Cream of the Crop (Hudson Valley, #2)(77)

I lifted up, positioned him at the center of the world, and sat down, hard. We both gasped, me from feeling him stretch me inside, so big, so thick, so exactly right. I lifted my hips just a little, squeezing him from inside as he hissed and I got to watch his eyes close in bliss.

He bit down on his lip, his hands squeezing my hips, urging me to move, to do something, anything. But still, I waited.

I wanted to move. He wanted me to move. And I waited. I waited until I was almost panting, almost out of breath from sheer want and need. And then I threw my head back and began to ride.

I rode him long and hard, exactly the way I wanted to. My hair had come unpinned, and it spread out all around me, hanging down long in the back, and I could feel it tickling my backside. Could he feel it? Could he feel it as it danced along his thighs, as I gave myself over to everything I was feeling, to that moment where everything boiled down to feeling him deep inside?

His hands were everywhere. On my hips, encouraging deep thrusts. On my breasts, rolling my nipples, cupping and kneading and mmm, pinching. On my ass, slapping and squeezing and grabbing handfuls of me, pushing me faster and faster, higher and higher.

His eyes wandered over my naked skin, thrilling to the sight of my breasts bouncing and my hands running lightly over my body.

And he smiled as I rode him. He told me how beautiful I was, how gorgeous I was, how good I tasted, and he used dirty, filthy words like those f*cking tits and come all over my cock and that sweet cunt.

And when his thrusts came faster and harder, he guided my hands down to where we were joined and told me to touch myself, to make myself come just I had that morning, with my fingers imagining his cock.

And when I came, he came. Just like that.



“We missed dinner.”

“How’s that?”

I bumped my hips, causing him to lift his head from my tush. “We missed dinner—I had a reservation at Mateo’s.”

He looked at his watch. “How late are they open? We could run right now.” He laid his head back down, not motivated to move anywhere anytime soon.

I smiled at the sight of him, his head on one cheek and his hand rubbing the other. He really did love my bum. “You can’t just waltz into Mateo’s; their reservation list is a mile long. I made this weeks ago.”

“Weeks ago? We didn’t know each other weeks ago.”

“True, but I still made the reservation. It’s new, incredibly popular, and everyone is dying to eat there.”

He nibbled on my thigh. “So you were going to go to this place tonight even if I didn’t come into the city?”

“As you said, I didn’t know you weeks ago. Now that I do— Ow!” He’d bitten down a little too hard.

“Sorry,” he murmured, kissing the spot softly. “Doesn’t matter, take me somewhere else.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Somewhere that tells me something about you.”

“Something about me, hmm?” I thought for a moment. “Oooh, dumpling crawl!”

I was up and off the floor in five seconds flat, leaving him naked and repeating the words dumpling crawl while I hauled ass to my bedroom to change into something warm. “Come on, get dressed!”

Moments later we were outside on the stoop waiting for the cab, and he was still trying to figure this out.

“I’ve heard of a pub crawl—anything like that?”

“It’s exactly the same, except it’s dumplings.”

“We’re crawling for dumplings?”

“Yes.”

“As in, chicken and?”

“As in dim sum.”

“What?”

“Oh just get your ass in the cab.” I pushed him into the waiting car and told the driver, “Canal and Eldridge.”

Seated in the back of the cab, Oscar glared at me. “You’re bossy.”

“And you love it. All cavemen secretly like to be told what to do now and then. And after these dumplings, you’ll do anything I say.”

“You sure are building up these dumplings.”

“By the end of the night, you will swear you have had the tastiest thing ever in your mouth. And that’s saying something, considering where your mouth was an hour ago.”

He snorted as the cabdriver tried to make eye contact with me through the mirror, and I stared him down.

Mateo’s would have been really nice: elegant and chic, incredible food and wine, likely even romantic. But with Oscar in my city for the first time, I realized a dumpling crawl through Chinatown was exactly right. It was a nice night; not so cold that we’d freeze walking through the streets, but chilly enough that I could break out my new Burberry. Once altered for my size, the claret-colored cashmere Chesterfield coat, with the single-breasted detail, was a lovely way to handle the chilly night in style.

Plus, the gorgeous man on my arm made the only shivers running up and down my spine purely sexual in nature. And now that we were in Chinatown, out and about with everyone else who’d had the same idea, I was glad we did this instead of dining at some expensive restaurant.

Normally I’m a big fan of the expensive and the fancy, but I loved me a dumpling. The cheaper the better, and I knew every nook and cranny in Chinatown.

“This place looks . . . wow,” Oscar said, shaking his head as we approached the first stop, Lucky Dumpling. Most of the stores were already shuttered for the night, but the lights and the line were humming at Lucky. “I wouldn’t have picked this place. It looks like—”