“My turn again.”
“And where, pray tell, do you plan on doing it this time?”
“Talk is cheap, Counselor. I’m a man of action.” He captured her wrists and placed them above her head on the arm of the couch. “Be good and keep those there for me.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Move ’em and find out.” He nipped her earlobe, then whispered, “I’m kind of hoping you do.”
Without waiting for her to respond, he rose up to his knees, tucked his fingers into the elastic waistband of her shorts, and pulled them down. As he drew them over her hips, his mouth dried up and his eyes glued to her panties. Tossing the shorts over his shoulder, he studied the small triangle of sea green lace over black satin until he knew he could draw every detail from memory if needed. Only then did he allow himself to look at her body in its entirety.
“So damn gorgeous.”
He planted his hands on either side of her hips and slowly lowered himself. He hovered over the juncture where thigh met pelvis, keeping her bound with anticipation. Her eyes transfixed to his mouth and the rise and fall of her chest became faster and faster. The black of her pupils swallowed the green of her irises, her front teeth captured her lower lip…and still he held. She wanted his mouth on her just as badly as he did. But he wasn’t moving another millimeter until she asked.
Later, he’d make her beg.
Seconds ticked by, the pair of them locked in an unspoken match of wills. He felt the heat coming off her and he smelled her arousal. Finally, she succumbed to the need and rolled her hips up.
Good girl.
He gladly licked the line all the way up to her hipbone. A little salt and he was at it again, this time adding pressure and causing her to whimper, her body to shudder.
He took his shot, not even pausing to register the burn before squeezing a lime wedge along the lace edge of her panties. Not one to waste anything, he quickly dipped down and licked the stream that had spilled over between her legs. She moaned in the back of her throat as he moved to kiss off the liquid that had pooled at the top.
“Enough,” he growled as he moved up her body. “No more games. I’m taking what I want. What we both want.”
…
Vanessa could already tell her earlier thought process had been way off the mark. Drunken sex with Jackson Maris wasn’t going to be any less intense than sober sex. Probably because neither of them was drunk. Buzzed, yes. Wasted…not even a little.
It didn’t matter that they’d both just had enough shots to put most people on their asses. She should’ve guessed a man like Jax wouldn’t have suggested something he couldn’t win. The man could seriously hold his liquor, and it just so happened tequila was the only thing she could drink her weight in and still be coherent. Had he picked something else, she’d have passed out a half hour ago in an unattractive heap after making a total ass of herself.
But instead, she’d played a game with a dragon and ended up pinned beneath his massive body as he prepared to breathe fire. Golden eyes framed in dark lashes held her captive. With the instinct of a moth, she cupped his face and kissed his lips, sacrificing her better judgment to the hypnotizing flames.
Jackson accepted her kiss, then pushed her back into the cushion as he took over. His tongue was a sweet invasion, exploring and tasting between nibbles on her lips that made her feel like the most delectable of desserts.
Slipping one arm under her head, he snaked his other hand behind her back. With the flick of his fingers, he released her bra and tore it from her. Her breasts, which had always been very sensitive, felt heavy and full and charged with electricity. The moment his bare chest pressed into hers, her nipples tightened painfully, pleading for the attention they’d been denied the night before.
As though reading her mind, he broke the kiss and plumped her right breast with his large hand. His calluses dragged over her skin, causing delicious vibrations that had her arching farther into his palm. She never knew a man’s hands could create such sensations. She’d always dated white-collar men. Not because she preferred them, but because those were the men in her circle. Their hands were smooth and unremarkable. Not like Jackson’s. If she had any musical talent whatsoever, she’d write an entire album dedicated to the man’s hands alone.