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Authors: Susan Johnson

Wine, Tarts, & Sex (13 page)

BOOK: Wine, Tarts, & Sex
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“Plan ahead,” she said on a suffocated breath, his virtuoso touch ramping up every sexual receptor in the immediate vicinity.
He grinned. “Because you can never wait.”
“Give me a break,” she said, spurred on by sharply necessitous, totally wanton urges. “I’ve been thinking about this . . . a lot.”
“Same here.” His gaze flicked downward to his erection stretching waist-high.
“Perfect then,” she said with soft finality and, taking matters into her own hands, reached out and unzipped his jeans. High-strung, impatient—really pretty much like she always seemed to be with Jake Chambers—she drew out his engorged penis, the swollen gleaming crest and hard, unyielding length sending a rush of liquid longing through her cunt. Perhaps having been forced to wait so long, or maybe simply driven by outrageous lust, without thought for her most basic rule, she forced his stiff cock upright, positioned her throbbing ready-to-party sex over the head of his cock, and began easing downward.
“Hey, hey, hold on.” Grabbing her around the waist, Jake stopped her. “Give me a second to get a condom.”
“Thanks,” she whispered shakily, falling back on his thighs.
“Not a problem,” he said, casual and polite when he could have wondered whether she was trying to make trouble for him, when he really might have if it had been anyone other than the genuine, shoot-from-the-hip Miss Bell. “Two seconds, babe . . . that’s all I need.” He’d already pulled a condom from his jeans pocket and was ripping open the packet.
She unconsciously licked her lips as he rolled the condom down his better-than-any-vibrator extremely large erection.
“Done.” Equally impatient, he quickly pulled her up on her knees, guided his erection to her sex with a delicate finesse, and slowly slid his cock inside her. Since he planned on fucking her—at the minimum—all night, he exercised caution, not about to abrade or chafe her sensitive tissue. Gauging the receptive elasticity of her tight little cunt, he penetrated her with measured restraint even as her breathy moans urged him on.
“More, more . . . more,” she begged, trying to break his tight grip on her hips, wanting to feel him deeper, faster. Wanting him to cram her full.
“Take it easy,” he whispered, brushing her hands away. “We have all night.”
“I don’t want to wait.” After hours of contemplating this, she needed surcease to her flame-hot cravings; she needed to feel more of his erection buried inside her. She needed to come—soon. “Jake, please
—hurry
,” she cried, struggling to break his hold as her orgasm began—too early, too soon—before he was completely submerged.
Fully aware of what was happening, he immediately dropped his hands from her hips, and she impaled herself on his erection so swiftly, her bottom jarred his balls. Not that he was complaining; it was a very gratifying jolt. After which, he had the pleasure of watching her and—even better—feeling her ride his dick to a precipitous orgasm.
Unlike darling Livvi, he wasn’t into speed and, rigid inside her, he remained motionless as she uttered breathy sighs of orgasmic content, and her last piquant flutters of pleasure dissipated.
When she finally opened her eyes, he smiled at her. “Better now?”
Stretching lazily, she ran her fingers through her pale, tousled hair. “You didn’t come.”
“There’s plenty of time. I’m not going anywhere.”
A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “So I have this . . . here”—she wiggled slightly on his erection—“for as long as I want?”
He grinned. “We’re here for you, babe.” He traced the delicate outline of her mouth with a fingertip. “How about another quick one, then we’ll get undressed and do some serious fucking.”
Her smile was pure sunshine. “This must be one of those times when everything’s going my way.”
“This way?” He swung his hips upward.
She gasped faintly, caught her breath and, leaning forward, placed her palms on his chest. “And this way, too,” she murmured, swinging her bottom in a lazy circular motion so they both felt every delectable nuance of sensation.
“Are you on the pill?”
She wrinkled her nose. “Side effects.”
“Too bad.” For the first time in his life, he considered going condom free, an impulse so incredibly rash he immediately called himself every kind of stupid.
“Too bad? You gotta be kidding.”
His brows flickered. “Consider it a moment of insanity.”
“Just so you know,” she said carefully, “I don’t do sex au naturel.”
“Me either—normally. Don’t worry. We’re cool.”
“I’m glad you’re not completely cool,” she murmured, sliding upward on his cock, slowly descending again. “I’m glad he’s still fired up.”
As she slipped into a languid up-and-down rhythm, Jake’s eyes went shut. He could talk about taking it slow, but he’d been thinking about fucking her since he’d left her that morning, and present reality far exceeded any abstract contemplation. With a soft groan on a particularly deep downstroke, he gave himself up to the full gravitas of sensation. Not that he didn’t intuitively gauge the progress of her next climax, particularly since he planned on matching her simulcast. Which he did, meeting her in a blast-off of such monumental proportions, he didn’t actually hear her screams that time.
Neither moved for so long afterward, they could have been participants in a
tableau vivant
. Like in the red-light district of Amsterdam.
But Jake managed to pull himself together first, because he wasn’t about to admit that something of a cataclysmic nature had occurred. Nor that his heart was still racing like he’d run twenty miles. Male survival instinct forced him to move and, lifting Liv up and away, he set her on the bed beside him.
“I can’t talk,” she said in a wispy breath, every nerve in her body aglow with glorious satisfaction.
“Don’t worry—I didn’t come here to chat,” he drolly replied. Sitting up, he stripped off his condom and came to his feet. Hitching up his jeans, he walked into the adjoining bathroom, discarded the condom, washed himself off, zipped up and, standing in front of the mirror, stared at himself as though expecting some obvious change.
Nope. Excellent. See? A physical high, no matter how staggering, didn’t amount to some grand metamorphosis. Liv Bell was just hotter than most women, that’s all.
His five-second therapy session having put him back on track, he returned to the bedroom, his plans unaltered.
Fuck until you drop, and then go home.
With that in mind, he undressed, sat down on the bed, and began to unbutton the top of Liv’s ruffled dress.
“I need a break.” Her eyes were still at half-mast, her voice hushed. “That was one supercharged climax.”
“I’ll just get you ready,” he said, slipping one of her arms free of the chemise top. “Then you tell me when you want my cock inside you again.”
His deep voice was utterly composed, as though he was willing to play affable stud to her passions. Why was it then that she felt as though it was she who was submissive to him?
Why did she feel as though he was master of this game?
Worse, why did she want his cock inside her the moment he brought up the subject?
Rising on her elbows, she gave him a charged look.
“Here, let me get this off,” he said, ignoring her stare, freeing her other arm.
“Something’s different.”
“You got that right.” He smiled. “I’m trying to ignore it.”
“This is just good sex, right?”
“Ideally, yes.”
“Then why—”
“Let’s not go there.” He smiled. “You have nice freckles, ” he added, brushing his finger over her cheek.
“Are you changing the subject?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Because?”
“Because I don’t talk about stuff like this, let alone actually think about it.”
“Just like a man,” she said, suddenly smiling, relieved by his answer, reminded that her yin/yang considerations weren’t a sensible train of thought.
“What can I say? Sex-change is not an option for me. Lift up, babe, and I’ll pull down this dress.”
“What if I said no?”
“I’d figure you were playing hard to get,” he said, sliding the dress down her hips and legs and tossing aside Dolce and Gabbana’s irreverent take on chastity.
“What if I meant it?”
“But you don’t.”
“Maybe I don’t like smug men. Have you thought of that?”
“Not much, considering your nipples are really hard,” he murmured, touching one tip with exquisite gentleness. “I think you want to get screwed again.”
“Know-it-all. I
should
say no.”
Why would you even want to?
he thought, but since there was no point in being rude at this stage of the game, he said instead with a grin, “But you won’t, cuz you’re polite.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I wish.”
“It really doesn’t matter. Come on, relax,” he said, lifting her against the pillows. Gently spreading her legs, he kneeled between them, cupped her breasts in his palms, bent his head, and sucked first on one nipple then the other until her cunt was aching, throbbing, pulsing with every beat of her heart. Until it was only a question of whether she was going to come with or without him inside her.
For a fraction of a second, she debated her outrageous willingness or his outrageous appeal. But just as she was deciding she should be less slavishly under his spell, that she could control her desires if she only put her mind to it, he slipped two fingers in her so-
so
-ready-for-action vagina, a streak of ravenous lust ripped through her fevered senses, and there was no longer any question of going it alone. “Jake,
now
,” she fervently cried.
“In a minute.” His voice in contrast was serene. Then he went back to sucking her nipples and massaging her G-spot and clit while she panted and squirmed and pleaded. Stopping his feel-good therapy just nanoseconds short of her liftoff to climax, he sat back on his heels. “Hey, babe— intermission.”
It took her a moment to respond, to put sound and words in some reasonable frame of reference when she was totally absorbed in sensation. When she finally realized what he was doing, she said, “Don’t be a prick.”
She was right, and if he’d not been struggling with his own ungovernable cravings, he might not have given in to his baser instincts. It was probably some Neanderthal defense mechanism—having to be in control. Moving off the bed, he held out his hand. “Come here, and I’ll be as nice as you want.”
She scowled. “No.”
He shouldn’t have felt such a lecherous rush at her unwillingness. “Come on. I’ll fuck you. You want that, don’t you?”
Her indecision was palpable.
“Think of it as part of the game.”
“What if I don’t like your game?”
He smiled. “But you do.”
Damn him for looking like some female fantasy: tall, powerful, too good-looking for even a smidgen of humility, with a cock that literally stretched from crotch to waist and could have been an ad for Viagra, since it was hard forever.
As if he could read her mind, he lightly traced the length of his erection with his fingertip.
“I’ll do this to you later,” she muttered.
“What?”
“Make you wait.”
“But you don’t have to wait.” He crooked his finger.
She scowled. “I could use my vibrator.”
“Do that when I’m not here.”
“Don’t sound so sensible when you’re pissing me off.”
“Come on.”
Who could refuse? Maybe someone with zero libido. Hers, unfortunately, was operating at maximum capacity. Moving to the edge of the bed, she took his hand and came to her feet.
“Over here,” he said, detouring long enough to pull a condom from his jeans pocket. Drawing her to an upholstered chair near the window, he turned it around so the chair back faced the room. “Bend over this.”
She didn’t move.
“Do what you’re told, babe, and I’ll put my cock in you and make you come.”
“Fuck you,” she muttered, glaring at him.
“Or I could fuck you,” he gently observed.
He shouldn’t have felt such elation as she complied, bending facedown over the chair back. But her submission struck some perverted chord, his cock surged higher, and in compensation for his brute behavior he promised himself she could come as many times as she wished.
He had the condom in place a second later and, moving up to her prominently displayed sex, he grazed the gleaming pink flesh of her vulva with the tip of his erection, tracing her slippery, wet cleft from top to bottom. “Now, if you ask real nice, I might—”
Surging upright, she spun around, swung at him furiously, and would have landed a square punch on the jaw if he hadn’t quickly sidestepped. As it was, she left a streak of scratches down his cheek. “Get out!” she snapped.
BOOK: Wine, Tarts, & Sex
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