God. I lick my dry lips, my breath catching. “You can have a taste anytime you like.”
His expression is one of male satisfaction and pure heat as he slides his palm down my belly and over my poor, teased sex. I’m so slick and ready two of his thick fingers slide right in. We both groan, his forehead resting on mine. “You need me in here, don’t you, Tot?”
“Yes.” I’m panting now, my body flush and shivering.
He keeps fingering me, downright dirty about it. “How do you want it?”
I cup the back of his head, gripping the damp strands of his short hair. I tug him down until we share the same air. “Macon, do you know how many nights I’ve dreamed about that thick cock of yours pushing into me?”
He shudders, a hard breath punching from his lips. “Shit. Tell me.”
“So many frustrated nights.” I lick his upper lip. “I want it deep and hard.”
All sense of play evaporates. He gets a condom, but his hands are shaking so hard, and he drops it. He huffs out a laugh. “Hell, I’m too worked up.” His hot gaze collides with mine. “Put it on me?”
I try, but I’m shaking too. Softly laughing, we put it on together. His abs clench as I brush a hand over his balls, his dick flexing with impatience. There’s no more smiling. His expression is almost fierce as he cradles my cheeks and kisses me. I feel it in my knees, down my back, in my heart.
Then he’s sliding over me, making room between my thighs. Every bit of him is big and strong. Hard biceps bunch and strain as he holds himself over me, his erection pressed hot against my belly.
He cants his hips just enough to slide through my wetness, but he doesn’t enter me. Not yet. Dark eyes peer down at me. I forget to breathe because what I see there isn’t just lust. Gently, as though I’m a dream, he ducks his head and places a feather-soft kiss on my swollen lips.
“Delilah.”
That’s all. Only my name.
It’s everything.
My arms wrap around the thick column of his neck. I’m surrounded by his heat, the fresh scent of his skin, the unsteady rush of his breathing. I take a small sip from his lips, then tell him what he needs to hear. “Yes, Macon. Yes.”
A breath shudders from him. He holds my gaze, those expressive eyes shining black in the light. The first push spreads me wide. My chest hitches. He fills me in a steady invasion. So thick. So perfect.
And all the time he watches me.
He’s too big for ease. He has to work for it, a little in, a little out, each time sinking deeper.
And still he watches me.
Pleasure pulls tight. And then he’s all in. He holds there, throbbing and shaking.
“Oh, fuck,” he rasps. His kiss is hot and demanding, almost desperate, as if he can’t get enough. “What you do to me . . . you have no idea, do you? How you make me feel.”
“Yes, I do. You think it’s any different for me? Feel my heart.” I put his hand between my breasts. “It’s racing. For you.”
There are no more words. Macon moves, the power of his body undulating over me. We move together as though we’ve been doing this forever, like we already know each other perfectly. Maybe we do.
He isn’t a selfish lover. He gives me everything, touches and caresses with such dedication and attention that I feel cherished. And he fucks with such greedy relish—sucking at my skin, thrusting into me with deep grunts of pleasure—that I feel adored.
But in the end, he rolls onto his back, taking me with him. Stretching his arms overhead, he grasps the headboard. “Ride me, Delilah. Take what you need.”
All that power laid out before me. The high crests of his cheeks are flushed. Sweat trickles down his temples. Every inch of him is hard and tight with lust. I sink down onto his cock, and we both groan. I take my pleasure, luxuriating in his body. I don’t let up until he’s groaning and crying out my name.
We come together, falling into each other, wrecked.
Nothing will ever be the same again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Delilah
I’m hosting a dinner for Ronan Kelly, one of the most powerful restaurateurs in the business. I know this to be true, but part of me has a hard time believing it. For all his fame and business savvy, Ronan is a hard man to pin