Getting Played - Emma Chase Page 0,5

into the front of his pants, cupping him, taking the hot, impossibly hard length of him in my hand and stroking up and down.

“I want this. I want to feel you inside me.”

He groans, diving back in. “That’s a great answer.”

He kisses my breasts over the lace of my bra, sliding to his knees, nibbling my stomach on the way down. My jeans are unbuttoned, tugged down and off my legs.

“What do you want?” I ask, because I want to hear his words.

For a moment, he stares at the pale, pink lace of my panties.

“I want to make you come so many fucking times.”

That sentence—and the rough, needy way he says it—almost makes me come all by itself.

Dean pulls me forward by my hips, pushing my panties aside, and puts his mouth on me. And he goes down on me like a guy who really, really likes going down on a woman. He takes his time, kissing me open-mouthed—swirling his tongue and sucking gently at my flesh.

Heat surges through my veins and it feels like the floor has left the building—like I’m about to fall, about to fly. My nails scrape the wall beside me for something to hold on to.

Dean’s voice is low and husky. “You taste like fucking candy.” He skims my panties all the way down and off, then he looks up at me—into my eyes. “Open your legs for me, Lainey.”

And it’s the sexiest moment of my life.

Until I do.

And Dean spreads me with his fingers, and drags his tongue up and down, slow and deliberate. He slides his fingers inside me, pumping his hand, and his tongue moves to my clit, making tight, hard circles over and over. I’ve never had an orgasm in this position—standing up—but Dean seems hell-bent and determined to make it happen.

His fingers, tongue and lips work me over in the same rhythm. And that decadent, telltale pressure starts low in my stomach, building and cresting and spreading out through my limbs.

“Oh, God,” I whimper. “Oh, God.”

My hips rotate all on their own, and I grip Dean’s hair—pressing mindlessly against his face. The sensations claw and climb higher and higher, until a deep moan drags out of me that would make a porn star blush. And everything goes tight and pulsing and I’m plummeting with the pleasure—falling so hard, right over the edge.

Before I can come all the way down, Dean skims up my body, and I cling to him on shaky limbs as he lifts me off my feet, kissing me down the hall to the bedroom. He sets me on the bed, the blanket cool and downy against my knees. And I curl my way around him—like a cat worshiping her scratching post. I kiss his shoulders, his chest—everywhere I can reach.

I make a wet trail down his torso, tracing the lines of his abs with my tongue. I kiss the V of his pelvis—that sexy, sculpted indentation that disappears down the waist of his jeans. I rip at the button of his pants and push them down his hips because I’ve felt the massive bulge between his legs—and now I want to see it.

I want to taste it.

When his jeans are a puddle on the floor beside him, I’m not disappointed.

Dean’s cock is beautiful. It seems silly to think of a dick as beautiful—but this one is. The kind that should be sketched in a high-level art class or described in vivid detail in a bestselling romance novel. It’s big, thick, velvety smooth and rock-hard, with a glistening rounded head that I want to feel between my lips and down my throat.

I wrap my hand around him, pumping, and then take him in my mouth, swirling with my tongue, leaving him nice and wet. I tighten my lips around his shaft, dragging back, then moving down again—all the way—until the head of his dick taps the opening of my throat.

“Fuuuck.” His mouth opens on a groan above me. “That’s so good.” And the hot gravel of his voice turns me on even more.

I suck him hard, bobbing slow, taking him deeper, making it good for both of us. I clench my thighs—feeling the slippery heat between my legs, because he tastes so good.

Then Dean’s gripping my upper arms, pulling me up, kissing me hard.

And I mumble out rushed words against his lips.

“I don’t do this.”

I don’t know why I want him to know, but I do. That for me, this is something different. New. Special.

“I never do this,