Redneck Romeo (Rough Riders #15)(100)

“You’re killin’ me.”


“That’s the plan.” She slowed and shifted her hips side to side instead of up and down.


His belly muscles quivered. His arms were stiff by his side, probably because he was clenching his fists.


Then a wet, warm tongue lashed the side of her breast and circled her nipple.


Rory stopped mid-grind. “Hey. Keep your mouth to yourself, buddy.”


“No. God, I love your tits.” Dalton kept his eyes locked to hers as he enclosed her nipple in his hot mouth and sucked hard.


“Dalton! What are you doing? You oughta lose by default.”


Dalton licked and sucked and growled against her flesh. “So indignant and bossy. And yet, you’re not getting these hard nipples outta my face.”


Of course he’d noticed that. She slid her palms to his cheeks and tipped his head back. “Stop.”


“No. You said no touching with my hands. You didn’t say a damn thing about not usin’ my mouth.”


“That was assumed.”


“Not by me. But whatever. Unless you’re—” his eyes gleamed and he flashed his pearly whites, “—afraid that my mouth on you is too big a distraction?”


Cocky man. Rory brought her nipple right up to his lips and said, “Have at.”


Someplace in the foggy haze of being face to face, chest to chest and groin to groin with him, so close she could smell his skin, feel his heartbeat, she realized she’d sort of lost control of the situation.


But if she retreated now, forcing him to stop the delicious assault on her breasts, Dalton would think she was backing off because she was losing.


Hell. No.


Rory writhed against him more forcefully. Faster. Pumping her pelvis in time to the crescendo of the music. If she kept up this pace much longer, she’d be coming, not Dalton. Especially if he used his teeth on her neck. Right. There.


Not fair. The sneaky man had abandoned her nipples for her neck, completely aware that made her lose any coherent train of thought.


Needing a breather, she stopped and slid back until she balanced on his knees.


The music changed again.


Dammit. She had three minutes left to make him come. She wanted this victory.


But as Rory stared into Dalton’s gorgeous face, seeing those beautifully expressive eyes and the secret way he was smiling at her, she understood they’d both won.


The sultry sounds of Faith Hill singing “Breathe” flowed through the room.


Dalton’s eyes were on her as he reached up to curl his hand on her neck. He stroked her jawline with the edge of his thumb. “I remember this song.”


“You do?”


“We danced to this at Keely’s wedding. The way you wrapped yourself around me, and how your head just seemed to fit perfectly on my shoulder, I never wanted that song to end.”


“It was one of those moments,” she said softly. A perfect moment.


“Aurora, you’re beautiful, you’re sexy, you just gave me the best goddamned lap dance I’ve ever had, but can we be done with this now, please?”


“Call it a draw?”


“Yes.”


“Okay, yes.”


Dalton picked her up, took her down to the floor, stripped her yoga pants off and impaled her.


The sweetness of their conversation didn’t translate to sweet lovemaking. He pounded into her. Hot, sweaty and hard. Demanding. Clasping her right hand in his left, he pinned it above their heads. Pulling her left leg up high, around his hip, opening her fully so every time he thrust, his pelvis connected with her clit.


She gasped. Instead of waiting for that gradual buildup and the explosion, she felt as if this connection was one long body-shuddering orgasm.


“That’s it. I love seein’ you like this.”


“Dalton, I… It’s too much.”


“No. It’s perfect. So close, baby. Bring me with you.”


Rory arched up and tightened her cunt muscles around his pistoning shaft. One long hot kiss later and they hit the detonation point together.


Chapter Twenty-Four


Brandt and Tell were sitting in Tell’s favorite booth when Dalton dragged himself into the Golden Boot.


“Hey.” He shucked his duster and hung it on the wall hook before taking his spot on Brandt’s right side. He noticed they’d ordered beer for themselves but not for him. “You got another round comin’? Or am I buying my own beer tonight?”


“We weren’t sure what you were drinkin’ these days.”


“Cheap beer, same as always.” Dalton gestured to the bartender for a round. Then his gaze moved from Brandt to Tell. They’d both cleaned up and wore nonworking clothes. The old Dalton would’ve made a sneering remark about them dressing up to please their wives, but he let it lie. “So what’s up?”


“What makes you think something’s up?” Brandt asked evenly.


“It’s a Thursday night. You guys are both getting kids to bed and stuff during the week. I usually see you on the weekends.”