Slow Play (The Rules #3)(63)

Another Sex and the City reference. I couldn’t help myself earlier when I started quoting from the show. The way we were acting reminded me of that particular episode, which I’d watched only a few days ago. There is so much a guy can learn from that show.

“Do you want your very own personal Mr. *?” I kiss her all over her chest, her collarbone, the valley between her breasts. They’re small, barely a handful, with rosy pink nipples that seem to like my attention. “You just want me to eat you out all day and night?”

A full body shudder is my physical answer. “I can’t say no.”

Chuckling, l tilt my head back to smile up at her. “That relationship was doomed from the start. All she wanted was him going downtown on her.”

Alexandria runs a hand over my head, her fingers sinking into my hair. Her expression is soft, her eyes glowing, her hair a complete mess around her head. She looks like a very well satisfied woman. “Hmm, well I definitely like you for more than just your oral skills.”

My brows go up. “Really?” I should not feel happy that she just said that, right? It’s no big deal, what we’ve got going on. This is just fun and games. Yeah, I like her. Yeah, she feels…special, which makes me uneasy just thinking it. But what more can there be? A few months of f*cking and then what?

I don’t know.

“I do appreciate your going downtown efforts.” She smiles. “Despite everything you’ve said and done, I like you, Tristan.”

“Despite everything I’ve said and done?” What the hell is she talking about?

“You’re awful.” She kisses me. “You say the worst things ever.” Another kiss, this one a little longer. “You’ve done your best to push me away, yet you always come back for more.” The next kiss involves a slip of the tongue, a nibble on my lower lip. “You’re funny. You’re sweet. And you quote Sex and the City.” Another sweet, too brief kiss. “I think I’ll keep you around.”

“Don’t forget that I make you chant my name when you’re coming,” I point out.

She nudges my shoulder, her lips quirked in a barely contained smile. “Shut up. I did not.”

“You so did.” I sneak my hand up into her hair at the back of her head and pull her down so our mouths meet again. “You said it over and over,” I murmur, my voice low. I need to somehow get inside her, find relief, something. I feel like I’m about to blow and I refuse to come in my jeans like some inexperienced kid.

“No,” she whispers against my lips as I kiss her. “I don’t believe you.”

“I can show you again if you want.” The kiss deepens and I roll her over so she’s beneath me. “Make you come.” I thrust my hips against hers, a slow roll that has her moaning low in her throat. “Drive you wild. Just so I can prove that I can make you say my name.”

“Sounds like a plan,” she pants, her hands reaching for me.

This man needs to be satisfied and quick. After the mind-blowing orgasm he just gave me—my God the things he can do with his tongue—I want to return the favor. I’m dying to see him, touch him.

He’s thrusting against me nice and slow, his big body pinning me to the bed. I like the feel of his weight pressing me into the mattress. He’s solid, so warm, so incredibly male and big and hard…

Everywhere.

His mouth is also fused to mine, our tongues tangling, his hands wandering. I run my fingers around the top of his jeans, slipping them down the front, his stomach muscles contracting when I brush against them. I unsnap his jeans, tug down the zipper and skim my fingers along his erection, which is straining against his underwear.

Um. Wow. He’s long. Thick. And that’s just my early assessment.

“Roll over,” I murmur against his mouth.

He nips my lower lip. “No.”

“Tristan.” I shove at his shoulder with my other hand, my fingers still curled firmly around his cock. “Please.”

“If you insist.” Just as I let go of him, he rolls over so he’s flat on his back, his arms tucked under his head, elbows out, very casual. Kneeling beside him, my gaze roams, lingering over all the good stuff on display. His biceps bulge with muscle. The wall of his chest, his flat stomach, his jeans undone and spread open, exposing the black underwear beneath, the outline of his cock pressing against the fabric.

Somehow he kicked off his boots earlier and he’s just in his socks. His cheeks are ruddy, his lips damp and swollen from our kisses and his hair is a wreck. He looks good. No, he looks sexy in that deceptively relaxed pose. His body is tense, his gaze full of heat and want as he watches me and waits.

I need to put him out of his misery.

Leaning over him, I kiss his lips once, moving down so I can kiss his jaw, his neck, run my lips over his chest, his pecs, the soft hair in the center tickling my cheeks. I kiss one nipple, the other nipple, his muscles so tight beneath my lips, his body trembling. I know he’s holding back, restraining himself. I love that. He’s nothing but potent, male power, and he’s letting me do whatever I want to him when really he just wants to grab me and get on with it.

I kiss his stomach, my lips soft and seeking, my tongue darting out for the occasional lick. Glancing up at his face, I find him watching me, his eyes blazing, his mouth a grim line as he reaches up and pushes my hair away from my cheek.