Too Hard to Handle (Black Knights Inc. #8)(81)
Before she knew what he was about, he released the collar of her sweater so he could grab the hem and whip the garment over her head. With an expertise that was both amazing and a little annoying—just how many bras has he taken off in his life?—he flicked open the clasp of her bra and dragged it from her shoulders, tossing it next to the sweater on the tile floor.
And then there she was. Naked. Again. Well, mostly naked anyway. There were still her pesky jeans and panties and socks to worry about—they’d both kicked off their boots before climbing onto his bed to eat the hot dogs.
Her reflection in the mirror revealed the rise and fall of her breasts as her breaths came short and fast. She’d never really thought of her boobs as anything to write home about. Sure, they were round and firm. But they were also a little on the small side. And her nipples were tiny. The areolas almost nonexistent around the buds of the nipples themselves, especially when they were puckered with desire, like they were now.
But when Dan looked at her, when he reverently cupped her from behind, his thumbs seeking the extended tips, she saw herself through his eyes. And she felt…beautiful. Soft and feminine. Flawlessly creamy and sensuously erotic. She shivered within the circle of his embrace, under the expertise of his hands and fingers.
“God, Penni,” he murmured, his face next to hers, his eyes watching what his hands were doing. “You’re so f*ckin’ gorgeous you make me harder than I’ve ever been before.”
As if to prove his point, he flexed his hips forward, driving her thighs into edge of the counter and rubbing the length of himself against her ass. It was incredibly sexy, carnal even, watching what he was doing to her at the same time she was feeling it. He must have thought so too. Because he never took his eyes off her, off the reflected images of her breasts in his hands.
Her skin looked milky white compared to his long, tan fingers. And the contrast between the rough calluses and scars on the backs of his hands, and the flawless flesh of her breasts was stark. He was man. Battle-scarred and tough. And she was woman. Soft and pliant.
He caught her sensitive nipples between his thumb and forefingers and gently plucked. She would swear she felt the sensation directly between her thighs. A rush of blood swelled her sex. A surge of wetness slicked her core, readying her for what was to come when finally, finally, the two of them would be together. Taking their time. Enjoying the pleasure and desire that had raged between them from the beginning.
She moaned her encouragement, rubbing her bottom against the steely shaft that throbbed so insistently.
“You want more?” he asked, watching her reactions.
“God, yes,” she hissed. When it came to him, when it came to this, she had no pride. Only need. Only want.
He released one of her breasts so he could turn her chin. And then…oh, and then he kissed her. In that Dan way. Like a conqueror. Like a gladiator. All pillage and plunder and no waiting for permission.
The slick glide of his tongue into her mouth mimicked the motion of his hand at her breast. Every time he pushed past her teeth, he plucked her nipple. And eventually, she couldn’t distinguish one form of pleasure from the other. It was all tangled up, tied up together. Her heart beat wildly against her rib cage. Her stomach quivered with want. Goose bumps peppered her skin, making the nerve endings beneath hyperaware so that every brush of his fingers, every hot rush of his breath was both agony and ecstasy.
“Dan…” His name was sigh, prayer, and entreaty.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered against her ear after he’d released her chin. His eyes pinned hers in the mirror, refusing to let her look away, refusing to let her hide.
“It’s your turn to tell me what you want,” she reminded him, her voice soft and low and full. “We were interrupted the last time, remember?”
He squeezed his eyes closed and moaned, rubbing himself against her. She knew the friction had to be building the ache as much as relieving it. “Yes, I remember.” His voice was barely above a growl. “I remember you down on your knees in front of me. I remember the feel of your soft hands wrapped around my cock. I remember your succulent mouth opening.”
“Is that what you want again?” she asked, watching his eyes flutter open. His lids hung at half-mast, a strong muscle twitched in his beard-stubbled jaw.
“What I want would shock you,” he said. It felt a little like a challenge.
“Tell me,” she whispered, arching back into him, increasing the friction of their bodies.
For a while he simply held her gaze in the mirror. She could tell he was debating, wondering if she could handle the bald truth of his wants. She held her breath, waiting, hoping he would tell her. She loved the thought of him trusting her enough to show her his most lustful, lascivious side.
She got her wish when he finally admitted, “I want to f*ck you from behind and watch your face in the mirror while you come.”
Sweet heavenly father! Just the sound of it, just the thought of it, had her womanhood contracting, pulsing, aching. “Then do it,” she told him, unconsciously reaching up to rub the bump on the bridge of her nose. “Do exactly that.”
Who are you? And what have you done with Penni DePaul? It was a valid question considering she wasn’t an adventurous lover. Or, at least…she’d never been one before. But maybe that’s because she’d never been with a man who made her feel safe enough to be adventurous.