Wild Open Hearts (Bluewater Billionaires) - Kathryn Nolan Page 0,69
with a man this devilishly handsome. This sincere, this compassionate. This kind.
His fingers were in my hair, confident, tilting my head back.
And then I was being kissed. Kissed. Kissed by Beck Mason. His lips were strong beneath that beard, movements deliberate, a rough kiss of feeling but also sensual, sweet. His hands held me still as his mouth moved with mine, drank me in, ravaging my lips with expert precision.
With a deep growl, he grabbed my ass and yanked me so I was straddling him on his bike. My arms wrapped around his neck and I pressed every single inch of my body against his massive one. One heartbeat, one ragged breath. Between my legs, his cock was as hard as the metal bars behind me—but his fingers caressed up my spine, my jaw, the nape of my neck. He kept kissing me, stealing my breath, searing our lips together while knuckles trailed along my neck. Those strong lips left my mouth, nipped at my jaw. One kiss along my throat… another… then another. His teeth scraped my skin as I fisted my hands in his white shirt and shuddered. A kiss, a bite, the tip of his tongue licking into my mouth, parting my lips. Our rejoining was filthier now, hungrier—evidenced by the out of control moans coming from the back of my throat. I wasn’t sure who was gasping, who was clutching. Part, breathe, kiss—his lips were sure, the kiss absent of any awkwardness. The kiss was Beck showing me his desire with his mouth and tongue.
It was the most exquisite seduction of my life.
With a barely restrained snarl, Beck yanked me, positioning my sex right over his rigid, jean-clad erection. We finally, finally, parted, both of us dragging in deep breaths, staring at each other. I was wrapped around him on his motorcycle behind my privacy bushes and so turned on I felt faint.
“Luna,” Beck said, scraping those teeth against my neck.
“Yes, Beck?” I let out a long sigh, shivering.
“Since this is our first date, I’m not going to fuck you.” He closed his teeth around my throat. Bit hard. A mark of possession.
I loved it.
“Oh… okay,” I said, voice shaking. I was reaching the point where coherent speech was no longer possible.
“I’m a gentleman.”
“Bullshit.”
His chest rumbled with laughter—but he rolled his hips expertly and my head fell back at the intense sensation.
“Oh, god, okay, I take it back.”
“I’m a gentleman, which means I won’t fuck you, sweetheart. But I am going to make you come right now.” Another roll. “If that’s what you want?” He paused, drew my chin down so we could lock eyes. “Is that what you want?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Perfect,” he said, nipping my lip. “Because I’ll make you come just like this.”
“Yes, yes,” I sobbed. He was rolling his hips, thrusting up, a rhythm maddeningly slow, gloriously perfect. Our bodies writhed together like we’d been born doing this, dry-fucking each other on the back of a motorcycle. It would have been filthy—it was filthy—but it was also such a graceful expression of human lust I couldn’t stand it. I gripped his thick hair and crashed my mouth onto his, grinding hard right where I needed it. Beck squeezed my flesh, spread my ass cheeks, kept me in place as our tongues danced.
I grasped the ends of my sweatshirt and tossed it over my head. His gaze competed for the night air in heat-levels, and both felt sultry, velvety. Off went my sports bra, because suddenly I needed to be bare-breasted in front of this hungry man.
“Luna,” Beck bit out. He pressed our foreheads together, admiring my half-naked form. “Can I touch you there?”
“Please,” I said softly, kissing his hair. I could feel his breath on my nipples, his rough palms skating up my ribcage. When they landed on my breasts it was almost too much sensation—I was still grinding myself shamelessly on his cock, and now his thumbs were stroking my skin, pebbling my nipples as he peered at me with a look of abject wonder.
“I want you to keep grinding on me,” Beck said firmly, “and I want you to listen to every fantasy I’ve had about you since the day we fucking met.”
“I thought…” I sighed, “I thought you weren’t good with words, Mr. Mason.”
Another bite—sharper this time. “Call it inspiration.”
I smiled a little, leaned back on the handlebars to give him a shameless show of my hips working over his body. “Tell me.”