“Pretty damn.” He shakes his head. “I mean, her eyes follow you. The hell? And her smile looks demented. Her mouth moves, which means she can bite. I’m going to be checking my window at night to make sure her face isn’t pressed against it.”
“Damn you!” I squeal. “A biting doll with an artificial intelligence chip? Pressed against your bedroom window at night? Why would you put that in my head?”
“It is a pretty horrifying prospect.” He shakes his head in mock dismay. “But you’ve seen The Twilight Zone. You know what happens next. That doll has her eye on us, and we need to stick together. It’s the only way to be sure we’re safe. You watch my back, I’ll watch yours. You shouldn’t sleep alone.”
“Is that your best line?”
“I don’t need lines, I’m Blake damn Hudson.” That level of arrogance should be a turn-off, but the wicked gleam in his eye and the curl of his lip draw me in.
He reaches out and slowly strokes a lock of hair from my face.
“What are you thinking?”
His voice goes husky and deep. “A little while ago I told you I want to know everything about you. I’m thinking I have no idea how many freckles you have. And that’s pretty important information to have.”
The look in his eyes undoes me, and my voice is a rasp of neediness. “It is important. Uhh…three hundred seventy five?”
“Oh, no.” He reaches out, grabs the top button of my blouse and unbuttons it with swift, skillful fingers. Then he moves down the row of buttons. “That’s too important a question to leave to guess-work.”
He has me naked in no time at all, my clothes falling in a pile on the floor. I shamelessly ogle him as he strips off his own clothing.
“If this whole department store mogul thing doesn’t work out, you could work for Chippendales any day of the week.”
He grins at me, kicking aside his pants and kneeling on the floor next to the sofa. “I feel very objectified right now, but I’ll try to move past it.”
Blake insists on counting and kissing every freckle on my body. It’s pretty sexy when he kisses the ones on my shoulders. Downright erotic when he moves on to the ones on the upper swells of my breasts. The ones behind my knees tickle, and we’re giggling like a couple of lunatics when he finds the last one, right at the top of my inner thigh. It’s actually more of a birthmark than a freckle, but who am I to quibble when his tongue is firmly stroking the tender flesh and his warm breath is ghosting across my sex?
“One hundred seventeen.” He grins wolfishly at me as he heads north towards my slick center, then closes his eyes and applies himself intently – intensely – to the task at hand.
He’s an infuriating control freak, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t turned on by how driven he is – the way he applies himself one hundred percent to everything he does. He drives me crazy in more ways than one.
Including licking and sucking me into a state of quivering need.
I give a faint mewl of protest as he draws away, but his busy fingers soon replace his mouth. He slides up and moves himself top of me, knees in between mine, the hard muscular planes of his body like a protective wall. When he kisses me, I can taste myself on his lips, and he pushes a finger inside me, then two, working them in and out of my slick channel. It’s exciting, but I want the real thing – want to feel his thick erection sliding inside me, driving me on as I clench and throb around him.
I murmur encouragement when I feel the tip of his sheathed dick against me, and give a low moan of approval when he pushes into me, filling me and thrilling me and heating my blood. But just as I anticipate the sweet magic of his body moving above me, inside me, he turns the tables. He rolls, taking me with him so that I’m left straddling his hips, his cock still lodged firmly deep inside me. He puts his hands on my hips, softly stroking my skin then gently encouraging me to move, to lift and roll my hips so that I’m the one in charge. So that I’m the one controlling how fast we go, how, hard, how deep.