Appealed (The Legal Briefs, #3)(45)

The desperate need to look at her gives me the strength to rise up on my knees beside her on the bed, but my fingers never lose contact with her flesh. They trail up her rib cage, cupping her breasts, teasing those beautiful nipples, tracing her collarbone, skimming down her arms. My eyes are everywhere, memorizing each detail—the pink flush of flawless skin, the hint of rib bone, the soft indent of her pelvis, the smooth, immaculate canvas below—and best of all, the bare, plump lips of her glistening *.

My eyes threaten to close with a groan as the image is scored into my brain, but I force them open. I grasp Kennedy’s ankles and pull her around, spreading her legs for a better view. I groan again—long and low and guttural—as my hands rub, and my fingers dip inside her, making way for my mouth. I lie down on my stomach, my breath against her skin, my fingers opening the pink flesh.

“Christ, Kennedy, your * is so f*cking pretty.”

She moans at my words.

“This is made to be kissed and licked and f*cked all damn day—and night.”

I press my open mouth against her skin and she screams. My tongue searches, pierces—and now my eyes do roll closed. Because her taste is sweet and wet and hot. I could lose myself in her cunt. This could ruin me—because I don’t know how I’m going to function without thinking about these ripe, smooth lips. So soft, so f*cking delicious. My mouth moves rough over her—inside her. My beard is scratching the tender skin on her thighs, probably leaving bright pink abrasions, and the thought turns me on even more.

My nose rubs her clit as I suck and flick my tongue in the paradise between her legs. And when I move up, when my tongue rubs against that swollen nub, Kennedy’s hips jerk, and she comes against my mouth—legs trembling—crying my name.

I barely pause to let her recover. I turn my head and suck on the skin of her thighs—definitely leaving a mark this time. I lick my way to the sensitive indentation just below her pelvic bone. She takes big, gulping breaths and pulls at my shoulders.

“Come up here.” She pants. “Kiss me, Brent.”

And I happily oblige.

Her hands caress my face with tender, loving touches. Then she pushes on my chest with surprising strength until I’m up on my knees. When I’m where she wants me, she yanks frantically at the button on my jeans. A frustrated grunt escapes her, making me grin.

But when she gets them open, my grin turns into an openmouthed groan. Because she doesn’t mess around—she pulls my pants down just low enough to free my hard, straining dick, and then she’s all over it. She lathers the shaft with her tongue and lips, wetting the delicate skin, sliding up to the tip and slipping the f*cker all the way into her hot, wet mouth.

My hips jerk, and I have to brace my hand on her back to keep from falling over.

“Shit . . . fuuuuck . . .”

The curses fall from me as Kennedy goes to town on my cock. Swirling her tongue fantastically around the tip, bobbing her head, sucking on me so hard it may bring on cardiac arrest.

Wouldn’t that be the f*cking way to go?

The back of her hand scrapes against the open zipper of my jeans when she cups my balls, massaging them, then adding a playful tug that sends electric pleasure shooting up my spine. She’s really good at this—too good. Because when my hand burrows into her soft hair to do some nice tugging of my own, she hums around my cock—and the vibrations bring me right to the edge.

And as glorious as it feels, as much as I want to go through life with her mouth permanently wrapped around my dick . . . no . . . no . . . I’m not going to come in her mouth.

Not the first time.

If Kennedy and I had actually “done it” all those years ago in my father’s Ferrari, it would’ve been the slow, gentle, sweet kind of lovemaking they write about in books.

There’s nothing slow or gentle about us now.

We’re devouring each other—kind of crazed—beautifully f*cking wild.

But there’s still a tenderness, because we want to be closer, kiss deeper, make each other feel so much better than good. My fist tightens in her hair, pulling her off my cock, until we’re chest to chest, face-to-face.

And she practically growls at me.

I kiss the hell out of her and laugh against her lips. “Hoover seems like a pretty fitting nickname at the moment.”

Kennedy gazes into my eyes and laughs back, and, Christ, she’s so beautiful it hurts.

Then she lies back with the delicate grace of a butterfly landing on a leaf, leaning up on her elbows. Her eyes rake me up and down and her voice goes husky. “Take your pants off. And come here.”

That would be the command dreams are made of.

“Yes, ma’am.”

I turn my back to her, sit on the edge of the bed, and pull my pants off. I take the three condoms out of my wallet. Then I pop the pin on my leg and slip it and the liner off, because it’s easier to move around the bed without it catching on the sheets. And I plan on moving a whole lot.

Kennedy’s impatient, because instead of lying back and waiting for me to come worship her, she peppers a hot trail of kisses up my spine. She moves to my neck and her breasts press against my back, making me groan. I turn and slide my hand behind her neck, holding her still as I plunder her warm, eager mouth. My other arm slips around her waist, hoisting her against me as I rise to my knees.

Needy little moans and whimpers echo from her mouth to mine. Then she surprises me—pushing on my shoulders and taking us down to the bed so she lands on my hard chest with a soft oomph. She plants a kiss on one pec, then grins sexily as she rises up.