More Than Anything (Broken Pieces #1)(73)

“A little help, please,” she said, deciding to enlist Harris’s aid, and he lifted his hips without protest, surging up between her thighs, the head of his penis coming within touching distance of her mound. She shimmied out of the way, not wanting that contact yet. She needed to maintain control of this encounter. She had a clear idea of how she wanted it to go; unsolicited touching and rubbing and suckling and grinding from Harris would mess up that plan.

She got up and dragged off his jeans, tugging them to his hips, and gazed at his nude male part in wonder and a fair amount of appreciation. It was throbbing, and the glans—so close to his belly button—was an angry red and shiny with moisture. The shaft itself was thick and lightly veined and nearly as long as her forearm.

She eagerly clambered back onto the bed and knelt next to him, her knees pushing against his waist. She slipped one hand under his shirt and rested it on his perfectly defined chest and placed the other on one of his hard thighs, inches away from his member.

“I like your penis,” she said conversationally, and he choked before covering his face with one of his large hands. Only his sexy mouth was visible, and that had a slight tilt at the corners. “Because of my lack of experience with them, I couldn’t figure out if yours was quite big or just really average.”

His lips thinned for a moment, and he spread his fingers to peer at her from between them.

“And? What did you decide?” he asked, his voice taking on that gravelly note that she only heard when he was sexually aroused.

“I think it’s perfect.”

His fingers closed again, and he gifted her with the smallest of smiles.

“I think you’re perfect.”

“Nobody’s perfect,” she said absentmindedly, taking hold of his shaft and measuring his girth between forefinger and thumb before closing her fist and pumping up and down his length. He bucked, startling her.

“You are perfect,” he maintained, his voice strained. “Perfect for me.”

“Stop saying silly things,” she criticized mildly, leaning over to drop a kiss on his lips. “And let me concentrate. I told you we don’t have much time. And I want to enjoy this.”

God, Harris fucking adored this woman. He didn’t know if this was a feeling that had been there all along, or if it had developed recently. All he knew was that it felt like it had always been a part of him. This naked adoration that vied for space with the joy and hope that had taken up residence in his expanding heart.

She kissed him again, her hand lazily stroking his aching cock, and he started to tell her that the condoms were in the bedside drawer when she lowered her head to his chest, trailing her lips over the T-shirt that had been shoved up to just below his pecs. She nibbled at his nipples through the thin cotton. When had his damned nipples become so sensitive, anyway? They felt like they had a direct line to his throbbing dick, and he was about to urge her to draw one into her mouth when she moved on. Leaving him frustrated and feeling like his skin was too tight for his body.

His hand dropped from his eyes, and he pushed himself to his elbows to watch her every move intently. Wanting to know what she was up to. Her lips trailed lightly and quickly over his torso, her loose hair blanketing his chest in the process. The sight of all that bright hair covering him was as huge a turn-on as the lips that were trailing down the center of his chest, all the way to his belly button. He was left wondering what her endgame was when her tongue came out and licked the trail from his belly button down toward his—

“Oh God! Tina . . . fuck!” His back bowed when her curious lips finally reached the head of his cock and delicately drew it into her mouth. The suction ended, and he nearly wept when she lifted her head and gave him a delightful smile of discovery.

“Salty,” she observed before lowering her head to go to work again. She nibbled, licked, sucked . . . God, could she suck. And she wriggled in excitement as she fed more of his cock into her waiting mouth, feasting like she’d been deprived of sustenance for months. She found a rhythm very quickly—it was sweet and untutored and mind blowing in its sensuality.

One of his hands could no longer resist the allure of her hair, and his fingers wove through, and then fisted in, her curls. His other hand crept beneath the tight skirt that was still hitched up over the creamy thighs, and he delved into the warmth between those soft thighs, seeking and finding the dampness he had known would be there. His fingers burrowed beneath her sodden lacy panties, and his thumb found her swollen clit almost immediately. She wriggled in appreciation, spreading her thighs as far as her skirt would allow, and he happily used the extra space to put his other fingers to work, plunging three of them into her grasping, hot, slick channel.

She squealed around his cock and enthusiastically rode his thrusting hand while increasing the suction on his length. Harris’s breath was gusting in and out of his chest; he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than what her mouth was doing and where his fingers were playing. He didn’t want to come. Not until she did. But because she was clearly a complete novice at blow jobs, she didn’t know to tease and titillate—she full on went for it. Demanding his orgasm with relentless suction that overstimulated him nearly to the point of pain.

He tried to stop it, but he couldn’t find the breath to tell her to slow down; instead all he could produce were inarticulate, frantic sounds. Her hand fisted around the base of his cock, adding another dimension to the pleasure pain that was driving him relentlessly toward his climax.