Page 58 of Hard to Love
“You don’t get to tell me how I should see you.”
Alex closed his eyes and knocked the back of his head against the wood. “I don’t know what you want from me.”
“I just told you.” She pressed her lips to his, sweet and simple, yet so damn complicated his head throbbed with it.
When she shifted back this time, freeing his hands,Alex left them lying by his sides. Then again, his nervous and muscle systems had short-circuited when she slid her sweet little ass down his hard-on. He couldn’t be held responsible for his inability to move.
“That’s more like it,” she whispered as she popped open his last button. Her palms were like velvet fire, stroking over his chest to push open his shirt. Again, she took her time exploring his right side, touching his unmarked skin with light strokes. Strokes that had Alex’s eyes rolling back in his head from the pleasure of it.
His abs jumped under her nimble fingers. He sucked in his stomach with that age-old guy response to a woman’s hand that close to his cock. The physical prayer that she would slip her hand under his waistband and finally touch him.
But Greer took endless moments to circle his belly button, causing the muscles beneath to bunch even tighter.
She leaned forward to press a kiss to his shoulder and push at his shirt sleeves. Alex accommodated her by doing a half sit-up so she could work the fabric down his arms. The smile she gave him was full of gratitude and something else. Something that looked a hell of a lot like simple affection.
Mother Mary help them both.
Then she shifted so she sat across his lap in a reverse cowgirl position. God, yes, he would have her just like this. But not with his jeans strangling his dick like they were now. He reached for the button.
“Don’t even think about it.”
How the hell did women do that—see things from the backs of their heads? “How do you know—”
“Because I know you.”
She wouldn’t be here doing this with him if she trulyknew him. She wouldn’t want to look at him.
Shut that fucking noise up, Villanueva. Thinking about all that shit’s a good way to lose the hard-on of your life.
So he blanked his mind to everything but the feel of Greer working his boots off his feet and pulling off his socks.
“Even your feet are good-looking,” she said, disgust clear in her tone. “It can make a girl feel intimidated.”
“Because of my feet?”
She turned again and sat back on his thighs. “Because this—” she waved a hand down his body, “—is a freaking work of art.”
Again with the effing tattoos.
But when Greer touched him, it was again on his right side. “The definition of your muscles. The play of sinew under your skin. The hollows and shadows.” She traced a finger down his jawline. “You’re really quite beautiful.”
Why should that make his face heat up like a twelve-year-old boy? “Not compared to you. At least I think you’re more beautiful. It’s hard to tell with you all covered up.”
She laughed, a sweet, light sound. “Nice try.”
Then she shimmied her way down his body, rubbing her shirt across his hypersensitive skin. She traced a line down the middle of his body with her tongue, and Alex gave up.
He was a dead man.
He flung his arms out to the side but kept his hands wrapped into fists. He felt her smile against his belly.
When his dick was nicely wedged between her breasts, Greer paused. Used her tongue to probe his belly button this time. Darting it in and out in quick little flicks.
His balls pulsed in response. Out of pure self-defense, he wrapped a hand in Greer’s hair, tugged lightly. “If you don’t stop that, I’m gonna—”
She tongue-fucked him again.
His fingers clenched around that wild halo of hair and he ground his back teeth together to hold back the impulses squeezing his cock. With his last remaining brain cell, he began visualizing a complex tooling design. Lots of flowers and leaves, one of every kind known to man. In his mind, he beveled, crosshatched, and detailed the hell out of entire garden.
