Page 87 of I'm Your Guy
I love the hot taste of him, and I groan like a fool. He growls in response. “God, the sounds you make.”
My heart thumps a little harder. “I thought we weren’t doing this,” I say, even as I thread my fingers into his thick hair. I don’t want to take advantage of him when he’s feeling emotional. “You said you couldn’t.”
He kisses me wetly. “I lied.”
Yes, he did. Because now he’s hitching his body closer to mine, his chest a warm, supportive wall against the world. I can feel the thump of his heart as he kisses me again.
I’m shameless. One of my hands slides beneath his shirt and onto the ridges of his abs, and the other one cups his muscular ass.
He groans into my mouth, and then his hands go exploring, too. They skim my ass, my face, my neck. Like he can’t decide where to touch me first. I’m drowning in his kisses.
Then he’s on top of me, pressing me into the rug, and now I understand why weighted blankets are a thing. I could stay here forever, pinned to the floor, his kiss like a benediction.
I don’t think anyone has ever kissed me so thoroughly. Like he needs me from every angle. I don’t want it to end.
“God,” he mumbles against my mouth. “You make me crazy. Always have. And I really want to get you out of these clothes.”
This little speech sends shivers through me. “You can have anything you want. But you have to promise me one thing.”
He peers down at me, fire burning behind his dark eyes. “What?”
“Don’t regret me,” I whisper. “Whatever we do here, you can’t tell me tomorrow that it’s a mistake.”
“Yeah, no problem.” He furrows his brow and runs a hand down my chest. “My big mistake was not doing this sooner.”
It’s very hard to argue that point as he pops the button of my jeans. I hiss out a breath. “Right into the deep end, huh?”
“Pretty sure I already know how to swim.” He yanks down my zipper. “And here you are right under my tree. Like a wrapped present.”
I sit up and shrug off my sweater, taking my T-shirt with it. “Happy to be unwrapped. But kill the lights or close the curtains.”
He’s on his feet in a flash, and I don’t miss the way his sweatpants are tented in front. There’s nothing tentative about that.
He darkens the kitchen and living room. The tree stays lit, and when Tommaso sinks down onto the rug beside me, I’m looking at him in a multicolored glow. With two hands, I push his T-shirt halfway up his chest. And then, impatient, I lean down to press a kiss to his happy trail.
“Fuckkkk,” he groans. “More of that, yeah?” He tugs the shirt up and off his body. Tosses it somewhere. Then he uses one broad palm to cup the back of my head, more or less pinning my mouth against the abs of glory.
The roughness of the gesture makes me moan. I lick my way up his chest and use my teeth to tease his nipple.
He makes the deepest, horniest groan I’ve ever heard.
“What do you want?” I ask him, dropping wet kisses across his chest, then down his abs. The bumps and ridges are even more spectacular up close.
“Jesus Christ. I want everything. I want to kiss you. I want to blow you. I want to be blown by you. Pick something, because I’m like a lit fuse right now.” He sprawls onto his back, arms outspread, like a man overwhelmed by his own good fortune.
“Well, if it’s up to me…” I lean down and nuzzle the thick column inside his sweats.
“Fuck.” He grabs the back of my neck and braces me in place. “I want your mouth so bad. I dream about it sometimes.”
Nnngh. My whole body thrums in anticipation. I like the firm grip he has on me, and I love the tension in his muscles as I run my lips over his cotton-covered cock.
He releases his grip on my neck and pushes his pants and underwear down. The most gorgeous, uncut cock I’ve ever seen springs free, and the salty scent of his arousal is making me high.
“Oh, hell yes,” I whisper. I drop my mouth to his shaft and lick a heady stripe across the length of him.
He gasps, and that bossy hand is back at my nape. “Again,” he demands.
Like he even needs to ask. I bob my head forward and take the head against my tongue.
