“Step out of your pants and lie on the bed.” The command disguised as an entreaty sounded entirely reasonable; she’d paired it with a small, hopeful, hypnotizing smile.
I’d been with several women before, always discerning bakers, working professionals who were interested in a no-strings-attached arrangement. But I’d never been hypnotized before. I’d never had to remind myself to maintain my control. I’d never even come close to losing control.
If Jenn had glanced down she would have seen my obvious erection, jutting from my hips and tenting my boxers, hard and near painful. But she didn’t. Her attention held me transfixed. My good judgment was strangely silent.
I pulled my feet out of the jeans and allowed her to lead me the short three steps to the bed. Her eyes hadn’t lowered since she’d made her initial request. They didn’t move from mine as she placed her hands lightly on my shoulders and directed me to the mattress, pushing me until I lay flat on my back.
It wasn’t until she reached for the button of her jeans that I disentangled myself from the trance.
“What are you doing?” I asked sharply, preparing to sit up.
She placed her palm flat on my chest and pushed me back. “The cuffs of my jeans are dirty. I don’t want to get the bed messed up.”
Jenn made quick work of unfastening her fly. My eyes dropped to her legs, bared inch by inch as she removed her pants. She still wore my shirt and it fell to her thighs, just above her knees. The sight of her, standing at the edge of the bed, dressed only in my shirt, had me swallowing desire and a plea for more skin. Instead, I fisted my hands at my sides.
This is a very bad idea.
As though sensing my imminent movement, Jenn hastily moved to straddle me, her hands coming to my wrists.
“Don’t you dare get up.”
Every one of my muscles tensed, lucidity persisting and reminding me that I was in love with this woman. I loved her both rationally and irrationally. And I wanted her with a ferocity that had kept me awake at night and tortured during the day.
I was halfway upright when her mouth came to mine and she kissed me.
“Please, Cletus,” she beseeched between hot kisses, her fingertips sliding up my ribs, then unexpectedly whipping off her shirt.
Jennifer pressed her breasts against me and wrapped her arms around my neck, shifting her hips higher and providing tortuous friction, unknowingly shredding my restraint. “Please, I want to touch you. Let me touch you.”
The sound of her begging, the hot, searing contact of her skin, her greedy mouth, snapped my thin leash of control. I easily rolled Jenn to her back, shoving her away so I could slide my hand down her luscious body, so I could capture her nipple in my mouth.
She bowed and arched, straining beneath my touch; her nails dug into my back, anchoring us together.
“You want to touch me?” I growled, grabbing her hand, bringing it to the front of my boxers and under the waistband. I pressed her palm against my erection, wrapped her fingers around it, showed her how to squeeze and stroke. A rush of breath escaped my lungs, segmented and savage desires closed the curtain on rational deliberation.
I was lost to her, to the moment, to passion. My fractured thoughts all began and ended with need and want. My fixations focused on how to most meritoriously bring her pleasure, how to best guarantee she screamed in ecstasy. I couldn’t tear my mind from the preoccupation of her bare skin and the essential gratification of her fist around my cock.
I lifted my mouth from her breasts, relinquished her hand in my shorts, and slipped my fingers into the front of her underwear, combing through her curls, petting the soft hair until I found what I sought.
“Oh, oh, oh God!” She shuddered, her lips parted, her eyes wide and foggy with lust. She tilted her hips forward and threw her head back.
I’d never witnessed anything so sensual, so goddamn sexy. She was seduction and sin, excess and decadence.
“Is this what you want?” I demanded, rubbing her slick center and slipping my fingers into her luxurious heat.
She didn’t respond, and I hadn’t expected her to.
The compulsion to devour gripped me, the craving raged within me as I stroked her supple body and she mirrored my maneuverings with clumsy movements, holding and stroking me with no finesse. That too felt essential. It felt exactly right.
I felt the first pulsing of her release and I slowed my pace, drawing a confused whimper from her lips.
“Cletus, oh, please, don’t stop. Please. It feels . . . it feels—”
“I’m not going to stop.”
I wanted to prolong the moment, indulge myself. I wanted immersion in my primitive and possessive thoughts. From now on she would be mine: her skin was for my eyes only, for my mouth to cherish, my hands to touch. Her body was made for my body and I would claim her as she’d unknowingly claimed me.