Better When He's Bold
Page 50
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I moved from the side of his chest to his breastbone and kissed him there. The firm skin was warm and resilient under my mouth. I felt the way his body started to respond to the gentle caress. His fingers threaded through my hair as I ran the flat of my tongue over the disk of his nipple. His heart kicked in response.
I ran my hands over his ribs and rested them on his hips above where his jeans hung low and provocatively. Race was lean, carved out of hard lines and sharp planes. He had a hard, muscled ridge over each hip that delineated strong and supple flesh. I wanted to lick it, to trace every line and curve of his body with the tip of my tongue. I got my hands under the waistband of the stiff denim and grinned where I was kissing him when I felt the hard edge of his cock bump against the back of my fingers. I loved that even in a sour mood he was still so quick to respond to my touch. It made all of this wildness he inspired inside me feel less one-sided.
“My turn to take care of you,” I whispered just as I kissed him right over his heart before pulling back so I could wrestle with his belt buckle.
“Brysen . . .” His voice was husky and rough. “I don’t know how much I can take tonight.”
Good. I would take him to the edge like he had done to me, make everything better with a soothing touch and all-consuming desire. His belt gave way easily enough and he was so hard that the fabric of his jeans was practically pushed out of the way by his throbbing erection. He was long, hard, and looked so solid and right as he fell into my hands. I saw his stomach muscles hollow out, saw his chest rise and fall in a deep breath, and his eyes did that thing where they shifted from pretty green to intense and needy black.
I got on my knees in front of him, a position that should have made me nervous, should have made me question the lengths I was already going to in order to please this man, but it didn’t. It made me feel in control, in charge of what was happening between us, and I liked the way his hands got hard and insistent when they curled around the back of my head as I leaned forward to take the straining tip of his cock between my lips. He made a low noise in the back of his throat as I swirled my tongue around the ridges and lines of the powerfully jutting part of him.
He tasted like Race. Sort of mysterious and lux at the same time. He had a trail of fine golden hairs dusting his abdomen below his belly button that tickled my fingers when I circled the base of his erection with my hand because there was no way the whole thing was going to fit in my mouth. He made another noise and his fingers tangled tighter on my neck and in my hair. I sucked on him, licked him, worked him over to the point that his hips started to involuntarily move against the draw and pull of my mouth. I wanted to use my other hand, wanted to stroke him, fondle him, and push him over the edge so that all that tension, all the coiled tautness running through his body, could leach out, but Race was done with being on the receiving end and not giving in return.
I made a surprised noise when he hauled me back up, spun me around, and put me on the edge of the sink where he had been leaning. I licked my bottom lip, which made him swear at me, and curled my legs around his lean waist when he got his impatient hands under my skirt to strip my panties off under the fabric.
“I wasn’t done.” I wanted to sound sultry and sexy, but I was more like Minnie Mouse.
He grinned at me and that dimple was enough to make all the things between my legs go hot and damp.
“I was about to be, and that’s not what I want. I want you.”
He stepped into the cradle of my legs, bent his head down, and sealed his mouth over mine. I flinched a little when I tasted blood from his split lip. A second later he joined us together with one solid thrust and I forgot all about his cut, and smashed my mouth more firmly onto his. There wasn’t really any foreplay, wasn’t any buildup and tune-up like there had been last night, but still, the press of hard flesh, the burn as he moved inside of me, felt like heaven. I twined my arms around his naked shoulders, trying in vain to be careful of the bruises decorating his skin.
This sex was more primal. More about achieving the end goal and making each other feel better than yesterday’s romp had been. It was just as intense, just as potent and impactful. It made my body respond just as fast, heated me up and twisted my insides in all the same ways, but there was something else in it, something that made it more penetrating. There was something working behind those eyes and in his touch that made me feel like this was the other side of Race that I was with tonight. This was the Race who lived and worked in the Point. This was the Race who had taken on a gangster and won. This was the Race not scared of breaking the law. This was the Race who was battered and a little soul-broken because he thought he was doing the right thing and no one else in this place appreciated it. He wasn’t going out of his way to try and please me, even though he was just that good, he couldn’t help but have me panting and writhing against him with just a few skilled thrusts and the brush of exploratory fingers against wanting flesh. I could tell this was something else.
I ran my hands over his ribs and rested them on his hips above where his jeans hung low and provocatively. Race was lean, carved out of hard lines and sharp planes. He had a hard, muscled ridge over each hip that delineated strong and supple flesh. I wanted to lick it, to trace every line and curve of his body with the tip of my tongue. I got my hands under the waistband of the stiff denim and grinned where I was kissing him when I felt the hard edge of his cock bump against the back of my fingers. I loved that even in a sour mood he was still so quick to respond to my touch. It made all of this wildness he inspired inside me feel less one-sided.
“My turn to take care of you,” I whispered just as I kissed him right over his heart before pulling back so I could wrestle with his belt buckle.
“Brysen . . .” His voice was husky and rough. “I don’t know how much I can take tonight.”
Good. I would take him to the edge like he had done to me, make everything better with a soothing touch and all-consuming desire. His belt gave way easily enough and he was so hard that the fabric of his jeans was practically pushed out of the way by his throbbing erection. He was long, hard, and looked so solid and right as he fell into my hands. I saw his stomach muscles hollow out, saw his chest rise and fall in a deep breath, and his eyes did that thing where they shifted from pretty green to intense and needy black.
I got on my knees in front of him, a position that should have made me nervous, should have made me question the lengths I was already going to in order to please this man, but it didn’t. It made me feel in control, in charge of what was happening between us, and I liked the way his hands got hard and insistent when they curled around the back of my head as I leaned forward to take the straining tip of his cock between my lips. He made a low noise in the back of his throat as I swirled my tongue around the ridges and lines of the powerfully jutting part of him.
He tasted like Race. Sort of mysterious and lux at the same time. He had a trail of fine golden hairs dusting his abdomen below his belly button that tickled my fingers when I circled the base of his erection with my hand because there was no way the whole thing was going to fit in my mouth. He made another noise and his fingers tangled tighter on my neck and in my hair. I sucked on him, licked him, worked him over to the point that his hips started to involuntarily move against the draw and pull of my mouth. I wanted to use my other hand, wanted to stroke him, fondle him, and push him over the edge so that all that tension, all the coiled tautness running through his body, could leach out, but Race was done with being on the receiving end and not giving in return.
I made a surprised noise when he hauled me back up, spun me around, and put me on the edge of the sink where he had been leaning. I licked my bottom lip, which made him swear at me, and curled my legs around his lean waist when he got his impatient hands under my skirt to strip my panties off under the fabric.
“I wasn’t done.” I wanted to sound sultry and sexy, but I was more like Minnie Mouse.
He grinned at me and that dimple was enough to make all the things between my legs go hot and damp.
“I was about to be, and that’s not what I want. I want you.”
He stepped into the cradle of my legs, bent his head down, and sealed his mouth over mine. I flinched a little when I tasted blood from his split lip. A second later he joined us together with one solid thrust and I forgot all about his cut, and smashed my mouth more firmly onto his. There wasn’t really any foreplay, wasn’t any buildup and tune-up like there had been last night, but still, the press of hard flesh, the burn as he moved inside of me, felt like heaven. I twined my arms around his naked shoulders, trying in vain to be careful of the bruises decorating his skin.
This sex was more primal. More about achieving the end goal and making each other feel better than yesterday’s romp had been. It was just as intense, just as potent and impactful. It made my body respond just as fast, heated me up and twisted my insides in all the same ways, but there was something else in it, something that made it more penetrating. There was something working behind those eyes and in his touch that made me feel like this was the other side of Race that I was with tonight. This was the Race who lived and worked in the Point. This was the Race who had taken on a gangster and won. This was the Race not scared of breaking the law. This was the Race who was battered and a little soul-broken because he thought he was doing the right thing and no one else in this place appreciated it. He wasn’t going out of his way to try and please me, even though he was just that good, he couldn’t help but have me panting and writhing against him with just a few skilled thrusts and the brush of exploratory fingers against wanting flesh. I could tell this was something else.
