Page 64 of The Nanny and the Beefcake
Sweet Buddha’s belly, she liked hearing him spout sexy like an academic!
“When do you propose we complete another round of testing in a king-sized bed?” she eked out, her body trembling at the thought of round two with this man.
Raz’s eyes glittered with lust. “Right bloody now.”
Nine
Libby
Libby’s muscles tensed,and her nipples hardened as she hummed a deliciously dirty moan—a sound she’d gotten quite good at making over the last eight hours.
Yep, she’d been riding the Orgasm Express for eight hours—and counting.
Twisting the bedsheets in her fists, the morning sun streamed in through the windows. She loved watching the sunrise, but she’d had to pass on welcoming the day this morning thanks to the man going to town on her beneath the covers. She arched her back as Erasmus Cress teased her, bringing her to the cusp of release only to draw her back, then do it all over again.
She should be exhausted. She hadn’t gotten much sleep last night.
Scratch that.
She hadn’t gotten any rest, but she wasn’t complaining.
Thanks to the beefcake, still working her body like he was born to do it, her O had returned like a Formula One race car, ready for action and raring to go.
“Raz, that’s it! That’s the spot,” she rasped.
“You don’t think I know that by now, plum?” he answered, his lips pressed against her quivering body.
Yes, there was a hint of maddening arrogance in his tone. But the man deserved some credit. He’d gotten quite proficient in the titillation department, and she didn’t even mind him talking. He could read aloud the ingredients on the back of a box of cereal. His growly words sent a heady vibration that tingled from her head down to her toes, adding to the heightened sexual bliss that had her writhing on the cusp of orgasm number…
Sweet climax pie, she’d lost count.
After her glorious orgasmic awakening on the washing machine, Raz had carried her into his bedroom. From there, she rode him like a cowgirl on his king-sized bed, and had again welcomed her O in a sweaty state of orgasmic ecstasy. She’d bucked her brains out on his mahogany four-poster bed that looked like it had rolled right off the set ofBridgerton.
And God save the Queen! She’d never been so grateful for sturdy Victorian construction.
But their evening didn’t end in the bedroom.
Exerting and maintaining that kind of erotic energy required fuel. Even the most meditative yogi required sustenance, and somewhere between reverse cowgirl and going at it doggie style while gripping one of the carved bedposts, she’d suggested they pop down to the kitchen for a snack. Thanks to the douchebag Derricks and their run-in with the Denver police, she’d missed dinner. By the time she and Raz had knocked out several more orgasms, with no intention of calling it a night, thanks to their dedication to the like-cures-like curriculum, they agreed to indulge in a brief time-out to procure nourishment.
And wouldn’t you know it, Raz’s grocery delivery had arrived earlier in the day, and his cleaning people had set a bowl of fruit on the center of the table.
What luscious fruit had they piled high into a glass bowl?
Here’s a hint: With a deep purple hue, it’s got skin so smooth all you want to do is run your tongue over the satin surface. In addition to that, the spherical delight sports a decidedly naughty trait. No one could deny that the fruit resembled a succulently tempting ass.
Yep, they walked into the kitchen, naked as the day they were born, and spied a bunch of plums.
She’d never considered any fruit sexy until Erasmus Cress plucked a plum from the bowl, sank his teeth into the flesh, then allowed the juices to run down his chin—and from there, his chest and abs.
And she could not let anything go to waste. She’d licked the sweet nectar from the man’s body like she was the naughtiest kitten, and he was a vat of cream.
But two could play at the plum game.
After her abs-fest, she’d chosen a plum of her own. She’d barely taken a bite before Raz had her spread across the kitchen table.
How’s that for a fruit plate special.
He’d kissed every inch of her before bending her over and taking her hard and fast. Sure, they’d knocked over the bowl of plums and sent the fruit tumbling across the hardwood floor. Seriously, who could concern themselves with tidying up when a sex god was doling out orgasms—and fruit.
