Raw Deal (Larson Brothers #1)(46)
“Sit on the sofa,” she murmured against his lips. He did so, only reluctantly leaving her kiss to skirt around the piece of furniture and settle onto it, putting his empty glass on the glass end table at his elbow. Savannah followed him, kicking her cursed shoes off before placing her hands on both his knees and easing herself down to her own. Luckily the rug beneath her was soft; she hoped to be here for a while. Mike never took his eyes from her, never moved, but his breathing quickened, his gaze darkened. The outline of his cock was already evident in his pants and her hands itched to go to it, but she contented herself with running her nails up his thighs and back to his knees, delighting in his heat, his involuntary responses, his firm muscles pressing against the fabric.
She was only interested in one particular part of him at the moment, though, edging ever closer to it with her fingertips and then skating them away until he was almost panting. Finally, she had mercy and let her hands go to his zipper, gently working to free him without taking his pants down. She wanted him this way, all in black, dark and dangerous but at her mercy while she sucked him off with the city lights twinkling behind him.
He groaned when she finally pulled him from his pants, sprawling his legs wider and stretching his arms across the back of the couch. She had to admit, since losing her virginity to her high-school boyfriend on her eighteenth birthday, she hadn’t seen too many cocks she’d actually looked forward to putting in her mouth. Her enthusiasm for blowjobs with past loves had been lukewarm at best, but she’d still been generous with the act as long as her lover reciprocated.
But Michael’s dick was gorgeous and she wanted to go down on it like it was ambrosia. Long. Thick. Strong. God, whatever else was going on in her life, at this moment she was a lucky girl. The mere sight of it made her ache, made her wet, made her yearn to crawl over him and ride him to ecstasy, but no, this moment was for him alone. He would be a challenge, but she was up for it.
Leaning over, she traced the ridge of his corona with her tongue, glancing up in time to see his head fall back, his chest heave at the first touch of her lips. She left no inch of him unexplored, licking, kissing, sucking, and when the time came to angle him toward her mouth and pull him as deep as she could, his hands flew to her head. Not pulling, not pushing, just there, clenching her windblown hair as his head came up and he watched himself disappear between her lips. “Fuck. Fuck. Savannah.”
He made her fall in love with her own name when he said it like that.
She scraped her nails down his chest, wishing now that his shirt was open but still able to delight in the tense muscles beneath. Watching him come undone was a thing of pure masculine beauty, and she couldn’t get enough of the sight. God, he was hard, and getting harder, and more difficult to take deep, but she did it, and loved every second of his responses: the groans and writhing movements and pleasure curses. Wrapping the base of him in her fist, where her fingers didn’t meet, she relaxed her jaw and took him until his tip hit the back of her throat. It surprised her when his fingers came up gently under her chin, lifting her off him.
“I’m gonna come,” he said breathlessly.
“Then come,” she urged. “Come for me, Michael, please.”
“Goddamn,” he groaned, releasing her to go back to her task. And she couldn’t wait to watch him unravel, didn’t take her eyes off him a single time as his breath caught and his hips wrenched off the couch, his handsome face contorted in the anguish of pleasure as his taste flooded her mouth. She took every drop, staying with him until his grip on her hair softened and he began to relax all at once, sinking into the cushions and breathing as if he’d run a marathon. Beneath her hands, his raging heartbeat began to slow.
“Jesus Christ,” he said at last, bringing a giggle from her. She gave his inner thigh a little nibble and then laid her head against his knee, gazing up at him. “Incredible. Fucking incredible.”
“I’m glad you liked it,” she teased.
“Liked doesn’t begin to cover it. Nearly blacked out.” Yeah, she knew all about that; he’d done the same to her just last night. Lifting his head, he frowned down at her and then reached for her elbow. “Come up here, beautiful. You can’t be comfortable down there on your knees.”
For him, she thought troublingly, she could probably be comfortable anywhere. But curling up next to him on the couch in the dim silence of his home was pretty comfortable too, with his fingertips tracing lazy patterns up and down her bare arm. She could imagine spending every night this way.
And thoughts like that were the reason she needed to get her ass back to New Orleans and stay there, no matter how much it would hurt to do so. Sighing, she turned her face into his chest, trying to escape from having any thoughts at all. All of them wounded her in some way or another. All of them.
But he soothed her without even trying. Everything about him was a balm to her soul, from the feel of him next to her to the slow rise and fall of his breathing. The steady beat of his heart, the way he took care of her. It was so soon, too damn soon to feel this way. Yet she felt it nevertheless.
“So . . . ,” she began tentatively, “I go home tomorrow.”
“Trying not to think about that,” he murmured, sounding more than a little drowsy. “What time is your flight again? Close to two, isn’t it? I can’t quite remember.”
“Yeah. Two-thirty-ish.”