Too Hot to Handle (Romancing the Clarksons #1)(50)

On top of it all, on top of everything in the motherfucking world, he wanted to fuck Rita. He’d wanted to fuck her on the roadside in the hot sun, those black combat boots leaving marks from digging into his ass. Resisting the pull of attraction was wrecking his head, his body. His cock was heavier than an anvil in his jeans, dying to be let out. Dying to ruin that tiny piece-of-shit vibrator for her, for all time. To show her how getting off felt when done his way. A shred of determination to talk, to right his wrong, still cycled through his mind, but it thinned every time his dick grew thicker.

Rita’s lips were still hovering a hair from his. “God, I want you, Rita. But not because you’re mad or want to teach me a lesson.” Not the first time, not ever. “Just listen a min—”

“No more excuses,” she whispered, licking along the seam of his mouth and frying his ever-loving brain. Her hands slipped down from his shoulders, easing the button of his jeans free.

His deep, prolonged groan widened her eyes a fraction, making Jasper want to grab her shoulders and shake. “What, Rita? Goddammit. You don’t realize how bad I want this?” Without taking her confused gaze off him, she slid his zipper down, the jagged sound making his stomach hollow out, his hips thrust forward involuntarily. “If you meant nothing to me, I would have rode you on my dick. Night one. Because God knows I’m so attracted to you I can’t even see or think or act straight.” Breathe, man. “But you mean something. I’m just trying to mean something to you.”

“Stop it, Jasper. Just stop it.” If he squinted he could probably see the wall she’d built around herself. “I’ve been respecting your boundaries. …I understand them. But you didn’t give me the same courtesy. So let’s just get to where we’re going.” Shit. Nothing would get through the steel armoring her. Especially not him, since he’d been the one to force her into a hurtful situation. He’d brought this magnetic, irresistible Rita down on his head.

Even worse, he didn’t want to say no. His willpower had so many puncture holes it was transparent. She was damn gorgeous, a little sad, and, yeah, needy. But no more needy than he was. She wanted a distraction from whatever pain lurked inside her. And there was a sense of responsibility in him—one he’d never experienced before—to boost her into oblivion every single time she required it.

With a barrier a mile wide between them, though, he needed to make an attempt to get them back on even footing, because he would resent anything that came between them when they were finally skin to skin. “I know you’re angry at me for this afternoon. I deserve it. So yell at me.” Even as he pushed the words out, his thumbs were drawing circles on the insides of her thighs, right below her denim-cradled pussy. Hypocrite.

Apparently Rita thought so, too, and he didn’t blame her. His brain had no control over his body around her. It craved any form of connection, even as self-preservation tried to apply the faulty brakes. “I’m tired of your mixed signals,” she whispered, dropping to her knees with a hollow thud, and Jasper saw curtains come down, signaling the end of the show. “So I’m going to send you a really clear one.”

She withdrew Jasper’s cock from his jeans, sending his hands flying to the armrests, his teeth gritting so hard they could have shattered. His control thinned and stretched as Rita perused him, base to tip, pleasure—and, yeah, maybe a little awe—infusing her expression. She closed her fist around his thick flesh and jacked him once, twice, making Jasper twist in the chair like a man being tortured for information. “Oh, Christ. I’m in pain here. Real bad. Don’t play with me.”

His eyes were riveted by the pink, feminine tongue that flicked out against his head, then licked more thoroughly, tilting her head one way, then the other. “Playing is kind of the point, isn’t it?”

The armrest creaked beneath Jasper’s hands. His rational self was vanishing as if it had never been there. What would come after—after they both relieved themselves of lust? That eventuality was fast being overshadowed by the guarantee of hot, filthy, in-the-moment, unrepentant banging. Needing to be inside her. Needing her mouth, needing to pound the pussy he’d masturbated the night before. It was waiting for him, begging for him. It was his. But not until he claimed it.

Oh shit, that last part did him in. Not his? Rita was not his yet?

Moving all on their own, Jasper’s hands delved into Rita’s hair. “Quit playing,” he growled, freedom expanding every molecule in his body. “Get a little purr started in the back of your throat and take me back there to feel it.”

Rita’s mouth had just sunk down to cover the head of his dick, but she paused at his words, surprise coloring her cheeks.

“Tired of mixed signals, isn’t that right?” He massaged her scalp in rough circles, until her eyelids drooped, little gasps puffing past her lips. “I need you hungry for cock. I need you to let me feed mine to you.”

Surprise gave way to lust right before his eyes, though, like a cloud passing over the sun. And she obeyed orders, his Rita. Fuck, did she ever obey. That raspy hum in the back of her throat was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, but the suction from her mouth? A fucking revelation. Jasper’s heels dug into the wooden floor, his fingers beginning to ache from being curled so tightly in her hair. If there was a dose of wrongness to having Rita service him from her knees in his place of business, that only served to harden him more at this point. He was gone. Gone for that pouty, torturous little mouth of hers.