Shame burned within but she was past caring. “Please kiss my *. Please lick me.”
“Beautiful. You’re so beautiful, you were made for this. For me.” He cupped her ass and lifted her up for his mouth. The first wet swipe of his tongue caused a long wail to escape her lips. He avoided her clit, once again taking his time, murmuring terrible, dirty words about her *, curling two fingers and plunging inside her at the same time he licked her clit, so lightly and gently Riley felt the last of her sanity shred.
“Dylan, please! I need—I’m begging!”
Without hesitation, he increased the pressure and pounded three fingers into her weeping channel.
She came apart.
The climax tore through her, stole her breath, and ripped her to pieces. She screamed and bucked beneath him, but he never stopped, dragging the pleasure on and on until she was a shivering, trembling mass of exposed nerves.
Riley collapsed, boneless. The hiss of a zipper cut to her ears. The rip of a wrapper. And then he was dragging her down the length of the table, her legs spread wide, feet propped high on his shoulders, completely open to anything he wanted to do.
His cock paused at her entrance. Pushed in an inch. Another. Slowly, he filled her completely, taking everything she had without apology. She stretched to accommodate him, relishing the tightness, and when he was buried deep within her, he interweaved his fingers with hers.
His voice broke. “It’s you. Why didn’t I realize? It’s always been you.”
She had no time to process the words or their meaning. He withdrew all the way, then slammed himself fully back, sheathing his throbbing dick to the hilt. Again. Again. Again.
The ride was wild, long, choppy, thrilling. The second climax shimmered just out of reach, the feeling of him taking over her body, his hips working in a primitive dance, sweat drenching their skin, over and over until—
Riley broke apart, dimly noting him following her over the edge. She gripped his hands as her only anchor, his weight pressing her against the table, until they collapsed.
She closed her eyes.
Her mind was completely and blissfully empty.
chapter 6
Had he died? Nope, his body ached a bit. He was getting older and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had sex on a table. Of course, he’d never be able to eat here again without thinking of her.
Her voice drifted to his ears. “That may have been worth the ten-year wait.”
Dylan chuckled and nibbled on her neck. So sweet. She was still shaking slightly from the string of orgasms, making him want to do the whole thing over again. And again. “Brat. Is sex back in the box?” He eased off of her and disposed of the condom.
“No. I told you it can’t be.”
“Foreplay? Oral?”
She gave him that adorable glare that always turned him on. “That’s included with sex.”
He turned to go stoke the fire. Curious, he wondered what else she thought she had to have in a husband. So far, her list was way off. She’d destroy a mild-mannered accountant who did anything she said. Dylan shuddered just at the thought. She bored without a challenge, and to him, love and marriage and kids was the ultimate goal to conquer.
“Tell me what else you see happening in this fictitious perfect future of yours?” he asked.
She eased to a sitting position, her naked body a gorgeous silhouette. “So you can make fun of me? Hell no.”
He threw up a hand in a Boy Scout gesture. “Promise not to make fun.”
Her lower lip jutted out in a hint of a sulk. He walked back over and kissed it off her, until her hands gripped his shoulders and her nails dug in hard. Damned if she wasn’t making him hard again.
“Fine. I’m going to sew all my children’s clothes. And knit. I’ll make the afghans and do little booties for the boy and two girls I’ll have.”
He stared at her and waited for the punch line. Never got one. A wild laugh scratched at his chest, dying to escape, but he battled it back. Barely. “You told me you flunked home economics in high school. You hated it, Riley. You’d go apeshit if you tried to sew.”
She gasped and pointed her finger at him. “See! I told you! I’m going to like it this time. Crochet is in my box. And my husband is going to do all the maintenance around the house. Mow the lawn, fix the plumbing, maybe help build an addition.”
He pressed his lips together. His eyes began to tear. “Don’t you make a crap load of money?”
Her brows knitted in a frown. “So?”
“Why the hell does he have to do that shit if you can hire out? Aren’t you going to be running Chic Publishing? You gonna take up yoga next?”