The Wingman

Her hands dug into his back and then his buttocks when he started up that deep grinding again. This time, with only her lacy, damp panties and his cotton boxer briefs between them, the sensations were way more intense. She could feel the long, thick outline of his hard penis as he sawed against her damp furrow, the tip brushing against her clitoris with every forward stroke.

She bent her knees and thrust herself up against him, wishing that she could have more, and as if sensing her desire, one of his hands left her breast and crept down over her belly and under her panties, his thumb finding her with ease. His mouth was now at her nipple, sucking strongly, the way—she’d discovered—she loved it.

Daisy opened her thighs even wider, and he took it as an invitation to further liberties, his long middle finger attempting entry into her slick channel. He got only knuckle deep before she came like she never had before. She clenched tightly around that intrusive finger for one long, long moment, before she released. The spasms repeated again and again, while Daisy’s back arched and she sobbed into his neck, her nails buried in his back, her ankles crossed around his buttocks.

One of her hands moved down between their tightly locked bodies, and he shifted slightly to accommodate her and then gasped in utter shock when she pushed his briefs down and took him in hand.

“Daisy, wait, you don’t have t—” The desperate words faded into a deep groan of satisfaction as—after only one untutored stroke of her hand—he came. Hard and fast and copiously. He shuddered and spent every last drop all over their bellies and her still-stroking hand.

For an endless amount of time, neither of them moved, and then, as if by unspoken accord, they both flowed into a tangle of arms and legs. They were breathing heavily, hot and wet and literally steaming as their body heat hit the cooler air.

Daisy’s head was resting on one of Mason’s hard biceps, and his arm was curled so that his hand could idly toy with her hair.

“That was fucking amazing,” he muttered after he finally caught his breath, and Daisy made a contented little sound of agreement as she snuggled closer. She had both hands curled against his chest with her nose buried in the hollow of his throat and was drifting off to sleep, while his one hand played with her hair and his index finger of his other hand traced lacy patterns across her back.

“Are you falling asleep?” he asked, his voice brimming with amusement.

“Tired.”

“What about dinner? Should we order in?” He sounded disgustingly keen, and she smiled sleepily.

“No. Wake me up; family will be waiting.” He sighed, his chest heaving beneath her hands.

“It’s nearly seven.”

“Just a quick nap. We can be late.” She snuggled closer, feeling not even the slightest bit self-conscious at her nudity, and fell asleep seconds later.




Mason watched her sleep, a pang of . . . something in his chest. God, they hadn’t even shagged, but it was still the most amazing sex of his life. He wasn’t sure how the hell that worked; all he knew was that little Daisy McGregor had rocked his world with her irresistible mixture of charm, innocence, and lethal sexiness. He knew he should move, get a damp cloth or something to at least wipe some of the stickiness off their bodies, but he wasn’t sure he could move, and right now the damp discomfort was preferable to letting Daisy go.

She looked so peaceful, he didn’t want to disturb her, but as the minutes ticked over and their bodies cooled, he sighed and regretfully conceded to the inevitable.

“Daisy,” he singsonged softly into her ear and smiled when her forehead puckered slightly. “Daaaisy.”

“Hmm?” Grumpy girl. Clearly early mornings weren’t the only times she hated having her sleep interrupted.

“Come on, angel. Open your eyes.” A deep sigh and another moan.

“Wha—?”

“It’s time to get cleaned up,” he told her and watched as awareness returned to her eyes. She went bright pink as her natural shyness inserted itself firmly between them. Understanding that this was all a bit overwhelming for her, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her delightfully freckled nose and eased away from her, allowing her the space she needed.

“You can have the bathroom first,” he said, and she dragged a pillow to her chest and slid off the bed, keeping the cushion firmly in front of her but completely unaware of the fact that the full-length mirror behind her showcased her smooth, naked back, nipped-in waist, and generous bum and thighs to perfection. Her tiny little pink panties rode low on her hips, low enough to just tease a glimpse of the shadowy cleft between the delightful mounds of her behind.

“I won’t be long,” she promised, keeping her eyes downcast, which was probably a good thing because he was hard as a steel pipe again and not doing a damned thing to hide that fact. He wanted her, and she would have to adapt to that fact very quickly because he was done retreating. He would deal with the fallout if it meant having her in his bed for however long this lasted.





CHAPTER TEN




Daisy sagged against the bathroom door and took a deep breath before dropping the pillow and shakily making her way to the sink. She was a mess, literally and figuratively. She couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. And she couldn’t bring herself to regret it at all. This was all new to her, and she figured Mason would be a phenomenal teacher. But that didn’t mean years of shyness and awkwardness around the opposite sex would simply disappear after one—admittedly amazing—sexual experience with the guy.

Natasha Anders's books