Page 62 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
“I told you, I’m the best.”
She couldn’t challenge that assertion.
“There’s a lot you don’t know about me, plum,” he added, his voice growing hoarse.
She stared into his penetrating gray eyes, gasping for breath, peering into the windows to his soul. There was anguish hidden behind the cocky layers of the fighter, but that wasn’t all she saw. The man carried an abundance of love in his spirit. Untapped or possibly overlooked, it was there, dormant beneath the mask.
He slipped another finger inside her wet heat, and she tightened around him.
“Bloody hell, plum, you could lift a piano with your core muscles.”
“Yoga…really…works,” she said between gasps, then raised her hand. “You should see what I can do with this.”
“I know. I watched you do that handstand, one-handed.”
“I think you’ll be equally impressed with this skill,” she answered, wrapping her hand around his hard length.
Raz inhaled a sharp breath. “You might be right,” he answered, then pressed his lips to hers.
They were relentless, both intent on bringing the other the maximum amount of pleasure. She worked him in long, fluid strokes, matching his pace as he massaged her sweet bud. Shades of blue and violet colored her gaze, cocooning them in a haze of sexual energy. This man’s touch reached her on a cellular level. Her once frustrated, blocked chakras joined the rhythmic dance as they drifted into alignment.
This was the closest she’d been to flying over the edge and tapping into her O.
But she wasn’t there yet.
She parted her lips, about to tell him she wanted him buried deep inside her. But before she could say the words, Raz read her mind.
“I want to feel you, Libby Lamb. I’m clean. I haven’t been with anyone since I was last tested,” he said, kissing a trail to her earlobe.
That was music to her ears!
“Tested. Clean. On the pill. Yes, magnificent cock now,” she rattled off in a breathy bluster of words.
He took a step back, releasing her. She gasped at the loss of his touch. It must have only been a second, possibly two, before he gripped her by her hips and lifted her onto the washing machine in one swift motion. Instinctively, she edged forward and reached for him. “Don’t do that again,” she whispered, the words spilling out.
Concern clouded the lust burning in his eyes. “Do what, plum?”
She held his face in her hands. “Let go.”
What did that even mean?
She’d never spoken to any of her partners like this—so raw, so vulnerable. But she barely had a second to think.
Without a word, Raz’s deft, capable hands slid her forward another inch. She teetered on the edge as he settled the tip of his rock-hard cock at her entrance, then thrust his hips.
Shimmering light radiated between them. She cried out as the sheer power of this powerhouse of a man stretched her in the most decadent, deliriously delicious ways. All she could do was hold on as he filled her to the hilt with his thick, perfect cock. Her soft curves met his hard body, melding together, the yin and yang of opposites attracting, complementing each other as two became one.
His large rough hands gripped her ass, holding her close, holding her like he never wanted to let go. “I’ve got you,” he whispered in that dirty British accent that seriously scrambled her brain.
Or maybe it unscrambled her mind.
She’d never felt more present, more alive than she did sitting atop a washing machine with this giant man’s enormous cock inside her.
But it was his words that set the air on fire with flashes of blue and violet.
I’ve got you.
Three words.
