear her moan.
I back her against the wall. Our kiss is wild, our hands roaming our bodies frantically. I hike her leg to my waist and rock into her. She moans and that’s it. Walking her backward down the hall and into my room, I tug her shirt over her head. She pulls mine off. I drag my lips down her neck as I unclasp her bra, releasing the most beautiful set of tits. Her nipples are hard. Her chest rises and falls. Gently I knead them before smirking and giving her a
shove to the bed.
Bending, I kiss the soft skin of her stomach, and the smell of wild flowers jumbles my senses as I unzip her pants. I trail my lips in the wake of her fabric, dragging my hands heavily behind it. Slowly and torturously, I make my way back up her calves, the insides of her thighs, and hit jackpot. The moment my tongue slides over her clit, her hips buck, her back arches, and she digs her fingers into my hair shoving my face into her pussy.
“Mmmm…” she moans, rocking as I press my fingers into her. “Please. I need you,” she begs.
Smirking, I wipe my face and strip off my pants. She watches, eyes heavy with desire, as I roll the condom on my dick, thick and rock fucking hard. Her legs fall to the side as I settle between them, and I bite her bottom lip as I sink into delirium.
Her eyes roll before slamming shut. Her hiss turns into a whimper.
“You’re so fucking tight,” I breathe, dragging out and easing in.
“You’re so fucking big,” she gasps as I press back in.
I hum a soft chuckle and kiss her neck. “I’ll be easy.”
Sinking again, I ease into her fully and pause…for the both of us. For her to adjust. For me to not blow my load like a virgin. Her body shudders and she pitches her hips forward. I begin to pump into her. Her moans are phenomenal—loud and needy, drawn out and shattered. She obliterates the fantasy I’ve pictured.
Pushing to my palms, I grind my hips, driving long and glorious strokes into her. Her lips are parted, eyes closed, and she snakes her fingers into her hair. I lift her leg and wrap it around my waist as I bring my knee higher. I’m delving deeper with each plunge. I suck her nipple into my mouth and she moans so beautifully my nuts constrict.
Her mewl echoes through my room as her body begins to jerk. I rest back on my knees, grabbing the backs of her legs to haul her down onto me and then grinding deeply. Her mouth falls open without a noise and she digs her head into the mattress. Her tits bounce with my drives. My ending is coming…
“Kyce…” Her plea is avid.
Her pussy pulsates, and I pump urgently. “Come for me, Jolie.” I thrust forward and she winces but then eases into a moan. “My dick is so fucking hard for you,” I pant.
She loses it, crying out. I surge, picking up my pace and fucking her earnestly.
Her chant is mag-fucking-nificent. Molten sensations scald my body and I’m thrown into a dizzying explosion. Bright lights burst behind my eyes as I shatter into a thousand pieces.
“Shit…” I moan, burying my dick and gritting my teeth.
Chapter 7
A body, warm and solid against me, pulls me awake. For a moment, I’m dazed, unaware of my surroundings before the scent of him brings recognition to focus. Divine soreness reminds me of our incredible night as I roll.
Kyce’s face is tranquil, free from daily stress. The soft flesh of his magical lips that normally holds his seductive smirk is relaxed and sitting amidst a scruffy jaw. Even in slumber, the lines on his face are sharp and defined. The absence of his strikingly blue eyes, the color of glaciers, doesn’t hinder how handsome he is.
He really should be a model.
The blanket rests on his hips, exposing his torso. When he took his shirt off last night, I was rendered speechless. You see a body like his in the movies. You read about them in books. But to have his hard, broad muscles under my fingertips was a dream come true. His abs flexed, revealing dips and valleys I wanted to taste. His tattoos snake around his arms, complexity entangling the skin from his wrists to the edge of his shoulders. The designs are complicated with multiple layers—mandala, tribal, and Celtic—each section blending together and masking objects with their details.
His hair is a mess, the spikes he sported last night disheveled by my fingers. I bite my lip as butterflies scatter across my body from the memories of last night. Sex with him was spectacular. No. Screw that. Mind-blowing, extraordinary. The best damn sex I have ever in my life experienced and definitely addicting.
Softly and slowly, I drag my lips over his chest and I’m met with a hum. I flick my tongue across his nipple, spreading heavy palms across his pecs.
“Good fucking morning to me,” he rasps groggily, gripping my ass and pulling me to straddle him.
His dick hardens under me and I rock against it. Twisting my hair in his hands, he pulls me to his face, but doesn’t kiss me. He holds me hostage by my strands in his palms and stretches, fumbling in the drawer of his night stand. Focused and shameless, his smirk beams from his eyes as he holds the condom between his fingers.
“Put it on me,” he demands lecherously.
I rip it open and sheath him.
“Fuck me, Jolie.” His tone drops so low it’s barely more than a guttural whisper.
I could come just by the way he says my name. His voice is so sexy it heats me up.
Sliding down on him, I’m still sore from last night, and having him fill me again steals my breath. He bucks upward causing my eyes to slam shut and me to hiss through the delicious burn. He chuckles gruffly and then releases my hair to tuck his hands behind his head.
His dick is too much to handle sitting straight up, which is new to me. I’ve never been unable to take all that’s given. So until I adjust, I’m forced to lean forward, bracing my hands on either side of his head as I glide up and down. Pleasure eases the pain and I pick up my pace. My body rolls. My hips rock until it doesn’t hurt anymore. I lean back, one hand on his thigh, the other reaching in front of me to circle my clit.
The way he watches me—eyes dark, nostrils flaring with his jaw clenched—makes me feel incredibly sexy. Empowered by the desire staring back at me. I ride him, gyrating my hips as my orgasm begins to tingle through me. My body aches for his touch.
“Touch me,” I pant.
Wickedly, he smirks, sliding his gaze up my body before giving his head a small shake. “Fuck me like you mean it.”
And I do. Fuck him. Taking everything my body craves from him. Tiny bolts of electricity crack through me. My body winds up and I knead my breast, desperate for his touch. Fire begins to pool low in my stomach. White noise suddenly deafens me and I’m hurtled into my orgasm.
Jerking up, he hooks an arm around my waist and flips us. My back against the mattress, I’m convulsing under him, mewling unabashedly as he pumps long, delicious drives.
“Fuck yes,” he grunts, delving deep.
His dick pulses, and he surges again, rooting himself to the hilt. His growl is long and low, spilling himself into me before emptying his last drop and dropping to his elbow. His head rests on the side of my shoulder as he gulps for air.
I’m sweaty and utterly satiated. After that, my life feels complete. I could die right now a happy woman. Most women search their entire lives for a man who can make their world rattle in an earthquake. I’ve found him. Kyce has ruined any man who follows him, even demolishing my dildo. He doesn’t rely on the fact that his dick is huge. He actually knows how to use it.
I wince at the soreness as he pulls out and struts his phenomenal naked ass into the bathroom. Although I just woke up, I feel I could sleep for the rest of the day. Instead, I force my legs off the side of the bed and go in search for my clothes.
My pants and panties are at the foot of the bed. My shirt and bra aren’t. “Any chance you know where my shirt is?” I call out.
Kyce opens his dresser and tosses a t-shirt at me. It swallows me whole, and the scent of him scrambles my senses.
“You want breakfast?” he asks, sliding into sweatpants commando.
“I’m not big on cereal,” I deadpan, lying through my teeth. Give me a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and I’ll eat the entire box in one sitting.
“Good thing I know how to cook beggs.”
“Beggs?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Bacon and eggs.” He winks before walking out of the room.
After washing my face and using a dab of his toothpaste and my finger to brush my teeth, I make my way to the kitchen, following the incredi
ble aroma of bacon cooking. Entering into the living room first, I look around. The walls are painted a deep blue with a huge television on the wall. A white and matching blue area rug with a cherry colored coffee table sits in front of a gray sofa. It’s…sophisticated yet so Kyce feeling.
The kitchen is adjoining, complementing the blues with cream colored cabinets, black granite countertops, and stainless-steel appliances. It’s…too immaculate and well-kept to be a bachelor’s.
“Either you have one hell of an eye for decorating or…” I leave it open for him to finish because I’m puzzled at how a macho man has such a feminine concept.
“My mother hired an interior decorator. It’s her house warming gift to all her kids.”
“Must be nice to come from money.” I meant it jokingly, yet the envy burns my lips.
“I make money and come from there. That defines me. Not my parents’ money,” he says, the seriousness dripping from his tone felt in my bones. He looks back to the stove. “Everything else is an appreciated gift. What would you like to drink?”
“Coffee would be a brilliant start. Tell me where it is and I’ll make it.”
“Freezer.” He opens a cabinet and pulls out a filter, shoving it into the top of the coffee maker. “Make enough for a full pot, please.”
As he mans the stove, I bring life to the coffee. My eyes float back to him in front of the stove. Chris never cooked. Not even macaroni and cheese. The only thing he was good at was slapping meat between two pieces of bread and calling it a meal.
The gray fabric rests low on Kyce’s hips. His back muscles contract and loosen as he stretches. He’s defined everywhere, buff and built. And his ass…it’s perfect. Makes me wonder exactly how much time he spends in the gym to get a body that looks that damn good.
I pour our coffee, asking him how he takes it and receiving an arched brow before the answer. He puts our food on plates and pushes them on the island, taking a seat at one of the stools.
“It’s strange to see a macho man move fluidly in the kitchen. It’s a huge turn-on,” I say joining him.
He chuckles under his breath and shakes his head before taking a bite.