Page 6 of Wicked Player

He’d told me to free him so I didn’t wait for further instruction. I pressed my hands to his hips, lingered at muscles beneath my thumbs I knew my tongue wouldloveto trace at some point later. Then I was pushing down his pants, along with skin-tight boxer briefs.

He groaned as he was released and I didn’t wait.

My hand went to his length. It was more impressive standing at attention. We were so close, when I ran my hand down the full of him, the tip of his cock rubbed against my belly.

But it was his girth that made me jerk.

“Don’t worry,” he said, and his hand was at my shoulder, brushing my hair behind me. “I’ll make sure you’re ready.”

“I wasn’t worried.” It was a lie. This guy washugeand I was a girl who could be easily pleased with average. I didn’t judge a guy in bed based on the size of his equipment. I’d had great sex with smaller sized dicks and disappointing sex with larger men.

But this man. His confidence and the size of his body and his dick pulsing in my hand?

John couldcrushme.

“Confident and bold,” he murmured. His hand was still at my shoulder, brushing along my collarbone. His hand wrapped around my throat and with his thumb, he pressed my chin up. “You have me wondering if you’ll taste as spicy as you seem to be. Or will you be sweet once I get my mouth on you?”

His thumb at my chin pressed my jaw closed so I couldn’t respond with words, but I could with actions. I slid my hand up and down his shaft, squeezing him firmly at the tip, teasing the drop of pre-cum. He wasn’t the only one wondering what someone would taste like. My hand slid down and cupped his balls, heavy and already pulled tight. Man, he was impressiveeverywhere.

The desire to tear off the blindfold was an itch beneath the surface. What would he do? Spank me? Tie me down?

Or worse…would he leave? It wasn’t the worth the risk. Not with how turned on I was.

“What do you like?” I asked, squeezing him again. My breaths were ragged. My legs trembled. He needed to tell me to lay down before they buckled.

There was a smile in his voice as he said, “So far, I like everything you’re doing. But for now.” He pressed his hand over mine again. His large hand enveloped my much smaller one as he placed mine on his shoulder. “I want you to lay down on the bed. Hands to the headboard.”

Oh goodie. We were really getting started. I suppressed a smile and a sassy word that wanted to escape and sat back down. Scooting backward, I kept my face on where I assumed he was still standing. Then I heard the clink of a belt buckle telling me he was kicking his feet out of his pants. The rustle of his shirt as he removed it.

I expected him to tug at my ankles and separate my legs, bind them so we could get to the good stuff, but then his hands were on my legs.

Goose bumps trailed in his wake and I squirmed from the firm contact of his skin on mine for the first time. His hands were rough, proving he worked hard, not just behind a desk all day. He moved slowly but with intent and the bed dipped as he placed his weight on it.

Then he was over me, the warmth from his body covering my lower half, his hands at my thighs. A brush of scruff scraped across my stomach, right below my navel.

I hadn’t even thought to touch his face earlier. Or his hair. His command to keep my hands at the headboard was hell. I wanted to finish my investigation.

“Stay still,” he said, his lips at my stomach. He kissed me along the line of my panties from one hip to the other. I held my breath and tightened my abs. His kisses were delicious. Warm and wet, full lips like I’d imagined. The scrape of a short beard delicious as ice cream on a sweltering summer day.

“Oh God,” I whimpered. My legs were taut. My ass pressed into the mattress so I didn’t wiggle. “Please.”

“Please what?” he asked. His tone lightened, voice gone playful. How could thismanbe playful when I was going mad? A tug of my panties brushed my hip, and then the other. He pulled them off slowly and every inch of lace sliding along my skin tortured me.

God. I’d never been so wet. My center pulsed with rabid need to have him inside of me and the knuckles of my hand ached as I forced them to stay still.

“Hurry,” I whined and I couldn’t find a care in the world to flinch at the neediness in my tone. “Please.”

“You haven’t answered me.”

He’d left me. Somewhere between the panty-stripping and tummy kisses, his weight had moved off the bed. He was across the room talking and my head turned that way.

“What do you want, little one?”

Every fucking thing he wanted to give me. But boldness was key. Generalities never worked. “Your cock inside of me.”

He hummed and the sound of movement along the carpet told me he was coming back. My stomach clenched in anticipation.

And then nothing happened. The room went silent. My nerves piqued.

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