Page 58 of Make Me Sin (Bad Habit 2)
“Just kiss me, A.J. You can hate me all you want tomorrow.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I already told you why not.”
My face is getting hotter by the second. “That eight-inch steel pipe in your pants would like you to kiss me.”
His lips twitch. “Eleven-inch.”
I bite my lower lip, hard, because my ovaries have just fainted. Then something terrible occurs to me, and I draw a breath. “Do you . . . is there . . .”
“What?”
I swallow, hugely embarrassed by what I’m about to ask. In a small voice I say, “Is there a, um . . . problem with it?”
He tilts his head, staring down at me. “What kind of a problem?”
“Um. Maybe the kind of problem that you’d only want a . . . prostitute . . . to see?”
He’s frowning at me in total confusion. Then his face clears as he begins to understand. “Are you asking if my dick is deformed?”
I squeak, “Or do you have some terrible disease you don’t want me to catch?”
Slowly, he lowers his mouth to my ear. His nose skims the outer rim, and I break out in goose bumps. He breathes, “I’m clean as a whistle, Princess. You?”
I nod, trying not to rock my pelvis against his.
Lightly, he takes my earlobe between his teeth. Then I get his lips, gently sucking. He murmurs, “And my cock is in perfect working order.”
“Prove it.”
He goes still. He’s thinking so hard I hear the gears turning inside his brain. But I’m in no mood for delay, as my ovaries have recovered and have started flinging themselves lustfully all over my lower body.
I reach down between us, and curl my fingers around his erection.
He hisses out a breath, but doesn’t move. We’re eye to eye, staring at each other, and I’m challenging him with a look to stop me.
He doesn’t stop me. My ovaries cheer.
Slowly, I stroke my hand down the length of him. I can tell he’s not wearing anything beneath his jeans, because I feel every ridge, every throbbing vein, from crown to base. And he’s huge. Thick, long, solid. I stroke my hand back up, to the tip, and rub my thumb back and forth over the rigid head. A little bead of wetness dampens his jeans.
My entire body explodes with want. The kind of want I’ve never felt. It’s like some wild animal has just woken up inside me, ravenous, greedy, insatiable with lust.
Looking into his eyes, I say, “I want to see it. I want to suck on it. I want it inside me.”
My throaty voice sounds like it belongs to another woman. I feel like another woman, someone wanton and confident. Someone far more uninhibited than me.
I squeeze his cock, and he groans. The sound thrills me, gives me even more confidence. I lean close to his ear. “I want to ride this big, beautiful cock until I come, screaming your name.”
He pants, “Jesus, fuck, Princess, who are you right now?”
He’s losing control. I feel it. I see it. His face is strained with the effort to hold back. His arms shake, his breath is ragged. He wants this just as badly as I do, but, for whatever reason, he won’t let himself go.
So I do the only thing I can think of that might push him over the edge. I roll out from beneath him, rise to my knees, pull my T-shirt over my head, and toss it aside. My hair falls all around my shoulders, brushing my bare breasts.
He’s frozen in shock. His eyes are big, drinking me in. He whispers my name.
