“About to get better,” I mumble back, and then suction my lips around him. He jerks, and I smile against his hot, velvety flesh.
I suck him down as deep as I can take him, which isn’t as deep as I’d like. But it’s his fault for having such a huge dick, the jackass. My fingers curl around his base to grip what my mouth can’t, stroking him in time to the glide of my lips and tongue along his shaft. Every loving lick makes my heart pound harder. I want him to like this. No, to love this. I want to worship his cock and show him how much I—
How much you what?
The curious voice in my head messes up my lazy rhythm. I end up taking him too deep, and my throat rebels against the thick intrusion. As I gag, Blake quickly pulls out with a soft murmur of reassurance. “’S’okay, baby, I don’t expect you to deep-throat me.”
I choke out a laugh. If only deep-throating was the cause of my muddled thoughts. But it’s not. My emotions are all over the place right now, and I don’t know if it’s because of all the excitement today, or because…
Because what?
Awesome. My own brain is taunting me.
I push aside the unsettling thoughts. I don’t want to think right now. I don’t want to search for answers to questions I’m not ready to face. What I want is to lose myself in Blake Riley.
“C’mere.” I tug on his hand and urge him to his knees. He does it without protest, and then his mouth is on mine and his hands are snaking their way under my shirt. He peels it over my head, undoes my bra in an impressive one-handed feat of dexterity and tosses both items away.
Neither of us cares that we’re still in the front hall. I don’t even blink when Blake nudges me onto my back. I barely feel the cold floor beneath my bare skin, because his body is producing enough heat to start a fire.
“Wanna be inside you.” He latches his mouth onto my neck and sucks hard enough to make me shiver. Meanwhile, his hands are pushing up my skirt and coaxing my panties down my legs.
I loop my arms around his neck and pull his hair to bring up his head. Then I kiss the living daylights out of him and rock my hips upward in a desperate attempt to create some friction.
Blake grunts against my lips. His rock-hard erection is like a branding iron against my thigh. “Hold on, babe, lemme suit up.”
I’m so mindless with need that I just keep rocking, until finally he grips both my hips and fixes me with a very un-Blake-like glare.
“Keep doing that and I’m gonna come all over your leg. Is that what you want, you evil woman?”
God, no. I want him inside me already. Why is he taking so long?
My impatient grumble summons a bark of laughter from him. He reaches for his discarded pants and fumbles around until he finds a condom. In no time at all, he’s covered in latex and plunging into my needy core.
“Blake,” I gasp.
He doesn’t answer. He’s too busy setting a fast, relentless pace that steals my breath and my sanity. His thrusts are so deep, so deliciously violent, that our bodies slide forward on the hall floor. My head bumps into something—a duffel bag, I think. I don’t care. Nope, don’t care and hardly notice as his jack-knifing hips practically fuck us all the way into the living room.
I cling to his shoulders and squeeze my eyes shut, letting the pleasure take over. When the orgasm comes, it’s not in lazy, pulsing waves, but an instant explosion of bliss. I shudder and curse and forget my name.
I vaguely register a growl from Blake. An agonized “fuck yeah,” punctuated by one final thrust and then the ferocious trembling of his body.
It takes several minutes before we’re able to move. I’m pretty sure I’m in cardiac arrest. Blake’s chest heaves as if he’s just skated his ass off to kill back-to-back penalties.
Eventually he speaks, his voice laced with humor. “Front hall—check. What room should we tackle next?”
28 Mick Jagger Is Yelling at Me
Blake
I don’t want to move. Actually, I might be physically incapable of moving. Sex marathons tend to do that to you.
But as much as I want to stay in bed all day with Jess Canning wrapped around me like a full-body scarf, the sunlight streaming in through the curtains tells me that it’s morning. Or at least I hope it’s morning, because I have practice at ten. Shit, I hope we didn’t sleep through the alarm.
Trying not to wake Jess, I carefully lift my head and crane it toward the clock. Eight-fifty. Nice. I’m right on schedule. I stretch my arm out to turn off the alarm before—
“IF YOU START ME UP!”
“Fuck,” I curse when an explosion of music rocks the bedroom. I have the song programmed so that it skips the intro and gets right to the good stuff.
“—I’LL NEVER STOP!”
Except the good stuff is loud.
A tortured groan sounds from the mattress. “Why is Mick Jagger yelling at me?” Jess wails.
I finally manage to shut off the alarm and grin down at the grumpy blonde in my bed. “Sorry, babe. I like to wake up with the Stones.”
“Well, I like to wake up with my eardrums intact.” She sits up and rubs her eyes. “What time is it?”