Not So Nice Guy(60)
“Aren’t you hungry?” he asks, grinning and cradling my hips so he can rock up against me.
I see I’m not the only one treating tonight like a marathon.
“They’ll have to send paramedics when we’re done,” I say, stringing kisses down his neck.
He lifts his chin to allow me better access and now I am hungry—for knowledge. I’m going to memorize every inch of his body: the small groove beneath his collarbones, the inch-long scar along his left bicep, the exact dimensions of his chest measured by the width of my palms.
He groans and tries to roll over, but I throw my full weight against him. “Hold still, you.”
“You’re killing me here.”
“I just want to know who I married,” I say, in a daze, focused on the sharp contours of his abs.
“You know me,” he says wistfully.
“I thought I did,” I admit. “But that scene in the bathroom? That was some next-level lovemaking. I was not expecting that from you, Fletcher.”
He quirks a brow. From this angle, he’s so adorable I want to throttle him. “What’d you expect?”
“In my fantasies, it’s usually pretty vanilla, gentle and sweet—y’know, nice guy stuff.”
“You want gentle and sweet?” he asks while smirking.
I roll my eyes and lean forward to kiss him. His hands grip my ass and he tugs, tugs, tugs my robe up until I’m bare from the waist down. I should have put on some coveralls, or at the very least double-knotted my robe.
“I can be gentle and sweet,” he teases as his hand trails up the inside of my leg. His touch is feather light and soft when he reaches between my thighs. I’m already wet. I groan and my elbows collapse. He uses the opportunity to roll us over. I’m on my back and he shoves me higher on the bed. I’m smack dab in the middle when he stands and pushes those boxer briefs back to the ground.
I have two seconds to prepare myself before he presses my knees apart and dips his head between my thighs. There are levels to the seduction: first his breath hits me, warm and shocking. I buck off the bed but he pins my hips down with his arm. Second, his mouth is there, pressing a kiss to the most intimate part of me. I fist the bedspread and then finally, his tongue laps me up, nice and slow, up and down.
“We don’t…the food.”
That’s not even close to a full sentence, but Ian gets it. The food will be on its way up in no time and they can’t just roll it in while we go at it like we’re on the Discovery Channel.
“Yes, would you two like any ketchup? Maybe some flavored lubricant?”
Ian doesn’t start to rush. He takes his sweet time lapping me up. It’s a lesson, I think. He’s being the gentle and sweet version I wished for, and now I regret opening my stupid mouth because not only should he be rushing because my milkshake is on its way up, but also, I’m THIS close to having another orgasm and he knows it. The smug smile tells me so. He dangles me right in the middle of insanity. I can’t come like this. He’s going just a teensy bit too slow, dragging his feet and showing me just how tortuous “sweet and gentle” can be. I’m squirmy and needy, begging him to just let me…give me…have some damn mercy on my poor soul!
I’m seconds away from breaking out into tears of frustration, and then he stands up. I pry my eyes open. He’s gloating and wearing a panty-melting smirk.
Boy, is he enjoying this.
“Happy?” I ask, eyes narrowed in mock anger.
“I feel…nice. Like a nice guy,” he replies, repositioning my legs on the bed so he has room to settle himself between my thighs. He picks up my hips, positioning me at the exact right angle, and then he slides into me inch by inch.
I fist the sheets and my eyes pinch closed. My bottom lip is between my teeth so I don’t cry out loud enough to disturb our entire floor.
“So, is this how you envisioned it? Sweet and gentle?” he asks, leaning down and taking my hands in his. He drags them up and over my head and presses them into the bed. My eyes blink back open as he leans over me, putting me in his shadow. His hair hangs down on his forehead. His sharp features seem even more intimidating from this perspective. He pulls out and thrusts again and I groan because his full weight on top of me is intense and wonderful.
His face is right over mine. Our gazes are locked up until the moment he bends down and seers me with a sweet, seductive kiss. One hand takes control of both of my wrists and the other snakes down my body, hooking around my hips. He uses that hip as leverage, angling just a little to the left so he can really work himself in and out. He’s grinding into me now, keeping up a fast, insanity-inducing pace. His hips roll and I look down and I think I’m going to die.
My arms hook around his neck and I drag him flat against me. Nails press into skin. Words are murmured against his shoulder. His teeth bite down on the soft flesh of my earlobe and I’m shaking against him, forcing him to feel every wave of my orgasm as it shocks through me.
When he’s sure I’m finished, he sits back up and turns me over so I’m on my hands and knees. Now, there’s no more sweet and gentle. Ian is relentless. Pounding. Thrusting. Fucking. I’m slack-jawed, wide-eyed, and any number of other hyphenated adjectives. My arms give out and my cheek hits a pillow, but he holds on to my hips to keep me from collapsing altogether. Never once does he break pace. When I glance back, I see him staring down between us, watching what he’s doing to me, and whatever he’s seeing must send him over the edge, because he pulls out and grips his hard length and comes just like that, with my name on his lips.