Page 63 of The Worst Best Man
“Aiden!” She swore at him when he dropped her on the mattress. But he followed her, not wanting to be away from the body that tempted him like he was under a spell. He slapped at the lamp on the bedside table and reached into the drawer. Thank fucking God he never traveled without condoms. He wouldn’t have survived the hunt for one. And it would have taken zero convincing for him to drive himself into her bare. Something he’d never done in his entire life.
Kilbourns didn’t father bastards.
But Frankie could have batted those long-lashed eyes at him, and he would have happily shot his load inside her, thanking his lucky stars.
She was fucking beautiful, sprawled across his mattress, her hair spreading out beneath her, her nipples swollen and straining. She still had her sandals and underwear on, and Aiden planned to remedy that.
“You gonna look all day, or are you gonna make me come, Aide?”
“Just taking in the view, sweetheart. If I don’t get myself under control, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Challenge accepted.” She rose up and grabbed him by the back of the neck, yanking him down to her. She kissed him like he was the only man in the world, and it was a heady thing. His cock was weeping with the need to bury itself in her. Precum leaked from the tip.
“Fuck,” he rescued himself from the kiss and slid down her body pausing to worship both breasts with their perky, needy nipples. She hissed in pleasure as he closed his mouth over each one, sucking until she writhed under him.
This wasn’t a woman faking her way to a picture-perfect sexual experience. This was a goddess chasing an orgasm that would eclipse the sun. And he would give her what she wanted.
“Finally,” he said, settling between her legs. He let his lips graze her inner thigh and watched her tremble. Aiden dragged those air-thin panties down to her thighs. He left them there. The final barrier prevented him from just ramming himself into her wet pussy. He wanted to torture her the way she had him.
“Aiden if you don’t do something right this second, I’m going to take matters into my own hands,” Frankie threatened. He grinned. He didn’t know what love was, but he sure liked Franchesca Baranski more than any woman he’d ever taken to bed.
He took two fingers and traced them through the soft wet folds.
“Oh God. Oh fuck. Aiden!”
He held out for his name and then thrust his fingers inside her.
She cried out, and he nearly came on the sheets that touched his cock. He fucked her with his fingers, and when she started to grind her hips up, he leaned in and slid his tongue through her slit.
Rather than the scream he’d hoped for, she went deathly silent. He peeked and saw her, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open in a silent O. “You okay up there? Are you having a stroke?” he quipped.
“Aiden, talking isnotwhat I want you doing with your mouth right now!”
He licked his way to her center. His tongue and fingers working her clenching pussy and her sweet, little clit. She rode his hand, his mouth, determined to steer him toward her orgasm. But he could get there without the road map.
He added a third finger and traced his tongue down to her tight asshole and back to her clit again and again. She was sobbing his name. Everything else was incomprehensible.
He felt her walls tremble against his fingers and then the first pulse squeezed against him. He licked and fucked her through every contraction of that beautiful release. She clenched his fingers with those slick muscles, pulling him in as deep as he could go, and he wanted more. He wanted her coming on his cock, wanted those hungry squeezes to milk his own orgasm out of him.
“Aiden!”
He ground his hips into the mattress, desperate for the friction.
Her orgasm went on forever, and by the time she went limp beneath him, he was afraid he might black out if his brain lost any more blood. There was a pulse hammering in his head.
He raised up onto his knees and fisted his hard-on to roll on the condom.
“Franchesca,” he snapped. “Look at me. Open your eyes.”
She did, hazily at first. But when she saw him, fisting his dick between her legs, her gaze sharpened.
“What are you waiting for?” Her voice was hoarse.
“Tell me you want me. Tell me I can have you.”
“Take me, Aiden.”
“Are you mine?” He didn’t know why he was asking. He wasn’t possessive about women. But he wanted her to say it, say the words. And then he’d know he won.
