She was glad she’d chosen to wear a formfitting tank top underneath rather than one of the ratty T-shirts she typically pulled on for a morning at the house. Not bothering to move the fabric aside, he bent down and took her nipple in his teeth and tugged.
Holy. Lord. She almost came right there. If she’d been able to breathe she would have grabbed his hair and held him there. That alone would have been enough. But before she could catch her breath, he’d sunk down to his knees and begun to pull her sweats and underwear down over her hips.
If she’d been in her right mind, she might have been worried about the stretch marks—she’d carried triplets, for God’s sake—or the not-tight-enough skin or, well, everything. But none of that seemed to matter as he pushed up the hem of her tank top and placed an open-mouthed kiss on her stomach. Trailed his tongue to her hip. Brushed his fingertips down her legs as he leaned in to kiss the back of her knee, the inside of her thigh.
He pulled back slightly and for a second time stood still. She was trembling. Quivering. Tears were falling from her eyes from the sheer perfection of it all. And then, as if she weren’t already so turned on she was about to explode, he made one of those eminently male, you-are-mine growls before he leaned in and undid her.
That was the only word for it. He held her to his mouth and feasted. He lapped at her clit, thrust his tongue inside, pressed against her with his chin… She arched up into him, grabbed the sides of the dryer for all she was worth, and bit down on her lip so she didn’t give away to the whole house that Jack had just shown her the true meaning of bliss. He coaxed her through every single second of the most glorious orgasm she’d ever had. She wanted to roar. She wanted to scream and cry out to the whole world that she’d just found the Holy Grail and they hadn’t even had sex.
At what point she finally collapsed she had no idea; just that she could feel Jack bring her pants back up over her legs, pull her tank top back down, and wrap the sweater around her again. Then he pulled her into his arms and tucked her head into his chest and held her as, still shaking, she came down.
She was mentally present enough to realize he was still hard—even to register that she not just needed to return the favor, but that she desperately wanted to. Except, oh, for Heaven’s sake, she was crying.
“I’m not sad,” she said into his chest.
He chuckled. “No, babe. I got that.”
“And I’m not about to go all crazy clingy,” she added, despite the fact that she couldn’t physically remove herself from his arms yet. “I’ll let go as soon as I can walk again.”
“No rush.” The smile was still in his voice. “We can stay just like this for as long as you like.”
Using the principle of gravity, it was actually possible for her to let her hand drop down between them and at least get a little bit of a feel. Despite his appearing cool and calm, he sucked in a breath as her hand tightened around him.
“Maybe not quite as long as originally thought,” he said, his voice cracking a little.
To the contrary. “Longer.” And thicker, come to think of it.
You’re not supposted to be such a good guy.
I can be good.
I can be bad, too.
There’s no reason to choose sides
Lincoln Landry probably even has game-winning stamina.
I’d like to screw her and her perfect ass.
Danielle Ashley probably even has a game-changing personality.