Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(69)

“Now Mr. Growly Growlerton,” she said—Roger that, he was definitely growling—“let’s get these jeans off, yeah?”

“God yeah,” he agreed, hastily fumbling with his belt buckle.

She tsked and pushed his hands away. “No. Let me do the honors.”

He bit his tongue to keep from begging her to hurry. Especially when she slowly, methodically undid his belt, carefully, teasingly unsnapped the button on his jeans, and deliberately, coquettishly unzipped his fly. She was probably one of those people who unwrapped her Christmas presents slowly too. Savoring the moment before the surprise. Saving the bows and being careful not to tear the paper.

“You’re killing me, woman,” he gritted, unable to resist tangling his fingers in her soft, charmingly messy hair. His heart was thundering out of control, no doubt trying to supply his brain and organs with what little blood wasn’t pooled inside his raging hard-on.

Glancing up at him, she feigned a sympathetic pout. Then she cupped him through the denim of his jeans and squeezed. “Poor baby. We can’t have that, can we?”

He had to shake his head because he couldn’t speak. He couldn’t breathe. He could barely think, and even then, every single thought was focused on his need to feel her hands on him, skin to skin, her lips on him, her teeth and tongue and—

Hell…

“Please,” he managed, his voice so low he wasn’t sure she heard him.

But obviously she had because she whispered, “Please what, Dan? Tell me what you want.”

To hear his earlier words parroted back to him was both a tease and a challenge. And guess what? He was up to the task. Fuckin’-A he was! “I want you to pull down my pants. I want you take my dick in your hands. I want you to angle it toward your mouth. And then I want you to wrap those sweet lips around me and suck.”

She’d asked for it. He’d given it to her. And he watched, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth, as a deep red blush bloomed on her cheeks and across her chest. A sure sign of her excitement mixed with her self-consciousness. It was so damn sweet. So damn hot. So damn everything he’d ever wanted in a partner.

“Yes,” she said. “I think I’ll like that very much.”

“I know I will.” He braced himself when her long fingers hooked in the waistbands of his jeans and boxer briefs, pulling both garments down over his hips and beneath his ass. His dick sprang forward with such ferocity it was a wonder she didn’t lose an eye. And the relief of being released from the confines of his pants was so acute it nearly dropped him to his knees.

“Wow,” she whispered, her hot breath swirling around him. Even that small caress, that intangible touch was enough to make his shaft jerk and throb. He was so hard he was standing nearly vertical, so swollen with blood he was almost purple. “I knew you were a…a big man, but…” She hesitated. “You’re…um…”—she bit her lip, blinking up at him—“going to be quite a mouthful.”

It occurred to him then that maybe she wasn’t up for this. Some women didn’t like doing it, especially when it involved a piece of equipment that was…well… Okay, so he wasn’t bragging here, but when the good Lord saw fit to add the twig to his berries, the big guy in the sky had looked around and upgraded to a stick. Dan had been in enough locker rooms to know that not only did he pack more than his fair share, but he also wasn’t as…um…pretty as some. He shaft was thick, roped with veins, curved slightly upward, and his glans flared proud and plump at the end. For the unaccustomed, he probably looked a bit…aggressive.

“Penni,” he husked, having to dig down deep in order to utter the next words, especially when all he wanted to do was grab the back of her head and press her face and mouth against him, “you don’t have to—”

“Shut up,” she told him, and he grinned. There’s that adorably blunt New Yorker I know. Then she wrapped a hand around the base of his shaft and angled him toward her mouth like he’d told her to do. When she licked her lips, his smile disappeared and he held his breath. But just as she leaned forward, just as her mouth opened, the plane hit turbulence…

“There’s been a change in plans,” Chelsea said, dragging Dan from his delightful, painful reverie. He turned to see her drop her cell phone into her satchel, and covertly adjusted his stance since he was hard. Again. Or maybe I should say still. As far as he knew, he’d maintained his boner even while he and Zoelner had fought the turbulence of a passing thunderstorm, even when they had been forced to coast into the airport on fumes, and even though the digital display on his diver’s watch told him over three hours had passed since he’d been in that bathroom.

He was the equivalent of a walking, talking side effect in one of those Viagra commercials. For an erection lasting longer than four hours…get laid as quickly as possible. At least that was the medical advice he was going to go with, whether it was sound or not.

“What kind of change?” Zoelner asked, hopping down the jet’s four steps after having secured Winterfield inside the aircraft.

“The kind where we’re headed to Chicago instead of Washington,” Chelsea said.

Dan exchanged a look with Penni. She reached to take his hand and he didn’t hesitate to pull her close to his side, taking comfort in her sweet touch, her solid presence next to him. They were supposed to drop Winterfield off at some interrogation site outside DC, and any deviation from that course could only mean one thing: bad news.