Overruled(23)

“How bad?” I taunt, rubbing over her silk panties where she’s soft and hot. Her hips gyrate against my hand as I push the fabric aside and slide my fingers through her smooth, slick lips. My dark chuckle rumbles. “Feels like you want to come pretty bad.”

“Stanton . . .” She groans in an impatient plea.

And then my mouth is on hers, taking her words, sucking those plump lips that I watch all f*cking day. She tastes so sweet—grenadine with a tang of tequila, making my head swim. She gives me her tongue, moist and warm. I move my lips over hers, plundering firmly, barely allowing for breath, and capture her lower lip with my teeth.

Her arms push against my grip, wanting to grab, to pull me closer, but I hold her steady. I press the length of my body against hers, feeling every soft, full curve against my hard angles. She moans, grateful for the contact while I ravage that mouth. Then I slide my lips down her jaw, leaving a wet trail, to her neck, feasting on her sweet skin like a starving man. She gasps and lifts her chin higher, giving me better access as I slip lower, to the top buttons on her blouse.

One-night stands, sex without feelings, stranger screwing—I’ve done them plenty of times before. Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s just—mechanical—fulfilling a base physical need. But this, here with Sofia—there’s never been anything mechanical about it. It’s scorching flames, licking at our limbs, pulling us together from a space deep inside—making us clash like magnets separated too far for too long.

My mouth sucks at her tits, over her blouse, leaving a dark, wet mark on the silk. There aren’t any thoughts—just feelings and sensations. I release her wrists, grip the delicate fabric with two hands and yank, ripping it open, baring the gorgeous flesh that fascinates me.

I’ll replace the blouse—I don’t have time for f*cking buttons.

I pull the cup of her black lace bra down and her hands sink into my hair, massaging my skull as I devour her breast. So warm, so soft. I place long, open-mouth kisses along the mound, suctioning the skin until Sofia cries out—leaving my mark—punishing it for distracting me. Then I run my tongue around the dusky circle of her nipple—flicking and laving. When I engulf it with my mouth, she bucks, then sighs with relief as I suckle.

Her head rolls on her neck. “Oh yes . . . oh God yes . . .”

As I move to the other stunning tit and ply it with equal attention, I slip my fingers back into her panties, wanting to make her come, make her scream just like this. Her thighs spread, making room for my hand, as my fingers circle her opening. Her hips rotate in opposite circles to mine, her nails scour my back over my shirt. With my teeth trapping one peaked, sensitive nipple, I plunge two fingers into her tight wetness.

“Fuck . . .” she whimpers.

Sliding my fingers in and out, pumping, I wiggle my thumb down to her waiting clit and rub. Her voice rises, becoming desperate, because release is so f*cking close. Then I lift my head and take in the sight of her face. Eyes closed, dark lashes fanned out against bronze skin, parted, panting lips calling my name. If I had any talent for painting, this would be the masterpiece I’d capture. This pure, unguarded moment, when she’s completely bare before me—trusting me to give her hard, pounding pleasure, but leave her unbroken.

I have to kiss her.

Gently now, I coax her lips to mine, while my fingers pump faster, thumb rubbing harder.

And then she explodes. I taste her beautiful moan, as her arms clasp and her thighs squeeze, and her * traps my fingers in fantastic pulsating contractions.

When her limbs loosen and her hands are cupping my jaw and she’s kissing me slow and sweet and grateful, I slip my fingers out of her. I rear back, and she watches with burning eyes as I taste the wetness that coats them. Better than grenadine or tequila or f*cking bourbon—Sofia’s juice is the elixir of the gods, and I’ll be sucking on that delicious * before the night is over.

But first it’s time for her to have her fun.

With a sharp grin and an almost evil spark in her eye, she grips my tie and pulls me back in for a kiss. I let her spin us around, so my back is against the door. As our mouths dance, I push my hands into her hair—gripping—pulling the way I know she craves. Then I’m pushing her down.

Down on her knees.

She looks up at me, those f*cking eyes alight and hungry, as her open palms slide over my pants, up my thighs, unbuckling my belt with a clang. I watch, my hand running across her head, through her hair, as she tugs them and the boxers underneath down to my ankles. I step out of them and lose eye contact as she rubs up my legs, toned and solid with muscle.