Rock Bottom Girl(78)

I kissed him again, reveling in the scrape of his stubble against my jaw. The pressure of his mouth against mine, the heat that he was pouring into me.

I’d had half a beer, but my head swam as if an entire bottle of tequila had found its way into my bloodstream. This is what Jake Weston did to a woman. And he was doing it to me. Finally.

Without breaking our hold on each other, we fumbled through the tree line that skirted Chaz’s pasture, tripping and stumbling back to Jake’s SUV.

And when his hands slid under my sweater and cupped my breasts through my bra, I knew we weren’t making it home.

Still kissing him, still making needy little groans, I wrestled the back door open.

“Are you kidding me right now, Mars?” he asked, his teeth nipping at my earlobe.

“Do you want to wait until we get back to your place when I’ve had a whole car ride to come to my senses?” I asked, scooting onto the back seat.

“No. No, I do not,” he said, jumping in behind me. “Take off your shoes.”

“Huh?”

“Shoes, Mars. Lose ’em,” he said, shrugging out of his coat and dragging his shirt over his head. Oh, Lord. The ink. The muscle. The chest hair.

Jake Weston was all man. And, for tonight, he was all mine.

I kicked off my boots, and then his nimble fingers went to work at the fly of my jeans. Hypnotized, I watched his hands as they competently worked my pants down. I lifted my hips to help while he wrangled them past my knees and stripped them off completely.

“Turn around, Mars,” he said. His voice was ragged like a gravel road. “Hands and knees.”

That would put my ass in his face. I didn’t usually like to shove my very round, rather full posterior in men’s faces.

“Why?” I asked. I sounded like I’d just run up the practice field steps sixteen times.

“I gotta do something, baby. I’ve been dying to.”

The vagueness of his statement should have resulted in a color guard of red flags. But the lust zinging through my blood like a drug made me stupid.

I did what he said. Before I could worry about what he was seeing up close, he was yanking my simple cotton briefs down and then—

“Did you just bite me?” I yelped.

His teeth were definitely on my ass.

He groaned without releasing my flesh from his mouth. I felt him suck and lick hard enough that I cried out. It felt good. Wrong and delicious and wonderful.

Then he was kissing the abused inch of flesh. “I’ve been thinking about doing that since I threw you over my shoulder. I wanted it to be my knee,” he rasped.

Could I orgasm just from his voice? Low, guttural, dirty. Okay. No. But still.

He licked over the spot he’d bitten and, at the same time, shoved two fingers into me without warning. “Oh, fuck me, Mars,” he breathed, pumping his fingers into me. “Jesus, baby. You are so fucking ready.”

I would have answered, but I’d smashed my face against the window. Letting it cool my skin. I bucked against him. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that my body had the capacity to feel all this. I’d held on to a library of rote fantasies that I dutifully used to orgasm during sex. But this? With Jake? I couldn’t hold a thought in my head other than, “Oh, God, yes!”

He worked me mercilessly, and I heard him lower his zipper.

Masterful womanizer that he was, Jake released his cock from the confines of his jeans one handed while his other hand busily destroyed me. He levered up on the seat situating himself behind me. And then I felt the drag of the smooth head of his dick on my ass cheek. It was wet.

He was grunting softly, and I imagined him stroking himself with one big, hard hand while using his other to drive me fucking insane.

I needed to see. I needed to watch him jerk himself off to me. That would be the new permanent installation in the Marley Cicero Spank Bank Hall of Fame.

My muscles quivered around his talented digits, and I realized I was seconds away from death by orgasm. I was on my hands and knees. Nothing had so much as grazed my clitoris. My boobs were still covered. He was a maestro of the female orgasm. And he was using his powers for good tonight.

“Baby, you’re so close,” he groaned. “Don’t you fucking come.”

“What?” Oh my God. He wasn’t one of those alpha asshole orgasm withholders, was he? I was not into that.

“I need to see you. I need to be in you when you come.”

I thought about swooning and decided against it. I wanted this orgasm more than I wanted to live into my eighties.

“Jake, hurry the fuck up, or one of us will die.”

He laughed and slapped at my hip. “Roll, baby.”

“Condom, Weston.”

I rolled onto my back as Jake dug through his console. He pulled out an entire strip of condoms as if his console was a safe sex dispenser. I rolled my eyes as he used his teeth on the first one.

He looked so dirty. His chest was bare, the veins in his tattooed arms stood out. And that cock. That magnificent, long, thick cock jutted out of his jeans proudly. I felt lightheaded. And desperate. He rolled the condom on, and I hit myself in the jaw with my knee while I wrestled my underwear off of one leg.

“Do you have any idea what you do to me, Marley?” he asked, shards of glittering glass in his voice. I would have rolled over those shards if it made him touch me.