A Guy Walks Into My Bar - Lauren Blakely Page 0,58
linger in the sensation, my mind wanders ahead to where this might lead. To blow jobs? To sex? To more of whatever this is? Then, I catch sight of something fun out of the corner of my eye.
On the shower shelf, amid the shampoo and conditioner samples, is another bottle of lube. I tip my head toward the bottle as I slow my pace on his shaft. “You’re always prepared.”
“I was hoping to get you into the shower at some point. Have my way with you.”
“Don’t you always?”
Fitz laughs—a big, rumbly sound. Then he leans in and bites my earlobe. “I do, and I think you like it. Am I right?”
He pulls back, waiting for a response, an unfamiliar vulnerability flickering across his blue eyes.
Do I like it when he has his way with me? Is there really any doubt?
Not about that, but I have a question of my own.
Something I want to know about him.
Letting go of his cock, I answer him first. “Yes. I like what you do to me so fucking much. But I think the more important question is this . . .”
I cover his hand and take it off my dick so I can spin him around. Pushing his back against the tiled wall so he’s facing me, I cage him in as water pounds down on us.
I grab the lube, pop the cap, and pour some on my finger. “Would you like it if I had my way with you?”
His blue eyes widen, and desire flashes across them. I turn the tables, wanting to be the one in control, the one pushing. I’m not going to push too far. But there are things I can do to him.
I whisper in his ear, telling him exactly what they are.
Hoping to hell that he can handle it. That he’ll let himself take. Because I want to give.
Fitz shudders all over. “Try me,” he commands.
Those two words spur me on. My hand slips between his legs, traveling down to his balls, giving them a squeeze first, then to his prostate. My fingers tease, press, massage.
Instantly, he lets out a strangled moan, adjusting his stance, giving me more access to where I want to be.
Where he clearly wants me.
Then, my fingers travel farther, and I push in. A little at first, as he hisses, then farther, deeper, and he unleashes a wild groan.
“Yes. That. Oh, fuck yes.”
Pleasure twists inside me from his unfettered reaction. After a few minutes, I add more lube, then another finger, crooking it inside him while rubbing my thumb against him too. Right there. Where it’s magic for a man.
“Love that,” Fitz groans. “Fucking love it.”
He rocks against my fingers, and it’s so sexy, so wanton the way he moves, the way he seeks. My whole body hums. It’s utterly crazy, the addictive, heady pleasure I get from him.
With some one-handed finesse, I pour lube into my free hand, drop the bottle to the tile floor, then wrap that slicked-up hand around his shaft. Tight, rough, just the way he likes it. The way I like touching him too. But then, I like everything with him.
“So good,” he grunts, moving with me. “So damn good.” He brings his lips to my ear, breathing out hard. “You make me insatiable.”
“Insatiable seems like your natural state.”
His eyes drift down between us, and mine do too, admiring the view, the erotic sight of two hard, thick cocks throbbing right next to each other.
Yes, insatiability rules the day.
“My natural state is hungry and horny for you. Only you,” he says, and somehow, the fire in me rises another thousand degrees.
“Finish us off, Fitz,” I tell him hoarsely, as pleasure ricochets through my body.
“Fuck, yes.” He jerks our cocks together as I fuck him with my fingers. And as he strokes up, harder, tighter, his head falls forward, resting against my shoulder, his words in my ear. “You feel so good. Don’t stop, don’t stop at all.”
As if I could.
I can’t stop touching him any more than he can stop talking.
I don’t think I’ve ever been with someone so expressive, who just lays it all out and so freely voices all his wants and desires. Not only his physical needs, but also his overall craving to see me, to have me, to be with me. It’s so damn intoxicating. More than I ever knew it could be.
“I won’t stop. I can’t stop,” I say, and I’m talking about this—hands, fingers, fists—but I’m talking, too, about this. Whatever this is