Page 54 of Single-Minded
“Then maybe you should eat me up.”
Those were my plans exactly, but hearing his suggestion? Revved me up all the more.
With my heart racing, insides pulsing with need again, I dropped to my knees and took him in my mouth. The way his head fell back and a moan escaped from him… My God. I reveled in making him feel good, in my feminine power, in awe that I could have such an effect on this big, confident man.
As I worked him over with my mouth, I peered up to find him gazing down at me with an adoring, heavy-lidded expression I knew would resurface in my fantasies for years.
By the time West came, my body was on fire again, dying for his attention. Without me saying a word to him, once his breath was back to almost normal, he pulled me up to his mouth and kissed me fervently.
He trailed a hand down my body and found my opening with one finger, drawing a gasp from me, then a moan. He added a second finger, then showered both of my breasts with attention from his mouth and other hand, until the three-point assault had me clenching around him and calling out his name in a voice that sounded nothing like me.
Our lips found each other again, and I realized the water wasn’t hot anymore.
“We should get out before it turns to ice,” I said.
“Mmm,” was his only reply.
I reached behind him and shut off the water, stepped out, and got us both clean, fluffy towels. He did a quick rubdown of himself, then fastened his around his waist and took my towel.
West dried every inch of me, gently, thoughtfully, taking care of me in a way I didn’t remember ever having been taken care of. Not even as a child.
I never would’ve guessed this muscular, gruff man would have such a sweet side, but maybe that was from caring for his three little girls? Whatever it was, my heart swooned.
Once he was done, he wrapped the towel around my back and used it to pull me flush with his body. He wrapped his arms around me, letting the towel fall to the floor, and kissed me. “I’m not done with you yet,” he said in a low rumble of a voice that had me ready to climb him right then and there.
“Good thing we’re clean enough for my ‘pretty bed.’”
Once again, he lifted me and carried me from the bathroom to my bedroom, as if I weighed nothing.
West set me on the bed, then went back to the bathroom. I thought maybe he was turning off the light, but he left it on and came back with his pants in hand, removing his wallet from the pocket. He took out a condom, set the packet next to me, and laid his wallet on the nightstand.
Dropping his towel, he climbed over me, leaned in, and kissed me slowly, thoroughly, deliciously. He trapped each of my hands with his at the sides of my head, then trailed his mouth along my jawline, to my ear, neck, chest, kissing, licking, nibbling my flesh. Our initial urgency had been extinguished on the stairs and in the shower. Now he seemed to be deliberately slowing down, exploring every inch of me, savoring me, rebuilding the tension in my body.
He was hard again, his dick brushing against me here and there, teasing me, as he covered me with kisses and attention. His coarse beard added unique sensations, its roughness contrasting with sweet kisses and arousing nips, my hands still held in place by his.
“I promise you don’t have to hold me down to keep me here,” I said, grinning at him as he bent over my belly button, lavishing attention around it.
West growled low and slow, then rose so his mouth was even with mine again. He traced my lips with the tip of his tongue. “I want to worship every last bit of your body, Presley. Your skin is so soft and pretty, just begging me to muss it up with my rough beard.”
“Muss away,” I said, arching my hips in response to him pressing his body against me.
He released my hands, his attention intensifying, his lips and fingers and tongue all over me, down my inner thighs, hovering over my core, licking and suckling for a few seconds before moving up my torso, tantalizing the tips of my nipples as he brushed a fleeting finger over my clit. He was playing my body like an accomplished musician played an instrument, as if he’d been practicing on me for years, perfecting, finding my sweet spots, learning what made me hottest.
I ran my hands over him, relishing the hard ridges and dips of his pecs, biceps, back muscles, abs… Between the sensory treat my fingers and eyes were bringing me and the things he was doing to me, he had me wrapping my legs around him and arching against him hungrily, begging with my body. Needing him. Again.
He shifted to his knees, reached behind him to unfasten my legs, then bent over me, running his tongue up my inner thigh to my hollow, aching core. He dipped his tongue inside me, swirled it over my clit, eliciting a moan from me. Then he backed away, and I nearly cried out.
His hands never left me, trailing up my thighs, then guiding my hips, urging me to turn over. I rolled to my stomach, bracing on my knees as he pulled me up and ran his fingers down my belly to my sensitive nub, drawing a gasp from me.
He lowered his mouth to my butt cheek, kissing it, suckling, his fingers still making me squirm. Leaning over me, pressing his hard body against me, he banded an arm around my middle, holding me to him.
“I love your pretty ass,” he said in my ear.
“I need you inside me, West,” I managed, pushing against him, craving every bit of contact as long as he filled me soon.
He nibbled on my ear, then straightened. I heard him rip the condom wrapper open, felt the loss when he straightened enough to sheathe himself. Then his hand was back on my abdomen, dipping lower, between my legs, teasing me, then guiding him to my opening. He pushed inside of me gradually, giving me time to get used to his size.
As he rubbed my clit, I pushed back against him, taking more of him in, moaning at the fullness, the friction.
