Page 69 of Gluttony
“Babe,” he mumbled. “That feels—”Shit. So good.
She wrapped her lips around the head and drew his length into her mouth, sucking and stroking, getting faster and more insistent. Her magic tongue took him captive. He was lost in her hands. Frowning at how fast it was going—he wouldn’t last, it would be over—he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting into her, and when her hands moved to his behind and pulled him deeper, she took all of him. Ecstatic waves of bliss rolled over him, and he almost came undone. But then she pulled off.
Lungs heaving, he looked down into her mischievous gaze. Plump, juicy lips and rosy cheeks. He wasn’t finished.
Naughty.
A thrill tripped in his chest. He reached for her, but she scooted back.
“I’m not done feeling good,” she said with smoldering eyes. She kept shuffling backward using her feet. He caught her thinly veiled wince.
Was she better, or was she pretending?
Concerned, he studied her face to see if she was in pain, but she waggled her finger at him. “Uh-uh. Eyes down.”
Spreading her knees, she showed him everything. A feast. A banquet. He traced his thumb across his lower lip, already imagining her flavor, savoring the memory he’d yet to make. Fuck, he was horny. Ready to go. And she was telling him he could have more.
She’d once teased him, saying that he couldn’t handle all of what she had to give. He hoped she was right because he never wanted it to end.
With a low growl of intent, he crawled onto the bed and buried his face between her legs. More. More.Yes. He licked and tasted and sucked until he’d had his fill, and then he kept going. He brought her to climax again, with his mouth, with his fingers, and only when she shivered, sated with aftershocks did he guide his cock to her entrance. Teasing her with his length, he whispered near her ear, “Are you ready for this, baby? Are you ready for me?”
“Tony,” she warned, bucking her hips. “Give it to me.”
He grunted, entering with one stroke, falling down the rabbit hole, knowing that his ruin was inevitable. She was one hundred percent his new addiction, and he would never let her go.
Twenty-Two
Bailey wokewith full feeling restored to her ankles, but half a brain of common sense. She’d spent most of the night making love to Tony, drifting asleep, then waking up to do it all again. He was insatiable, and she’d encouraged him. Being intimate with him had been the best cure for her fears.
She’d almost died.
But last night she’d lived.
And now that it was morning, and the light streamed into his bedroom, she wondered if she’d done the right thing. Looking at the gorgeous man sleeping peacefully next to her, she felt like she’d stepped into the centerfold for Playgirl Magazine. The man laid on his stomach, his sheet artfully twisted around his hips, a tantalizing glimpse of his taut, tanned ass showing. Even at rest, the musculature of his back was defined. She gently shifted hair that had fallen over his forehead.
His eyes popped open, focused right on her. “Stop the press,” he murmured. “I found the stalker.”
“Who?” She frowned. “Is it your co-star, because I’m starting to wonder about her ‘I know’ comment to the paps.”
He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I was going to say you but, okay. I’m not prepared for this level of serious in the morning.”
“Oh. Sorry.” She leaned back on her pillow and stared at her nails. The French acrylics needed refills, and after last night, they were chipped.
He gave a breathy grunt and climbed on top of her, arms braced either side so he looked down with his gorgeous eyes still puffy from sleep. How could she look anywhere else?
“Babe,” he said, voice low and intimate. “What’s wrong?”
“I just wish I was allowed to investigate this stalker.”
“That’s not it.” He brushed his nose against hers. “Are you rethinking last night? How are your ankles?”
“It was fine. They’re fine.”
For a moment, he looked offended, then his brows winged up.
“Fine?” He put special emphasis on the word. “Tony Lazarus is not fine. He isfine.”
She laughed. His cheeks went pink, and he looked away.
