Page 86 of The Nanny and the Hothead
“I’m good with that,” she breathed.
The beast glittered in his gaze as he sank to his knees. Starting at her ankles, he slid his fingertips past her calves, past her thighs, before trailing his hands beneath her skirt. He curved his index fingers around the waistband of her panties and slipped them off in one deliriously sexy whoosh. A feverish shiver vibrated through her, sweet anticipation building, as he lifted her leg and hooked it over his shoulder.
“First course,” he said, licking his lips before dipping his head to work her most sensitive place with his magical mouth.
She gasped, clutching the lip of the sink. She was close to ripping the damned thing clean off the wall. But her sexed-up brain didn’t care. Mitch gripped her ass, setting a slow, teasing pace. She’d never been one to take, never focused on what got her hot. In fact, to date, her best orgasms had come when she was alone with her vibrator.
Well, until her tent rendezvous with Mitch!
Being with this man was like nothing she’d experienced.
Mitch’s lusty growls and dirty moans confirmed he was as into it as she was. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted to devour her. Just like in the kitchen, when the man put his mind to something, he didn’t mess around. With each lick, he was winding her up, revolution by revolution, and had her hovering on the precipice between this world and the next. She rocked her hips, wanting more, so close to meeting her release.
“Patience,” he commanded, the hot word tormenting her tight bundle of nerves. “This is to whet your appetite.”
This man might kill her with the dirty chef talk!
She held on to the cool metal sink with one hand while tangling her fingers into his hair with the other. Giving in to the hot bliss happening between her thighs, she surrendered to Mitch Elliott’s will and his masterful tongue.
Body tingling, her mind whirling, she was right there, ready to let go. But she didn’t want to take the plunge without him.
“I think we should skip to dessert,” she said between gasps, then glanced at her wrist as a naughty idea took hold. She slipped off the hair tie, then pressed her hand beneath Mitch’s chin, guiding him back to his feet. She wasn’t this person—this sexually confident siren. But here with him, not worrying about doing the wrong thing or saying something silly, she was free. It wasn’t like he wanted to become her Mr. Cheesy Forever. He was her boss. And this one-night-only, special menu sexual escapade would be a one and done. Okay, two and done, counting the tent. But that was all it could be.
With a newfound sense of herself, she turned around and pulled her locks into a high ponytail. “Is this what you used to imagine when you’d think about me?” she purred, swishing her hair as she gripped the sides of the sink. Hinging forward, she brushed her ass against his hard length through his pants when a pang of anxiety rippled in her chest.
Was that too much? Was she overplaying her hand?
She caught sight of him in the little mirror above the sink. The breath caught in her throat when Mitch caught her watching him, and his lips twisted into the dirtiest of grins. If she were wearing panties, the intensity of this man’s deliciously menacing demeanor would have absolutely obliterated them. She closed her eyes, listening as he unzipped his pants, her body trembling, oh so eager to feel him thick and rock-hard between her legs.
“There she is,” he said. “There’s that fiery redhead.” He twisted her hair around his fist, then positioned himself at her entrance. Instinctively, she arched her back as he pushed past her delicate folds, sliding his hard length inside her. Everything disappeared, and there they were, caught in a web of irrefutable arousal. She put it to memory, enthralled with the sound of his breath, the heat of his body, the commanding grip at her hip and in her hair. She was at his mercy, but the look in his eyes said that she was the one calling the shots.
“Charlotte,” he whispered like a prayer, turning her head, then pressing a whisper-soft kiss to the corner of her mouth.
One would assume because the man spent a decent part of his life behaving like a raging hothead, that he’d make love with that same undercurrent of anger. But again, like in the tent, his touch was firm but tender. He rolled his hips, and the friction between them sizzled and popped. Thrust after beautiful thrust, she submitted to this man while demanding his surrender in return. The ebb and flow of who she was and who she thought she could be converged as everything in her life condensed into this one moment with this enigma of a man.
Inside the truck, surrounded by reminders of his past, he fixated on her. He stared into the mirror, seemingly mesmerized by her every moan and each heated gasp. And she couldn’t look away either. The pleasure consumed her. No one had ever looked at her like this—like she made up the totality of their universe. Watching this hulk of a man lose control as he made love to her like he was built for nothing else was not simply intoxicating. It was all-encompassing. It penetrated her heart and her soul.
She straightened, reaching her arms up to touch his face, his beautiful face, as he released her ponytail and slipped his hand between her thighs. Massaging her tight bundle of nerves, he set a decadent pace with his cock, sliding in and out in measured strokes. But his touch was the last straw, and she couldn’t hold back. Crying out, the rush of his release filled her as they toppled into orgasmic bliss. She held on to him as the erotic dance played out and waves of pleasure crashed over them. And she couldn’t help but stare at him, memorizing his reflection in the mirror as he held her close. Pumping and grinding, they writhed as one body. Were they floating, or were they drowning? She didn’t know, and she didn’t care. But greedily, she took it all as he ground out every drop of pleasure. Trembling from the exertion, she watched in awe as he smiled at her with a sated, boyish grin that turned her addled mind to absolute mush—and her heart into...
Stop! She couldn’t go there!
In the dark of the tent, while she’d sensed his smile, she hadn’t seen it. Here, she drank it in, photographing the moment in her mind.
He pressed a kiss below her earlobe. “What do you think? Better than the Signature Louise?” he purred. But his mischievous words couldn’t hide the raw honesty in his voice.
“What’s the Signature Louise?” she cooed, grinning like a fool.
Could this have been more than sex to him?
Stop!
Thoughts like that would do her no good.
Mitch Elliott was no Mr. Cheesy Forever.
And then, right then and there, she understood that two things were inextricably true.
Number one: Everything in her life paled in comparison to the tingling butterflies she got when she made this man smile.
