Fuck. Was she going to call it off now? Now? Her prerogative, of course. He’d just hobble downstairs and jack off in the car like a teenager after dropping off his date at curfew.
“…right now, I’d really love to get to know that big, energetic dick you’ve been teasing me with since day one.”
Chapter Seventeen
Izzy watched something like relief cross Trace’s face. What had he feared she wanted? A commitment? A pledge of undying love?
Not fair, her mind and her pussy insisted. The man just very generously gave you more attention, more foreplay, and more tongue-whipping orgasms than any of the men who’ve offered you a relationship, a commitment, or a pledge of any sort. His dick—bear daddy or otherwise—has got to be hurting by now. He definitely wants you to ask for it.
“It’s yours. All yours. Any way you want it.”
She adored the sound of that. She also adored how quickly Trace sat back on his haunches, reached an arm behind his shoulder, and yanked his sweater over his head. The white, long-sleeved thermal shirt he wore beneath concealed not an inch of his mountain range of shoulders, bulging biceps and thick forearms. But they were moving in the right direction in terms of wardrobe equality. She swept her legs to the side and got to her knees. He still towered over her, was still one hundred percent clothed to her zero percent, but somehow, she felt more powerful.
“I want it in my mouth, first,” she replied, and reached for the fly of his jeans.
He pulled the undershirt off, and she got a little distracted by the fan of hair across his chest and the trail that arrowed down, down, down…into the shadowy little gape at the waist of his jeans.
“Izzy, I can give you maybe five seconds to treat my dick like your very own candy stick, and then I have to be inside you, or this culminates in a blow job, or a hand job, or something in between. The choice is yours, but as long as we’re breaking rules, I would really, really love to give you a last orgasm while you’re riding my cock.”
Her whole body shivered. She wanted that. So badly. Wanted an end to the empty need inside her. Leaning into him, she spread her palms over his chest, angled her head back and lowered her eyelids so she watched him from beneath her lashes. “Could I”—she licked her lips, just to be evil—“kiss it”—tongue to one corner of her lips, then the other—“first?”
His hands got clumsy unbuttoning his jeans. He finally just gripped one side of his fly and tore it open. A thick, ruddy, veined cock slung out, bobbed around as if disoriented by the sudden freedom, and then jutted skyward. “Kiss me first.”
Her lungs hollowed. So awe-inspiring, like a redwood. So perfectly proportioned, like a carved monument. She reached out a hand. “It’s so…”
“It’s big,” he finished for her and wrapped his massive fist around himself. Even so, that left a good several inches unattended. She wanted to attend to them. All of them. But then he repeated, “Kiss me first.”
She leaned closer, hands splayed on his chest, and raised her lips to his. “I promise to be gentle,” she teased.
“Me too,” he answered, a millisecond before their mouths came together in a rough, urgent duel. Her lips stung and burned a little from whisker-abrasion when they finally broke apart. Licking them produced addictive sensations. “Okay, I was kidding,” she breathed, and curved her hand around the one he had wrapped around his dick. “I don’t want gentle. I don’t want careful.”
“Careful would be best.” He swapped their hands around so hers gripped his shaft. They both watched as he coaxed her up and down his length in long, slow strokes.
Her mouth watered. Her insides clenched with new desperation. “Naked.” She tugged at his jeans with her free hand. “You. Naked. Now.” Maybe the prospect of tackling his cock made her bossy, but he didn’t seem to object. He sat back on the bed and dragged everything off. Jeans, socks—everything—then lay back in all his glory.
And he was glorious. His relaxed smile said he knew it, but she couldn’t fault him for understanding such a simple fact. His body radiated power, latent right now in the braided strength of his thighs and biceps, the horizontal slats of his abs, and the massive expanse of his chest, but this, she knew, was no gym-polished assemblage of muscles maintained by miles of cardio, reps in front of a mirror, and low-carb lunches. Unlike the men in her experience, his body had been built by the demands of his life, not in spite of them. Now all that latent strength was at her disposal, she wanted to revel in it, and she hardly knew where to start. Every part of him called to her. One part especially, yes, but like a kid at an amusement park, she didn’t want to miss out on anything.
Jittery with anticipation, she crawled over to him and knelt between his parted thighs. With a shaky breath she leaned forward and ran her hands from his shoulders to his hips in a long sweep. “How did I resist all this for so long?”
“I don’t know, but I’m damn glad you’ve finally decided to have your way with me.”
She leaned forward again, propping her hands on either side of his torso, and dropped a kiss along the sexy channel bisecting his abs. “Oh, I have.” To prove it, she scooted down and kissed the taut, raised muscle at the front of his thigh. It jumped under her lips, making her smile. A big hand curved along the back of her head. Long fingers threaded into her hair. “Izzy…”
She kissed the other thigh and let the trailing tendrils of her hair slide over his cock. The fingers at her scalp tightened a fraction, then released and swept her hair into a long tail that trailed through his fist and down her back. “That feels amazing. Too amazing. I don’t want to make a mess of your hair.”
He didn’t want to make a mess of her hair? The notion sent a muscle-weakening heat through her. What would that be like? Him making a mess of her hair, her face and breasts? Well, messy, for sure, but something inside her liked the idea of him making a mess of her. It seemed primitive and earthy—like camping, she imagined—and far, far from a clean, precise six minutes with her mini wand of medical grade silicon.
The hand holding her hair gave a gentle tug, and she raised her head. Stern eyes locked on hers. “I hear you thinking, Izzy. Not this time. Another time I’ll let you make me come where I stand, and you can take it however you choose, but not our first time.”
“No,” she agreed, and felt her cheeks heat as she added, “not our first time.” But she would have a preview. Wrapping her hand around the base of his cock, she smoothed her lips along the shaft, over the crown. She kissed him there, smiling when he cursed. Opening her mouth, she let her breath fan him, delighted when he throbbed in her hand and cursed again. With the very tip of her tongue, she traced the flare. Two hands held her hair now. “Izzy, baby, do it. Please.”