He continues to stroke me, bringing me higher and higher, and I cling to him, desperately wanting to reach out and undo the button of his jeans, to wrap my hand around his cock. I can see it, his hardness clearly outlined, pressing against the fabric of his jeans, and the sight nearly pushes me over the edge.
"You're… so… fuck…" I want to tell him how cocky he is, how ridiculous… I want to tell him that no one has ever spoken to me like this, told me exactly what he plans to do to me. But I can't put anything into words when this ridiculously arrogant man has his fingers buried so deeply inside me.
I can't think clearly when this man makes me drunk with lust, shutting off the rational part of my brain, the part of me that makes smart decisions.
Decisions that are exactly the opposite of this one.
Then Luke whispers into my ear. "You fucking love it, Red," he says. "It was written all over you, from the first day I saw you. You wanted me from the second you laid eyes on me, too. You just like denying it. But I know you've been wet between your legs for me."
"That's… oh, God… not… true."
Luke pauses, unmoving, and I moan, the sound needy, unable to help myself. "Are you saying you want me to stop, Red?"
Do I want him to stop?
I should want him to stop. He's immature, young, reckless. I don't do spontaneous. I don't have one-night-stands. And I certainly don't let a guy a decade younger than me rip my jeans down my thighs and finger me in broad daylight in the doorway of my house.
But I look into the eyes of the man who's doing exactly that, and I don't want him to stop. "No," I finally answer, the word barely more than a whisper.
But he doesn't move, doesn't give me the release I crave. "Sorry, Red. I'm not sure I heard you."
I swear my knees are about to buckle under the weight of my neediness. "No," I say. "I do… not… want you to stop."
Luke chuckles, pressing hard against that spot inside me, the one that makes me moan. "That's better," he says. "Now, sweetheart, I want you to come for me, because I've been dying to put my tongue between your legs since the first time I saw you, and I don’t think I can wait much longer.”
He covers my mouth with his before I can even react, stroking me harder, and the combination of everything overwhelms my senses. I come with blinding intensity, clinging to him as my touchstone when I crash over the edge, my moan muted by his mouth.
When he pulls back, he gives me a look that’s so self-satisfied, so damn pleased with himself that I’d slap the smirk off his face if he weren’t so sexy. Then he squats down and yanks my jeans down my legs in one swift pull and looks up at me, his eyebrows raised. “Pants off,” he orders. “Now.”
11
Luke
She doesn't argue, doesn't open that smart fucking mouth of hers, that damned self-assured smartass mouth that inexplicably makes me so hard, ready to bend her over and fuck her at a moment's notice.
And that is exactly what I want to do now. I want this girl on her knees, her sweet lips wrapped around my cock. I want to bend her over, put her palms against the door, and thrust my cock inside her. I want to yank her hair, feel her tighten around me, hear her call my name when she comes, the way I know she wants to.
I want this girl in every way possible.
I want to claim her.
I want to own her.
The thoughts pop into my head and I force them away – especially the last one. It’s a stupid fucking thought, one I’ve never had about anyone before. And I don’t spin her around. I don’t put her palms against the door. I don’t bend her over or smack her ass while I thrust inside her.
Yet.
She looks down at me, face flushed, lips plumped and swollen from mine being pressed against them, her breasts heaving as she gasps, and I know by the expression on her face that no one has made her come like that before.
That makes me want to take my time with her.
I slide my hands up her legs around her thighs until I reach the sides of her panties. Her hands go automatically to them, as if she’s trying to keep them on self-consciously, which makes her somehow more endearing.
I wasn’t lying when I told her I’d been thinking about the way she would taste since the second I saw her. Since I first looked at her, I’ve been thinking about how her face would look when she let go of the prim-and-proper bullshit and finally came on me.
Grasping the edge of her panties, I tear the shit off her before she can protest. She squeals – literally squeals – which just makes me want to do it again. "Luke!"
"What?" I ask. "Were you attached to those?"
I toss them, watching as they land perfectly in one of the bowls she has perched on a table in the entryway, this wooden decorative bowl that holds her keys and her sunglasses.
Now it holds her panties, too.
Kneeling between her legs, I spread her thighs apart with my hands, my thumbs grazing her * lips. She's freshly waxed and groomed, and I realize that’s for me. Despite all of her protesting, she’s wanted this. She’s anticipated it.
Shit, I could come right here and now at the thought of that.
"What?" She looks down at me, her voice breathy. "You're making me nervous."