Branded as Trouble (Rough Riders #6)(72)

The licking—” she flattened her tongue and licked from the root to the crown, “—more licking—” she lapped at the purple head, flicking her tongue over the pre-come seeping out the tip, “—and my favorite, sucking.” India bent her head and swallowed as much of his cock as she could.


A strangled groan emerged and he swayed.


She sucked off the brown sugar sweetness until all she could taste was the muskiness of Colt. “You didn’t tease me the first time you used your mouth on me, so I’m returning the favor.”


“Christ,” he muttered, “I’m so lasting about four more seconds.”


Her fingers loosely wrapped around the base of his shaft and she stroked her hand up to meet her mouth going down all that delicious hard male heat. India curled her left hand around his right hip, stroking her thumb on the delicate skin by his hipbone as her head bobbed.


All at once, his balls tightened and she knew he was close.


Especially when Colt started bumping his hips into her face.


She jacked his cock faster and focused her attention on the sweet spot beneath the cockhead.


“Yes.” His cock twitched against the roof of her mouth.


“That’s it. Ah hell, Indy.”


India sucked him as deep as she could, suctioning as hot bursts of semen hit the back of her tongue. She swallowed the bitter/sweet taste, losing herself in the satisfaction of pleasing her lover.


After she let him slip from her mouth, she kissed the tops of his shaking thighs and rubbed her face against his semi-soft cock, nestled in the dark hair covering his groin. Marking him with her scent as clearly as he’d marked her with his.


She rolled to her feet. Before India even met his gaze, Colt picked her up and set her on the kitchen table. “What are you doing?”


“I’m wantin’ a little caramelly goodness of my own.” He pushed her flat, keeping his hand in the center of her chest. “Don’t move.” Then his other hand was smearing caramel between her thighs.


“Colt—”


He lapped at the caramel as delicately as a cat. The pointed tip of his tongue traced the outline of her weeping sex, from the piercing above her clit, down through her cleft to the slit of her *, to the rosette of her ass. He swirled and licked and probed with that nimble tongue until her whole body vibrated. Colt drove her to the brink of orgasm, dangled her at the edge and then yanked her back at the last second.



“Are you going to let me—”


“Not yet.”


He took great pains to erase all remnants of the caramel with his Hoover-like mouth. He inserted one finger in her * as he lightly tongued her clit. Then he inserted a second finger as he slurped at the sweet stickiness from the folds.


“How long—”


“Until I say.” He began to f*ck her with his clever fingers while his tongue flicked. “I like sweet caramel.” He blew a cool stream of breath over her hot tissues. “But I prefer your sweet juices.” Colt latched onto her clit and sucked without pause. His fingers curled inside her, gently rubbing at a spot beneath her pubic bone. The tension coiled tighter and when she exploded with a gasp resembling a scream, he chuckled against her wet flesh.


Every throb, every pulse, every muscle twitch synchronized into a whole body orgasm. Just as India caught her balance, Colt knocked her off balance again. She was flipped over face-first on the table.