My first look at her nearly brings me to my knees. “Lina,” I breathe out, unable to say anything profound. With rounded hips and full tits encased in a sheer blue bra, her dark brown nipples erect and her rich brown skin glowing, Lina is everything that could possibly turn me on. My dick presses against the fly of my jeans, and I shift my own hips to alleviate some of the discomfort.
“I like being on display,” she says, snapping me out of my trance, “but only when the person I’m with is on display, too. Don’t just tell me you want me. Show me.”
My T-shirt disappears in a flash. Next, I unbutton my jeans and pull the zipper down. Staring at her intently, I tug my pants over my hips, leaving them scrunched at the middle of my thighs, and then I free my erection from the boxers restraining it. It bobs a few times, stiff and high, until it settles in the air, standing at attention and waiting for direction. “Better?”
She nods, her dark eyes glinting with interest. “Much. With that as part of your arsenal, the chances of winning the war are high. Come here so I can touch it.”
“Please?” I ask, a hint of a smirk undermining the affronted tone I’m faking.
“Pretty please,” she says, as she removes her bra, revealing her heavy breasts.
Distracted by the sight, I step forward—and nearly pitch myself into the wall.
“You’ll need to take off your pants first,” she says on a laugh.
Grumbling to cover my gaffe, I strip out of my jeans and kick them out of the way.
“Another thing that’s sure to make sex unimpressive is a person who doesn’t know how to have fun with it,” Lina says pointedly. “A bit of good-natured self-deprecation isn’t necessarily a bad thing.”
Catching her meaning, I lean over and slap the top of my thigh. “You saw that? Me stumbling in my jeans? Hilarious, wasn’t it?”
“Get over here, Max,” she says, her expression amused.
Enjoying her playfully bossy tone, I don’t waste time getting there, taking one giant step forward and placing my hands on her hips as my mouth covers hers. We both moan our approval when our bodies connect again. I’m surrounded by heat and softness and curves, my new happy place in the flesh. Lina slips a hand between us and strokes me, her grip sure and firm. I slide my mouth away, unable to control the hiss that escapes my throat. This is too much. She’s fucking too much. I can already predict that I’ll want to do this with her over and over again. Now I need to ensure she feels the same way by the end of the night.
I bend my knees and look up at her. “I’d like to spend some time down here.” Leaning forward, I breathe her in and lick my lips. “Any tips before I begin?”
She grips the doorknob for support, her eyes glazing over. “I don’t enjoy it when men jab their tongue in as though they’re poking a bee’s nest with a stick. Or when they munch on me like a crunchy snack they can find at a concession stand. Cunnilingus is an art. It requires imagination and nuance. Oh, and I love when a person talks dirty to me as they do it—in small doses, of course, because I’d obviously want you to be focused on the task at hand.”
Does she have any idea that she’s talking dirty to me now? Does she realize what a tempting picture she’s making as she rubs her thighs together in anticipation, her back arched to emphasize her swollen breasts? If I can give her even half the pleasure she’s giving me simply by standing here, the windows in this room will shatter.
I tap her right leg. “Put this over my shoulder. Grab onto my hair if you need to. I like that a lot.”
She doesn’t let go of the doorknob, as though it’s her security against collapsing, but she does swing her leg over my shoulder and grip the back of my head. I bury my face between her thighs and lick her folds, groaning at the hint of wetness I find there.
“Oh God,” she moans. “Yes, Max. Just like that.”
I lift my head and look up at her. “Tell me what your pussy needs, baby. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
“My clit,” she whispers. “I need you to suck on it. Scrape it with your teeth.”
And so I do. Settling into an unhurried rhythm, I slide the flat of my tongue inside and lap at her with short and long strokes, then I roll my lips across her clit and suck it gently, my fingers separating her flesh so I can get where I need to be.
Minutes later, her grip on my head falters, but she rights herself, and grasps the back of my head even harder, her hips rolling in time to the slip and slide of my tongue. “Oh, I can’t . . . it’s . . . I need to . . . it feels so good, Max.”
I can hear her voice rising with each word. In a perfect world, she’d tell me if she was close, because I refuse to leave this slice of heaven I’ve stumbled upon without good cause. Deciding to test her readiness using some of that imagination she asked for, I scrape my teeth against her clit and simultaneously slip two fingers inside her. She cries out as she detonates, her body shaking as if she’s exploding from the center outward and her hand banging against the doorknob until her hold on it slips.
As she blinks herself back to consciousness, I wipe my mouth and sit on my heels to enjoy the view. She looks languid and disheveled, the band around her ponytail dangling at the ends of her hair and a sheen of sweat kissing the skin of her belly and thighs.
I could stare at her in this state all day, but not even ten seconds after she trembled under my tongue, someone knocks on the door.
“The kitchen’s closing down soon, folks, but in the meantime you’re welcome to join us for a nightcap in the parlor if you’re free.”
Wide-eyed, Lina snorts, then she slaps a hand on her mouth when she realizes her voice may carry beyond the room.
“Thanks for the invitation,” I call out, “but I think we’re staying in for the night.”
Lina bends a little and wrinkles her nose at me. “Who needs a nightcap when you can have a night-come.”
She was irresistible before, but discovering she has a wicked sense of humor and perfect comedic timing seals my fate: This woman’s perfect for me. And that can only mean trouble. Pure, unadulterated, non–genetically modified trouble. But right now? I couldn’t care less.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Lina
So far, Max is doing a superb job of disappointing me. I should have known he wouldn’t cooperate. For that matter, my body won’t cooperate, either. It thinks Max is a very good boy, indeed. And who could blame it, really? I told Max cunnilingus is an art, and he took it upon himself to create a masterpiece worthy of its own wing in the Louvre.
Damn him to a world with no cake in it.
The man who’ll star in my daydreams for the next few weeks rises to his full height, his thick penis pointing to the ceiling. When he moves, more muscles than I thought any single human could possess activate and flex in rapid succession, the way I imagine the gears of a manual clock work together to mark the passage of time. It’s fascinating—and disorienting.
I’m aware there’s still an opportunity for him to screw up, but the odds are not in my favor, and as he’s already pointed out, I’m just as responsible for the success of this endeavor as he is.
“Tell me something,” he says. “Do you have a grudge against the bed?”