I won’t cry I won’t cry Iwon’tcry.
Lifting his jacket, I duck underneath and pull it over the back of my head and hide myself as I press my bare face against his shirt buttons. My cheek pushes flat against his pecs. His chuckle rumbles against my cheek as he spreads his hand on my back. My fingers tug his shirt free of his waistband and slide underneath to tease a path up to his pectoral muscles. And his nipples.
I finger his nipple. He makes a sound in his throat that rumbles really deep. I open a few buttons and push his shirt aside to expose his other nipple. And I suck it.
His chuckle over my mischievousness fades to a groan. He shrugs off his jacket, then he finishes unbuttoning and shoulders off his shirt, frowning laughingly down at me. “Are you hiding from me? Don’t hide from me.”
Groaning, I put my hands over my cheeks. Through the spaces between my fingers, I meet his gaze.
His eyes are dancing in amusement.
His laugh fills the room. He’s enjoying seeing me like this and he shamelessly forces my arms to my sides. His voice darkens with lust. “Come on, let me look at you. You look edible right now.”
I leave my arms at my sides.
He holds my gaze as he tugs my sweater dress over my head, then lowers my strapless bra, and one of my nipples appears. He takes it in with hot male appreciation. He frees my other nipple and leaves them there, exposed.
He bends his head. He nibbles first. Bites the tip of one a little bit. The gentle tug of his teeth causing the tip of my nipple to swell and my sex to ache with an absolute craving to be filled. He turns his attention to my other nipple, biting it gently. He tugs, releases, licks it, then full-on kisses it. When he covers it with his mouth and sucks, I buck in pleasure. I arch and clutch at his back, raking my nails over his muscles.
“Tahoe,” I groan, mindless with arousal.
He’s clearly aroused too. He makes sure to grind his erection against my belly, letting me know it. I’m not sure if I imagined it—did it pulse harder when I said his name?
He drags his teeth over my nipple and bends down to lick it again, rasping, “So succulent,” and then sucking gently as his hands caress me, “Touch me, Regina. Take my cock in your little hands.”
He guides my hand over his slacks and sets it over his length, and he’s stretched to the limit, hard and massive. My mouth dries up and I lick my lips as I stroke him, and he groans.
And suddenly we both lose control.
He jerks on my bra, rending it open. He pulls down my panties while I unbuckle and unzip him. I drop his pants and he lifts me, carries me to his room, and sets me on his bed. He waits at the foot of the bed, getting an eyeful of me, and in the meantime letting me get a complete and totally amazing eyeful of him.
My mouth waters as I stare at six feet plus of tanned, naked Tahoe before me.
Naked and so, so hot.
I forget everything when he leans over me and murmurs in my ear with an amused smile, “Come here.”
I hold on to him and whisper back, “I am here.”
“Yes you are. But get closer,” he says.
I try to get closer as he sets his knees on the bed, leans over me, and spreads my legs open so I have room for him.
I push him to his back and straddle him.
He sits up and runs his hands along my curves and cups the side swells of my breasts. “Closer,” he says. He plays with my breasts, with my *, as if they’re all made for him.
I hug him tighter, kissing him the way he makes me want to kiss him, with all of me, mouth and teeth and tongue and heart, whole body rubbing and feeling his.
He groans appreciatively, squeezes my ass. “Closer.” His voice is dark now. Textured.
A part of me wants to keep making him ask, keep my guy on his toes for me, yet I’m affected by his nearness to the extent I can feel only one thing, the urge to please him.
So I kiss him harder, filling my hands with the scrape of his beard, and when he opens his mouth with a smile, I lift my body and lower myself down on him.
“Oh god,” I groan.
His smile fades against my lips and he kisses me softly but then more urgently.
“I love you,” he says, now pressing his lips to my cheek and kissing me there.
I move over him slowly and run my fingertips over his chest. Against his lips, I whisper, “Don’t hurt me, Roth, ever.”
And when he simply and confidently says, “Never,” he grabs me by the hips and kisses me again, moving beneath me, filling me up, filling me in.
He rolls me to my back and spreads me out on the bed, and then he’s all over me, inside me, as close as he can get.
And he moves, and I move.
He whispers thickly in my ear, and I realize that I believe every word this man has ever told me and each one that he says right now in my ear.
“You feel so right…”
“I’m so wild about you…”
His hands and kisses echo what he tells me.