For Seven Nights Only - Sarah Ballance Page 0,35

the dress. “You wanna hang this—”

She calmly took the proffered garment, then tossed it. It landed on the floor, and Minidick promptly ran over and made a nest of it.

“Bedroom?” he asked. Not because he didn’t know where it was—the apartments were too small and too much alike for there to be any mystery there—but as one last stab at permission. One last chance for her to be damned sure.

She merely turned and gave him a stunning view as she walked to her bedroom, heels clacking on the hardwood.

Holy. Shit.

Eyes never leaving her, he took off his jacket and laid it across the back of a chair. In the same moment, she looked back over her shoulder, coy as fuck, sending all traces of civility into the stratosphere. Screw that. He tore at his shirt, freeing himself of the fabric just as he entered her bedroom. He tossed the garment, then shut the door. When he glanced at the bed, the fluffy blue and gray comforter barely registered. He just needed to know where they were headed, and fast. And she was clearly on the same page, because her hands were working loose his fly.

“Do you have protection?” she murmured.

“Yeah.” He was surprised, given her opinion of him, that she had to ask.

“Did you have it for me?” She hesitated. “I mean, you’re going to give me pointers, right?”

He stopped short of breaking out his largest and most enthusiastic point and just stared. “What?”

“You’re going to tell me how I can…improve?”

“Yeah.” What the fuck ever. Whatever it takes to get laid. That’s what you do.

She grinned at that, making him feel like an ass, then shrieked when he picked her up and tossed her playfully onto the bed, following with a kiss that had her digging her nails into his back. He quickly backed off the caveman thing, instead corralling every ounce of restraint into a thorough exploration of her mouth, slow and easy. Captivating. Jesus, she stole his every breath, driving a hunger in him he’d never known. He couldn’t get enough. Even her kisses teased, sweet as motherfucking honey while driving hard every sinful thought he’d ever had in his life. When they finally broke for breath, she smiled and looked like an angel.

He backed off to lose the rest of his clothes and realized he was shaking. Shaking. He managed to remember to grab a condom from his pocket before tossing the pants. He kicked off his shoes and hooked his socks with one finger, then flung them. The whole while, he watched her watch him, and he loved every fucking expression she made. Loved that her gaze lingered on his erection.

He hoped she knew—really knew—it was for her. But there was no way he’d bring that up again. She’d already spent too much time remembering his past. Hell, at this point he barely could. It seemed impossible there’d been any woman before her.

Or that there’d be one after. But that had to be his hormones getting the better of him, because there was always someone else. That was fucking life.

He didn’t waste time crawling over her. Instead, he went right for the sweet spot, hooking her legs over his shoulders as he dove in face first. He’d been dying to taste her. Making sure she was good and wet for him had been a secondary goal, and a useless one because she was definitely wet. And trembling. He thought good and hard about sending her over the edge right then and there, but immediately ditched that plan, mostly because he was one selfish bastard. He wanted to be the one inside her while that happened. Not just his tongue, but him. He tore open the condom and rolled it on, maintaining eye contact. She lay there, bedding bunched between each of her hands just like he’d fantasized, her face a beautiful mix of pleasure and agony. Good to know it wasn’t just him. Her eyes held no questions. Just burning desire.

Ditto.

His dick zeroed in on her like a heat-seeking missile. His legs quaked with an absolute need to slam into her, but he held back, instead taking his time to relish every long moment. By then, his arms were also shaking. The woman was an inferno, and sinking into her was the wrong kind of hell. The kind that was messing with his head a little too much.

She took a sharp breath.

“You okay?”

“Beyond okay,” she managed. The comforter was wasted under her grip.

He was, too.

Buried balls-deep