The Matchmaker's Playbook (Wingmen Inc., #1)(85)

Within seconds, I’d flipped us both onto the floor, the soft thick rug catching our bodies as we rolled for a few seconds and then stopped with me on top, her on bottom. “Better than cake . . . Let me taste you,” I said before lowering my head to one of her breasts, taking her nipple captive, and rolling my tongue around it.

“Ian!” Blake laughed and then bucked beneath me as she wrapped her ankles around my back.

“Shh, I’m having a moment here.”

“With my boobs?”

“We’ve never really had one-on-one time, you know? And it’s important not to show favoritism in the bedroom—that’s another rule.” I blew against the skin where my lips had just been. “In case you were wondering.”

“What are you doing to me?” she groaned.

“Everything I can possibly do without dying of dehydration or getting us arrested. Is that okay with you?” I moved to the other nipple. “Because I’d like to continue this conversation over here.” I licked down the valley of her breasts. “If you’re done talking?”

She shut up.

Except for the moans that came out of that bee-stung mouth of hers.

Touching Blake was like jumping right into a fire only to realize that rather than burn you, the flames infused you with a need that couldn’t be met, no matter how hard you tried. Every kiss had to be followed by another, every taste of her skin—a mixture of salt and honey—just made me ravenous for more. I’d never experienced that kind of need before, which made me more frantic in my attempt to cover every inch of her body with my mouth.

Blake reached for me, but I slapped her hands away, then pinned her arms high above her head. “I’m not done.”

“I am!” She squirmed beneath me.

“You’re close.”

“So close.”

“Then let go.” I kept her wrists pinned with one hand while I slid my free hand down her hip, my fingers hovering exactly where I knew she wanted them.

“Ian!”

Smirking, I moved onto my knees, then flipped her onto her back and brought her slowly into my lap.

“Whoa,” Blake said. “What’s—?”

Our bodies joined.

Her head fell back against my shoulder, and my lips moved against her neck in the same cadence as our bodies slammed together, each thrust met with another kiss.

Blake’s hands gripped my wrists as she pushed her body back against mine. Her eyelids fluttered closed as I brought us both close to the edge, only to stop.

Her eyes jerked open. “Ian, I’m not into begging.”

“And I’m not into the girl I love closing her eyes while I watch her come apart in my arms.”

Her eyes stayed open as I thrust into her wildly, groaning as her body clenched tight around me. She fell against me, boneless, while I slid my hands down her silhouette, taking in the feel of her, the velvet skin almost too soft to be real.

“You love me,” she whispered.

“I do.”

“Tell me”—her voice was hoarse—“was it the Caboodle or the sandals?”

“Both.” I laughed. “Definitely both.”





CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

We made it to the bed after briefly stopping in the kitchen and grabbing as many snacks as we could.

My room was blanketed in grays and blacks, masculine but not so masculine that a girl would feel like she wasn’t welcome, which was weird since I’d never welcomed anyone except Blake into my bed.

ESPN blared in all its glory on the large flat-screen TV across from the bed. Colors from the screen played a kaleidoscopic light show across the white down comforter. Blake made a beeline for the bed and flopped into the center. As the colors flickered across her face, making Blake part of the show, my throat went dry and I had an honest-to-God “moment.” She was really here, really with me. The fantasy had become the reality.

Was I up to it?

“You have throw pillows,” Blake stated as she pulled out a box of Ritz Crackers.

Hell yeah, I was up to it. A smile pulled at my lips.

“And you’re just now noticing?” I grabbed the pillows and chucked them off the bed. Four of them landed in my black leather armchair while the other nearly took out the dresser.

“I noticed it before.” Blake crunched down on a cracker. “But I’m only now mentioning it. Is that you or Gabs?”

“All me, sweet cheeks.” I winked and stole the cracker out of her hand. “Don’t I look like I can decorate?”

She eyed me up and down and frowned. “I guess so, but why have them if you’ve never brought girls back here? I mean, throw pillows make the bed look inviting.”

“Wow, it’s like you’ve jumped into my head,” I grumbled. “They look nonthreatening, if that’s what you mean.”

“Exactly!” Blake pounded the spot between us. “Almost like, ‘Oh, hey, this isn’t a one-night stand. I have throw pillows.’ Do one-night stands have throw pillows?”

“Hell no.” I shook my head. “It’s scary that you’re picking up on things like that. Hey, want a job?”

“Riding you isn’t a job, sorry.”

“Damn it!” I stole another cracker from her hand while she glared daggers in my direction and then shoved the box into my face.