The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(63)

I couldn’t tell if she was blushing; the room was too dark. But what I could tell? She was mind-numbingly beautiful with her wavy hair sticking to her neck, her perfect, nearly naked body beckoning me to take a little bite wherever I wanted. To mark her as mine.

“You about ready now?” she teased.

“Sweet cheeks”—I reached for her hands and tugged her roughly against me—“I’ve been ready since I saw those sexy flip-flops.”

Laughing, she pulled back, or at least tried, but I started moving my lips across her neck, sucking, licking, just freaking tasting, as if I’d never been with a woman before. And maybe I hadn’t, at least not a woman like Blake. One who drove me insane by just breathing.

Blake was in the sexiest damn lingerie I’d ever seen, and my hands ran down the red lace in appreciation as she deepened the kiss. Her chest heaved, splaying her breasts against my chest. I could feel her nipples harden.

I was mindless, an animal, consumed by the feel of her.

Knowing she wanted me as much as I wanted her.

I released her so I could fully admire the red lingerie, desperate to see what I had already felt.

Her gaze heated, but then insecurity washed over her features.

“Oh no you don’t,” I growled, reaching for her again, my mouth angling harshly against hers, my kiss more aggressive than gentle, because, hell, I felt aggressive, like I would die if I couldn’t be inside her.

“I think I need more rules,” she whispered once our mouths broke free. “So I know what to do.”

“No more rules.” I traced my finger down the curve of her breast and gave her bra a little tug. “Rules in the bedroom only lead to confusion and lack of orgasms.”

“How do you figure?”

Shit, I knew that look: she was starting to think. And thinking was always frowned upon. Thinking meant she was going to be the sane one, the one who said, ‘Let’s just be friends,’ when I really wanted to get her naked and fill her to the hilt again and again, until I was dehydrated or near death.

“I figure”—I slid my hand down her arm—“because women concentrate way too hard on thinking their way through sex rather than feeling.”

Her lower lip trembled as I reached behind her back and undid the clasp, my hands skimming over her bare skin, memorizing the smoothness. I pressed a kiss to the place where her shoulder and neck met.

“Feel,” I whispered, “all you want. And if you say no . . . mean it.”

“What do you mean?”

I pulled back and cupped her chin between my fingers. Damn it, now she was making me think, and that also wasn’t a good idea. I’d never been guilty of developing a conscience, until now. “The minute you say no, I’m covering you in as many layers of clothing as I can, and getting as far away from you as physically possible. So don’t say no unless you really mean it, because I won’t be coming back if you change your mind.”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I don’t believe I asked you a question, sweet cheeks.”

With shaking hands, she touched my sides, then my hips, where my jeans were already hanging painfully low, and then she reached for the button. She made new definitions for torture as she slowly played with the zipper and then said, “I’m saying yes.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

My dick jumped to full attention as her fingers grazed the front of my jeans.

Gritting my teeth, I hissed. “You can do better than that.”

I didn’t expect her to slip a wicked little hand into my jeans and grab me.

But she did.

And the small part of my brain that told me this was a bad idea, that it would change things forever, died as she squeezed.

“Better?” she asked.

“Don’t stop touching me,” I said through clenched teeth. Her innocence was staggering, but more than that, the innocent way she explored my body was enough to set me off before any sex even took place.

There was something to be said about being with the right girl.

Waiting for the right moment.

She grunted and then pulled her naughty little hand back. “I think you should take off your jeans.”

“You think?” My eyebrows rose.

She leveled me with a glare, then gave my jeans a damn hard tug. “Take them off.”

“Did you just boss me around? In your bedroom?” I smirked, enjoying the way her cheeks reddened.

She reached for me again.

“Whatever you say,” I groaned. “I’m yours.”

I slid my jeans off slowly. I wanted to do everything slow, to give her time to change her mind but also to make sure she knew without a shadow of a doubt what she’d be saying no to.

She sighed loudly. “I’m disappointed.”

“What?” I had to fight to keep myself from yelling. When had a girl ever said that to me?

She gave me a teasing smile. “I thought for sure you wore an old-school Speedo.”

“That’s it.” I grabbed her by the ass and tossed her over my shoulder, marching her over to the bed. “Teasing time’s over . . . at least for you.”

I flopped her onto her back and crawled up her body, my erection painful, my vision blurring from want.

Blake licked her lips.