Manaconda (Hammered #1)(28)

“Did you hear that?” A voice asked outside.

We both froze. He pointed at me. Like it was my fault?

This was so not what I had in mind for my first one-night-stand. Hell, my only one-night-stand ever. No wonder I didn’t do them. I liked a plan, dammit.

Hunter tossed something at me. I instinctively put my arms up and a padded blanket filled my arms. I folded it awkwardly and set it on the floor.

The clink of bottles and something else falling over was suddenly silenced. I slid down the wall to the blanket, hoping it wasn’t too terribly dirty. It was surprisingly soft on the backs of my thighs.

Hunter came back, holding a bottle.

At least there was wine.

He knelt beside me. “Oh, there will be seven, Kenny.”

“The wine is your lubricant?”

He leaned into me, and his nose brushed the shell of my ear. He drew my knee up, his fingertips coasting along my inner thigh into my dress. “No lube needed. I can guarantee it.”

I dragged in a quick breath.

“I know I saw them run over this way.” Another voice outside the door.

Seriously? Didn’t these fans give up? Did they not know a girl needed an orgasm here?

“Think you can be quiet?” he asked in a tone that was just above a groan.

“Here?” I croaked out.

“Shh…” He handed me the bottle and lowered his head to my knee.

Oh hell no. Not in the… My right hand gripped the bottle as his lips followed the path of his fingers.

He nipped my inner thigh. “Open for me, Kenny.”

My bad ideas were multiplying again, but they couldn’t seem to stack up to my Who-Gives-a-Shit chips.

This Vegas girl knew when to cash out, and when to go all in.

With my other hand, I buried my fingers into his hair, urging him higher.

He kissed his way up my thigh to where my hip and leg met. “I could spend all night here,” he whispered.

“Not if you’re just going to talk to it,” I snarled.

He chuckled.

Honestly. This was the longest almost feel up in all of my twenty-eight years. He would probably be like all the other guys who attempted this. A few decent minutes, then ready for the main event.

Maybe he’d last enough during sex to get me the friction I needed. I’d been teased long enough that I could probably reach down there and give him a hand. Then I could put this crazy night behind me.

Bad idea bin overfloweth, then I could just move on with my life. At least I’d have one orgasm that wasn’t self-induced this year.

“Shut off that busy brain of yours, Kenny,” Hunter whispered from under my skirt.

Well, if he’d get on with it, then I wouldn’t have to think.

Then his tongue found me. Long, lazy licks, and on each pass, he swirled around my clit before returning to complete his unhurried torture. My fingers tightened in his hair, trying to keep him where I needed him most.

My clit was lonely and the peek-a-boo action with his tongue wasn’t enough. Didn’t he know that was the holy grail? Focus on that and everything else followed?

Oh, no. As with everything that had to do with Hunter, he set his own pace. I tried to enjoy it, but my frustration was mounting. There were still girls outside traipsing all over the parking lot. Someone yelled that they were going to be left behind. A chorus of voices asking for just another five minutes.

And then there was me. I had the rock star they wanted between my thighs, licking me like a freaking ice cream cone as I slowly went insane.

Another pass with his tongue and something started to tingle. I drew in a shaky breath. Okay, maybe there was something to this. A slow build, like a song maybe.

Like the one that had wrecked me in the show.

“Cathedrals”.



A whisper becomes a scream.

Stronger stones remain.



My fingers fumbled from his hair to grip his shoulder. The light licks become a pulse, my body’s pulse—my heart echoed behind each stroke. He groaned against me and added his thumb.

Not to help, just to tease me with the fullness I was craving.

Again and again, his thumb kept time creating a steady flicker of heat.

I dug my fingers into his scalp.

Oh, God.

The wine bottle rolled out of my grip. I didn’t know what to do. I pushed it at him. He leaned in farther until his shoulders pinned my legs open. He gripped my upper thigh. His hand was so big that his thumb was just there. He slid it in just enough to fill part of me.

Not nearly enough.

I needed it to be him. Not his hand. As deliciously big as his fingers were, they still weren’t enough.

He moaned against my *. The light vibration of his voice, his thumb, his lips, and that tongue tripped something inside. Slow and steady built into a scream in my chest. I tried to shut it down.

Without a frame of reference, I couldn’t hold it in.

Then his other hand gripped mine, lacing our fingers. Big, rough, perfect. He held me together as his lazy licks became focused.

He wedged me open until there was nothing but his mouth fused to my clit as he sucked. The sounds. They couldn’t be from me. The wetness, the nonsensical words—I wanted to roll away from it all. I needed to curl into a ball.

Tighter.

Smaller.

God, I couldn’t take it.

He drank me down.