Swing (Landry Family #2)(28)
His arms fall around me, his hands locking at the small of my back. He pulls me to him. “You are the hurry,” he whispers. “Next time we ride together.”
We exchange a look and I read exactly what he’s saying: that he doesn’t want to rush this, even though he does. I’m feeling the same way. The ride over gave me a second to regain some control and I want to keep that. At least for a bit.
He laces his fingers through mine and leads me to the front door. A key switches in the lock and we step inside.
“Bachelor pad much?” I comment, taking in the interior. It’s stark white walls and light gold carpeting mixed in with dark hardwood and bright white tile. It’s expensive with all the trendy, newer hallmarks yet lacks a feel of being lived in. Even the pictures dotting the walls look like they were hung up there solely to break the vacant feeling.
He shrugs. “I don’t live here much. I’m on the road half the year and the other half, I’m usually out with friends or visiting my family.” He shrugs again.
“There are no personal touches at all,” I note. “This doesn’t feel like you, Landry.”
He cocks his head to the side. “What feels like me?”
“Well,” I gulp, looking around again. “Something more masculine. Warmer colors, maybe. I expected art, for some reason.”
He grins. “I agree.” He turns away and heads into the kitchen. “Want a drink?”
“Uh, sure.” I follow him into a room at the back of the house. Viking range, stainless steel refrigerator, marble countertops—it’s a kitchen to die for. But I’m pretty sure it’s never actually been used.
After offering me from a basic selection of drinks, he hands me a glass. We both take sips, feeling each other out. Finally, I break the ice.
“What do you do when you’re home? I’ve heard a lot of athletes play video games or work out for hours on end. What’s your jam?”
“I lift some. Run some. Play a little video games, but I’m pretty much over that. Some guys do it all the time though. I don’t know how they do.”
“I’ve never gotten into that whole thing,” I say. “I’ve heard yoga is really good for athletes. It stretches you all out in different ways.”
He makes a face. “I’ll be your yoga instructor. Stretch you out in all kinds of ways.”
I swipe at him playfully, making him laugh.
“No to yoga,” he says. “It’s a girlie thing. Unless you’re doing it and then I’ll stand right behind you.”
“Oh, that’s what I want you to see! My ass in downward facing dog.”
His eyes darken. “I’d love to see you from every angle.”
My mouth goes dry from his gaze. This is the moment I’ve waited on for days now, the situation I’ve fantasized about. With a slightly shaking hand, I reach for his belt and being undoing it.
His eyes hood, making me squirm. I yelp as his hands find my waist and I’m hoisted in a circle and sat on top of the cool marble. His hands are on either side of me, caging me in.
“What are you waiting on?” I pant, cupping his face in my hands. His cheeks are rough, the stubble biting into my skin. He watches me, his gaze penetrating mine.
“It’s different this time, don’t you think?”
“How?”
“I know what you’re going to feel like, what you sound like, what you taste like.”
“How do you know that?” I pant.
“You don’t think I tasted you off my fingers before?”
“Oh, God,” I moan.
“But tonight, I get to experience you. Feel you. Taste you first hand. Feel you squirt in my mouth—”
“Stop,” I say like I’ve run a mile.
“Spread your legs, beautiful.”
With no hesitation, I part my legs as his hands cup my ass and he slides me to the end of the marble. He wastes no time sliding his tongue into my mouth, caressing mine. I forget about my parted legs until his knuckles brush against the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. I shudder.
His left hand is on the back of my head, keeping my head from pulling away from him. I can barely compute anything; too many fireworks are exploding in too many regions.
My thumbs brush his cheeks before I find the silky strands of his hair. Lacing my fingers through them, I tug slightly. It elicits a moan from his throat and that does it for me. I’m so wet I can feel it coating my legs. He does too because his eyes flash open for one brief moment, a look of pure lust written all over them. And when he realizes I’m not wearing any panties, I feel him melt against me.
He slips one finger, quickly followed by a second, into me. I suck in a breath, only to have it stolen by Lincoln’s kisses. He works his fingers in and out as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
Just as he’s finding a steady pace, he stops. Before I can object, I’m lifted by the waist. My legs instinctively wrap around him, his hands beneath the globes of my ass. The skin almost stings as his fingers kiss into my flesh.
I have no idea where we’re going, and I can’t even see from the merciless assault of his lips. We bump into walls, into corners, as he makes our way down a dark hallway.
Turning one corner a little too sharply, a picture falls from the wall and crashes on the floor. Gasping for air, I’m laid on a king-sized bed with silky silver-grey sheets. Sitting up, I try to work my zipper down in the back in a rush when I hear his voice low and gravelly.