Jaded (Walkers Ford #2)

In response, he linked his fingers behind his head to elevate it and nodded at her. “See something you want?”


She smoothed her fingertips inward from his hip bones. The muscles contracted and her gaze flashed up to his. “Does that tickle?”

“Not hardly,” he replied.

Confidence renewed, she slid her fingers into his waistband and began to work open his button fly. The backs of her fingers brushed his erect cock with every movement, and his heart pounded hard and slow in his chest. No flirting glances, no teasing looks through that sexy hair, just a businesslike stripping that left him with his jeans trapping his legs and his cock straining up toward his navel.

She stopped and peered at him. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her blue V-neck, but he stopped her. “Only if you want to,” he said.

Her shoulders relaxed. She pulled the T-shirt up and off, then dropped it on the floor by the bed. She wore a pretty lace bra in a shade of cream very close to her skin color.

“It’s going to be hard to walk into the library knowing you’re wearing something so sexy under your clothes,” he said without moving.

And there it was, the blush he dreamed about, blooming on her collarbone as she ducked her head and reached behind her back to unfasten her bra. The lace dropped away, rasping against his cock as she dropped it beside her shirt.

She looked so mysterious wearing only spring twilight and a blush. Her nipples hardened under his gaze, but he stopped himself from reaching for her. Intentionally or not, she rewarded his restraint by leaning forward to lick a path from the base of his shaft up to the tip.

A low growl rumbled into the air. For a split second he wanted to roll her, spread her, and fuck her, but pride and intuition kept him to nothing more overt than a tightening of his interlaced fingers. He could hold out against this, and that smart little voice in his head, the one he always honored, told him she needed this.

Don’t worry. You’re going to get yours.

He shut off the more cynical voice in favor of concentrating on the sensation of Alana’s hand wrapped around the base of his shaft while her lips closed around the tip.

“Oh, fuck,” he said.

And there went his filter. Her tongue sought out the bundle of nerves just below the tip, teasing and flicking before she took him deep enough for her lips to meet her fist. The resulting combination of hot wet mouth and tight squeeze was enough to make his hips buck. Keeping the tight suction she moved slow and purposefully, as if her purpose was to drive him fucking insane.

“Stop,” he bit out.

Her little hum of protest vibrated down his shaft to his balls. Breaking his promise to himself, he reached down and wove his fingers into her hair and tugged. Breaking contact, she looked up at him. Her eyes were glassy, the blue stormy dark and unlike anything he’d seen before.

“I’m gonna come if you don’t stop,” he said. “Is that what you want?”

She blinked, and a bit of awareness returned. “No,” she said.

She scrambled off him. He shucked his jeans while she did the same beside the bed, her movements jerky and endearingly awkward. Biting her lip, she yanked open her nightstand to remove a box of condoms. An unopened box of condoms. While she tore into thin cardboard he stared unabashedly at the slim curve of her hips and the triangle of pale blond hair at the crux of her thighs.

“Yes, I am really a blonde,” she said without looking at him.

“I didn’t doubt it,” he replied, amused.

One condom gripped firmly in her hand, she straddled him again, her hair swaying as she did. She opened the packet. He gripped his shaft and pulled it away from his abdomen, but let her roll down the latex without his interference. As much as he wanted to cover her fingers with his, to guide her hand down to his balls and the sensitive patch behind them, he held off.

Next time.

If there is a next time . . .

There’s so going to be a next time, because if this is all she wants, that’s great. It was all he had to give.

She wrapped her hand around his and centered herself over his erection. The pause before she lowered herself went on long enough for him to drag his gaze from the vision of her hand, his hand, his erection, and the damp, mysterious curls a mere inch away from his shaft.

“I want to ride you,” she murmured when his gaze met hers.

The words nearly disappeared into the deepening night and the fog of lust clouding his brain. “I want that, too,” he replied. “So bad.”