Baddest Bad Boys(17)

He didn’t say a word. His expression did not change.

She dragged in as deep a breath as she could manage, and laid it on the bed next to the pillow. She’d just take that flat silence as a resounding yes. God knows, she’d heard what a no sounded like.

She pulled off the sweatshirt. His gaze fastened onto her naked breasts. He didn’t tell her to stop. Encouraged, she tugged off jeans, panties and ankle socks. And just stood there. Come and get me.

He was not behaving the way her girlfriends had given her to understand that men did. What did she have to do to get him to make a move? Hold a gun to his head? She took a step closer. A muscle twitched in his jaw. His penis poked out of his waistband. There was a smear of precome on the dark hair arrowing to his groin.

She sank to her knees in front of him, and pressed her mouth to his glans, lashing her tongue across it. Licking salty drops on his belly.

He gasped, jerked. “Jesus, Robin.” The chair teetered on its legs.

She looked up. “Well? You’re just sitting there, like a freaking rock.” She ran her finger around the flare of the glans. “What does it take to get you going? Do I have to light a bomb under your chair?”

“Oh, God,” he muttered, but he didn’t protest when she wrenched his belt open and tugged him to his feet. She pushed his jeans down.

His penis sproinged up, and she gripped it, caressing the broad shaft. Jon seized her beneath the armpits and hauled her to her feet.

“Once I get started, I’m not stopping,” he warned.

She snorted. “I should hope not. You’ve been such a shrinking violet. You’d think you were the one who’d never done it before.”

“Shrinking violet? Huh.” He laughed, which made her happy, and slid his hand between her legs, which made her gasp.

Oh, he was so good. Better than she was herself. He fluttered his fingers against her labia until her breath was all stuck in her throat, hitching in ineffectual gasps, and then he insinuated his finger inside, slid it tenderly around the slick folds and crevices.

She whimpered and gasped as he found her clit, fondled it.

He thrust deeper. Two fingers, stretching. It hurt, but it felt so achingly good. His body burned her, all that scorching skin. He smelled so good. She clutched his shoulders, hiding her face against his chest.

“Squeeze your * around my hand. Come for me again.”

She lifted her head, confused. “But I thought we—I thought—”

“I will. But the more times I get you off first, the better it’ll be.”

The sensations built with every delving stroke, every sliding thrust. The tension built, aching and swelling until something snapped, and wild rapture throbbed through her. Huge, sweet waves of it.

He held her up on wobbling knees when she drifted back. He jerked his chin toward the bed, eyes gleaming with fierce purpose.

She stumbled back, sat down. Scrambled back on the mattress until she lay on her back. She felt so vulnerable, naked with that big man looming over her. To say nothing of that enormous thing of his, bobbing and swaying before him. She grabbed the pillow, propped it behind her head, and watched him open the condom, smooth it on. He stroked his erection with a rough hand as he stared down at her.

“Open up. Show me everything,” he said.

She struggled onto her elbows, and parted her legs. Her face was red, her breath quick. She felt weepy and strange. Like she might cry. God forbid. If anything could put him off, it would be that.

“Wider,” he said.

She forced her trembling thighs as wide as they would go. Jon climbed onto the bed. The springs bowed under his weight. The breath was zapped out of her body at the contact of his body to hers.

He fitted himself against her. Robin braced her hands against his chest, letting her nails dig in lest he think she was pushing him away. She craved the play of powerful muscles beneath her fingers, the rasp of coarse hair, the tang of sweat. He slid the tip of himself up and down her cleft, then stared into her eyes and began to force his way inside.

She caught her breath, nails digging deeper. Oh. Whoa.

He paused, his mouth set in a fierce line. “I told you,” he said savagely. “I warned you, goddammit.”

“Did you hear me complaining?” she snapped back. “Did I tell you to stop? No! So shut up, and do your job!”

He vibrated with amusement, and kept on pushing. The pressure mounted. She reached down, sliding her hands greedily over the contours of his back, the slabbed, bumpy ridges of muscle and bone. She sank her nails into his tight ass and dragged him deeper. Ouch.

It was his turn to gasp. “Take it easy, for f*ck’s sake!”

“Just making sure you don’t chicken out on me.”

“Not a chance,” he promised. “Too late.”

She wiggled, seeking relief from that immense, dull pressure. She was immobilized by his huge body. He gasped again at her writhing. “For God’s sake,” he complained. “Be still. Let me take this slow.”

“I thought the whole act was a little more dynamic,” she snapped.

“Not yet.” He rolled to the side, and that helped. He searched out her clitoris and played with it, barely moving inside her as he swirled his thumb around the taut nub. His lips found her nipple, sucked it deep, and her body slowly began to make sense of the invasion.

Her chest shivered, softened. It still hurt, but it glowed too, pulsing. A strange urgency was building up, and she wiggled madly to explore the throb, the tender strokes. He rolled back on top of her again, and began to move, wedging impossibly deeper.