The Worst Best Man(46)

The picture of Franchesca on her knees in front of him, staring at his cock, nearly leveled him. It was so much more than any fantasy. And if he thought about it for one second longer, he was going to come before her red lips even parted over his cock.

“Fuck.” He needed to reel it in, to take control. He didn’t let anyone dominate him. Ever.

It was a rule.

She was looking up at him, a submissive vixen with fingers curled loosely around his erection. “Nice equipment, Aide,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

He nodded, incapable of words. Every ounce of his focus was on not coming on her face, in her hair.

Jesus.

“You okay up there?” she asked. “You having a stroke or something?”

“You and your fucking mouth,” he groaned. And then she was using that fucking mouth on him.

She knew, had to know, how close to the edge he already was. When she took him to the back of her throat, it was slow and teasing, giving him precious seconds to get used to the drag of her tongue, the glorious wet of her mouth.

Those eyes. More green than blue now, stared up at him triumphantly as she licked and sucked him. She was a witch, and he was her victim. He fisted his hand in her hair and regulated her strokes. Keeping them slow and controlled. But there was nothing he could do about that tongue. Those incredible noises at the back of her throat. He wanted to do this and nothing but this for the next year, watch her like this, feel her like this.

She could break him, he realized. With nothing more than that smart mouth, she could break him and make him grovel.

It was that thought and that thought only that had him hauling her to her feet by her hair. She licked her lips and made his cock twitch against her stomach.

“I was just getting started.”

“So am I,” he promised. He stepped out of his pants, kicked off his shoes. “Bed. Now.”

She didn’t move fast enough for his liking. So he picked her up, draping her long legs over his hips. Her breasts taunted his mouth. “Take off your bra,” he said, crossing the living room.

By the time he hit the bedroom, he had one of those caramel nipples in his mouth, and she was begging him loudly to fuck her.

“Aiden!” She swore at him when he dropped her on the mattress. But he followed her, not wanting to be away from the body that tempted him like he was under a spell. He slapped at the lamp on the bedside table and reached into the drawer. Thank fucking God he never traveled without condoms. He wouldn’t have survived the hunt for one. And it would have taken zero convincing for him to drive himself into her bare. Something he’d never done in his entire life.

Kilbourns didn’t father bastards.

But Frankie could have batted those long-lashed eyes at him, and he would have happily shot his load inside her, thanking his lucky stars.

She was fucking beautiful, sprawled across his mattress, her hair spreading out beneath her, her nipples swollen and straining. She still had her sandals and underwear on, and Aiden planned to remedy that.

“You gonna look all day, or are you gonna make me come, Aide?”

“Just taking in the view, sweetheart. If I don’t get myself under control, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

“Challenge accepted.” She rose up and grabbed him by the back of the neck, yanking him down to her. She kissed him like he was the only man in the world, and it was a heady thing. His cock was weeping with the need to bury itself in her. Precum leaked from the tip.

“Fuck,” he rescued himself from the kiss and slid down her body pausing to worship both breasts with their perky, needy nipples. She hissed in pleasure as he closed his mouth over each one, sucking until she writhed under him.

This wasn’t a woman faking her way to a picture-perfect sexual experience. This was a goddess chasing an orgasm that would eclipse the sun. And he would give her what she wanted.

“Finally,” he said, settling between her legs. He let his lips graze her inner thigh and watched her tremble. Aiden dragged those air-thin panties down to her thighs. He left them there. The final barrier prevented him from just ramming himself into her wet pussy. He wanted to torture her the way she had him.

“Aiden if you don’t do something right this second, I’m going to take matters into my own hands,” Frankie threatened. He grinned. He didn’t know what love was, but he sure liked Franchesca Baranski more than any woman he’d ever taken to bed.

He took two fingers and traced them through the soft wet folds.

“Oh God. Oh fuck. Aiden!”

He held out for his name and then thrust his fingers inside her.

She cried out, and he nearly came on the sheets that touched his cock. He fucked her with his fingers, and when she started to grind her hips up, he leaned in and slid his tongue through her slit.

Rather than the scream he’d hoped for, she went deathly silent. He peeked and saw her, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent O. “You okay up there? Are you having a stroke?” he quipped.

“Aiden, talking is not what I want you doing with your mouth right now!”

He licked his way to her center. His tongue and fingers working her clenching pussy and her sweet, little clit. She rode his hand, his mouth, determined to steer him toward her orgasm. But he could get there without the road map.

He added a third finger and traced his tongue down to her tight asshole and back to her clit again and again. She was sobbing his name. Everything else was incomprehensible.