“Is that your best line?”
“I don’t need lines, I’m Blake damn Hudson.” That level of arrogance should be a turn-off, but the wicked gleam in his eye and the curl of his lip draw me in.
He reaches out and slowly strokes a lock of hair from my face.
“What are you thinking?”
His voice goes husky and deep. “A little while ago I told you I want to know everything about you. I’m thinking I have no idea how many freckles you have. And that’s pretty important information to have.”
The look in his eyes undoes me, and my voice is a rasp of neediness. “It is important. Uhh…three hundred seventy five?”
“Oh, no.” He reaches out, grabs the top button of my blouse and unbuttons it with swift, skillful fingers. Then he moves down the row of buttons. “That’s too important a question to leave to guess-work.”
He has me naked in no time at all, my clothes falling in a pile on the floor. I shamelessly ogle him as he strips off his own clothing.
“If this whole department store mogul thing doesn’t work out, you could work for Chippendales any day of the week.”
He grins at me, kicking aside his pants and kneeling on the floor next to the sofa. “I feel very objectified right now, but I’ll try to move past it.”
Blake insists on counting and kissing every freckle on my body. It’s pretty sexy when he kisses the ones on my shoulders. Downright erotic when he moves on to the ones on the upper swells of my breasts. The ones behind my knees tickle, and we’re giggling like a couple of lunatics when he finds the last one, right at the top of my inner thigh. It’s actually more of a birthmark than a freckle, but who am I to quibble when his tongue is firmly stroking the tender flesh and his warm breath is ghosting across my sex?
“One hundred seventeen.” He grins wolfishly at me as he heads north towards my slick center, then closes his eyes and applies himself intently – intensely – to the task at hand.
He’s an infuriating control freak, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t turned on by how driven he is – the way he applies himself one hundred percent to everything he does. He drives me crazy in more ways than one.
Including licking and sucking me into a state of quivering need.
I give a faint mewl of protest as he draws away, but his busy fingers soon replace his mouth. He slides up and moves himself top of me, knees in between mine, the hard muscular planes of his body like a protective wall. When he kisses me, I can taste myself on his lips, and he pushes a finger inside me, then two, working them in and out of my slick channel. It’s exciting, but I want the real thing – want to feel his thick erection sliding inside me, driving me on as I clench and throb around him.
I murmur encouragement when I feel the tip of his sheathed dick against me, and give a low moan of approval when he pushes into me, filling me and thrilling me and heating my blood. But just as I anticipate the sweet magic of his body moving above me, inside me, he turns the tables. He rolls, taking me with him so that I’m left straddling his hips, his cock still lodged firmly deep inside me. He puts his hands on my hips, softly stroking my skin then gently encouraging me to move, to lift and roll my hips so that I’m the one in charge. So that I’m the one controlling how fast we go, how, hard, how deep.
It’s a heady feeling. It’s not like I’ve never been in the driving seat before, but this is Blake Hudson, control freak extraordinaire. The man who has everything scheduled and organized; filed, sorted and color-coded, right down to his ridiculously expensive silk socks. For him to give up control like this, to lie back and enjoy the ride as I make us both feel good in whatever way I think best – it excites me.
I begin to move, a little clumsily at first until I find the right angle and rhythm, then suddenly it clicks into place and I’m riding him smoothly and evenly. I sit up, throwing my head back and feeling the burn in the backs of my thighs as I take him deep inside me then withdraw, over and over again, letting the pressure build.
Blake runs his hands over my breasts and belly. He holds my hips, loosely, not to control my movements but to feel their roll and cant. I roll my head on my neck so I can watch his face. His lips are slightly parted, his eyes half closed and glittering. His breaths are deep and uneven, and the skin on his high cheekbones is flushed. I can see he’s close to coming, and the realization makes my pussy clench hard around him.
He gasps. “Oh God…”
I ride him harder, rolling my pelvis each time our hips meet, squeezing with my inner muscles as I withdraw, and his fingers dig into my hips.
“Oh God…”
I feel my own crisis building and I know I have to slow down or I’ll totally lose it, and I want to get him off – need to get him off. But I can’t stop, it’s too much—
I bite my lip to muffle my cries as pleasure jolts through my body, locking every muscle and arching my spine like a bow. It’s enough to send him tumbling too, and his hips jerk up against mine as he comes in shockingly hard muscular pulses that I can feel deep inside. He doesn’t groan or shout. He comes so hard his breath locks in his chest and he just shudders, his mouth open on an unvoiced cry.
Afterwards, we lie together in a happy state of limp exhaustion. Well – mostly limp. I can already feel a certain part of Blake stirring against my thigh.
“Already?” I murmur into his ear. “You’re insatiable.”
“I think that’s one of the nicest things you’ve called me.” His laugh is rich and warm. He kisses my shoulder. “Hello, number thirty-eight,” he says.
“You do not remember the individual number of every single freckle!” I laugh.
“Try me.”
“Some other time. I should go before it gets too late. I’ve got stuff to do around the apartment.” I sit up with a sigh. I don’t want to tear myself away, but I’m still afraid to let myself get too used to this. Blake could too easily become a need, a constant craving, and he could just as easily vanish again and never come back.
“Can’t be done,” Blake says, guiding my hand to his burgeoning erection. “My limo driver has the rest of the day off, the subways are shut down for repairs, and all the taxi drivers are on strike.”
“You don’t say.” I let him draw me back down onto the couch with him. It’s not like I put up much of a fight. “I can’t believe I missed that news. Of course, there’s always walking.”
“Not if I screw you until your legs don’t work anymore.” He moves down to kiss my neck. “Number eleven.”
“You’re making that up! You do not remember the individual locations of a hundred and seventeen freckles!” I laugh. He groans when I give his hardening length a playful squeeze. “You should stay over,” he says hoarsely. “Let’s go to work together tomorrow. Make it official.”
“We are not making this official yet. We didn’t even survive our first week together.”
“Number forty-one.” He kisses my stomach. “Number forty-two.”
He keeps kissing his way down, and I’m soon too breathless for a snappy comeback.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Blake