Page 100 of Blue Collar Babes

“Not nearly enough.” His smile is self-assured, and there is a wicked glimmer in his eyes that I fantasize about when I’m not with him. This look makes me putty in his hands.

The softness of his warm tongue gliding through my seam, followed by his beard against my tender skin sends a shiver through me. My wine sloshes in the glass, and I lower the base of the stem to the solid arm of my chair to steady it.

His firm hands grip my hips and pull me forward, causing me to slide down until my shoulders are comfortably slumped against the wooden slats at my back. With my hips tilted to an angle of his liking, he teases my clit with the tip of his tongue, circling it a few times before he flattens his tongue and slides it down to meet my entrance.

A mixture of my juices and his saliva trickles from my opening when he withdraws his tongue. The chilly outdoor air ghosts over me. He inserts two fingers to replace his tongue, and his mouth moves upward again to find my clit. The pressure of his curved fingers inside me, palpating my g-spot, which he finds like he designed my body every time, coupled with the rhythmic sucking of my clit is the shortcut combo that sets me on the express route to orgasm.

My glutes quake, and my thighs pull toward each other like they’re magnetized. The arch in my back increases until the top of my head is pressing against the back of my chair, and my breath compresses into hurried gasps. When my climax crests, rather than ease off, he sucks more fervently, and his fingers press harder and faster. Pleasure borders on pain as the sensations compete for attention, and my nerve endings all beg for mercy while I come all over his gorgeous face.

He slips his fingers from my pussy and immediately slides them into his mouth, pulling them out slowly, savoring my taste as I watch. “My favorite flavor. I could lick your pussy for hours.”

“I’m pretty sure you have before.”

“And I will again. But dinner’s getting cold. You need to eat.”

“How do you know I need to eat?”

“Because you never eat a real lunch when your shift is busy, and you skip breakfast far too damn often.” He takes my panties from the arm of my chair and shoves them into his front pocket before he extends his hand to help me up.

“I’ve never really been a breakfast person.”

“You will be tomorrow morning.”

“I will be breakfast?”

He grins. “That too.”

Dinner is delicious, and he was right about me not eating much today, so I have no problem eating enough to put his worries about my food intake to rest. If I’d eaten a hearty breakfast and a full lunch, I’d probably be miserable right now, but instead, I’m comfortably full and more relaxed than I’ve been since . . . the last time I was with him.

We clean the kitchen together, and it feels almost too right to share this household chore. “You want a fire?” he asks as I hand him the last of the leftovers to put in the fridge.

“I always want a fire.” I don’t have a fireplace anymore, but Teague has one fit for a castle, and he keeps the rack next to it stacked with firewood—firewood he splits himself. He doesn’t pay someone else to split his firewood or mow his lawn or change his oil; he could afford to hire someone to do all those things, but says he can’t imagine why he’d pay someone else to do something he’s capable of doing himself. He is extremely capable in so many ways, and I find myself admiring that more and more.

My dad did all those things himself, too, but he always joked that one day he’d be rich and he’d pay someone to change his lightbulbs. He never got rich, but he also would’ve never paid someone else to do anything he could’ve done himself. All his “one day when I’m rich” talk was just that, talk.

I shouldn’t be sitting here watching Teague building a fire and wondering what my dad would’ve thought of him. This thing between us is supposed to be casual, my rebound fling.

But Teague makes it hard to adhere to my self-imposed boundaries, mainly because he has none. He’s a whatever-happens-happens kind of guy when it comes to feelings. In business, he’s more of a my-way-or-the-highway kind of guy. And in the bedroom, he’s an I-know-what-you-need-better-than-you-do kind of guy. That pissed me off initially, until he proved it to be true. He turns to catch me smiling at him. “If a fire puts that beautiful smile on your face, I’ll build you one all year long.”

“You always put a smile on my face.” I settle into his plush couch.

“That’s my job.”

“Speaking of jobs . . . ” I curl my finger in the universalcome heresign. “Why don’t you let me put a smile on your face now?”

“Not yet.” He climbs onto the couch next to me and hovers his body over mine. I instinctively slide down to lie beneath him. “I need to get my dick wet in your tight little snatch before your sweet mouth takes it. I’ve been craving this perfect cunt for days.”

His dirty talk always includes words I used to consider too crude to be sexy, but he uses them in a way that turns my legs to jelly. All I can say is when they’re being delivered in his husky timbre, they hit differently than I ever could’ve predicted. I hardly recognize myself when his filthy praise opens my floodgates, but I like this version of me. I wish I’d met her a long time ago.

The flames leap higher in the fireplace. Teague overwhelms me with a deep long kiss that leaves me breathless. He has my dress on the rug before my pulse has a chance to recover. I’m naked, and my legs are splayed wide with his heavy body between them. Rising up to his knees, he peels his shirt off, revealing ab definition earned from hard work. The rippled muscles are visible through a layer of proof the man doesn’t skip meals. He’s substantial everywhere.

My fingers sink into the coarse dark curls on his chest and knead them while he undoes his jeans and shoves them down his thighs, taking his underwear with them. His stiff straight cock begs for my touch. The silky-smooth skin stretched over his hardness entices my hand to stroke him.

He doesn’t bother removing his jeans the rest of the way before he lines his swollen tip up with the opening of my already quivering pussy. I don’t want him to take his time; I want him to ram into me with all he’s got.

Once again proving he knows exactly what I need, he delivers with a hard thrust of his hips, driving his erection into me until he’s fully sheathed in my clenching walls. He pauses there, moaning his appreciation and giving my body a moment to adjust to the fullness.

His hot mouth goes to my neck, and my arousal gushes around his hard dick the moment his lips make contact with my skin. He kisses his way down and over the swell of my breast, stopping to claim my hard nipple. The sensory gift of his tongue caressing the sensitive peak melts my spine. When he sucks, it’s not gentle, because again, he knows.

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