The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(84)

“I think,” I began, leaning across the console, “I have a few ideas on how we can . . . expunge it.”

“Oh yeah?” She smiled, grabbing me by the back of the head and forcing our mouths together. “You always taste good.”

I pulled back. “I’m Ian Hunter. Of course I do.”

“Cocky.”

“For you?” I kissed her harder. “Every damn second of the day.”

We made it inside the house with clothes intact, but the minute the door slammed behind Blake, her shoes went flying by my head, and her arms were already halfway out of her dress as it pooled around her waist. It was near impossible to take my eyes off of her round breasts, which were for once not covered in a pink sports bra but perkily sitting under a black sheer piece of lace that I knew I’d be pulling off with my teeth later. She slowly slid the dress from her waist, her eyes watching mine as it slid across her bare thighs and then kissed her ankles. I licked my lips in anticipation.

“Eager?” I grinned, enjoying the private show more than she would ever realize.

“Hmm?” She turned around, her dress still at her ankles. “Nope, just don’t like wasting time.” She kicked the dress to the side and pulled off her bra, then very quickly stepped out of her sexy little boy-short panties.

Moonlight flickered in from the living room, casting a sensual white glow across her body. Wavy hair fell in cascades around her shoulders, giving her a dreamlike, ethereal look.

“Tell you what.” I stalked toward her. “I’ll love you no matter what you wear—basketball shorts, scrunchies, Adidas flip-flops. Just swear you’ll always come to my bed naked.”

She licked her lips. A blush tinted her cheeks. “But what if I have some really sexy lingerie?”

“Well, I guess I can make exceptions.” I tugged a piece of her hair, causing it to caress her breasts the way I wanted to. “But only on special occasions.”

“What would those occasions be?” Her eyebrows rose as she dangled her arms around my neck.

“Christmas.” I nodded, kissing the corner of her mouth. “New Year’s.”

“Hmm, I can deal with that.”

“Not done yet.” I pressed a finger to her lips and kept talking. “Valentine’s Day, Presidents’ Day, Groundhog Day.” She laughed against my hand. “Flag Day’s a given—I mean, c’mon.”

“Of course,” she whispered against my mouth.

“Fourth of July.” I squinted. “Because of the fireworks.”

“Any other days?”

“Wednesdays.” I added. “Mondays too.”

“So, every day?”

“Almost. Tell you what, I’ll make a calendar, and on the days that say ‘naked,’ you have to be naked. The other days I’ll give you a pass on—you can be as creative as you want.”

“Sounds to me like you’re scheduling sex?”

“Does it? Because to me it sounds like I’m scheduling playtime, but I can see how your innocent mind would be confused. And of course”—I pressed a kiss to her lips, drawing it out—“birthdays are always special.”

“Naturally.”

“I’ll send you instructions on the striptease and what flavor of cake I want you to jump out of.”

“You’re extremely bossy.”

“I like nice things.” I lowered my hands to her hips and tugged her against me. “Is that so bad?”

“No.” Her head fell back. “It’s very, very good.”

“Why, thank you.” I chuckled darkly as I kissed her on the mouth again, the heat of the kiss nearly setting my clothes on fire as I cupped her breasts, then leaned down and flicked her nipple with my tongue.

“Enough.” Blake pulled at my shirt. I threw it off over my head. My jeans followed, getting hung up on my shoes as I stumbled with her toward the couch and pulled her on top of me. “No boxers?” she said.

“No need,” I said, smirking. “Takes too much time to take them off.”

Her alluring blue eyes raked over me, stopping at my waist. She lifted a hand and pressed it against my hip, then inched lower.

“Exploring?” I teased.

She nodded, then gripped me with one hand.

My knees weakened briefly before a strangled growl escaped between my lips. Her touch was electric, as if her fingers pulsed straight waves of energy through my skin. Her swollen lips pressed together in concentration.

“Enough of that”—my nerve endings leapt in response to her rapt fascination with my body—“or I’m going to embarrass myself, and nobody wants that.”

Blake’s eyes snapped toward mine. “I can think of something I want.”

“Oh yeah?” I relaxed my grip on her hips and brought my hands behind my head in a relaxed motion. “What’s that? Cake?”

“Yeah, Ian.” She lowered herself over me, her searing skin almost painful as her body made contact with mine. “I want cake.”

“Fresh out.” My eyes felt lazy, drugged by the hypnotic way she moved above me. “But I have a few other ideas.”

“Good.” She grinned.

She visibly relaxed.

Bad move.