“I like you, Brooklyn,” he says, his lips so close they brush mine. “More than I knew was possible in such a short time.”
I like him too—God, I like him—but desire and champagne have scrambled my thoughts and all I can manage is, “Shut up and kiss me again.”
He chuckles, then says in a growl, “Yes, ma’am.”
Our lips meet, and then his tongue finds my own. I melt against him, moving my hips subtly against his cock until he groans with pleasure. Then I do it a little more brazenly.
“You’re driving me crazy,” he complains, his hands finding the curves of my ass. “Been driving me crazy since I first saw you in this dress.” One hand hooks under the hem of my tight little red dress and he adds, “I’d love to see you out of it too.”
“Mmm,” I moan against his lips, my palm sliding down his stomach to find his cock. “That can be arranged.”
“Oh yeah?” He pulls back just enough to look into my eyes, to read the desire flooding them, and then suddenly he’s lifting me off my feet.
I let out a surprised yelp but wrap my legs firmly around his hips. At first I think he’s going to press my back up against the bookshelf, take me right then and there, and while it’s a hell of a lot faster than I usually go, I’m ready.
My body is ready.
My heart is so ready.
But instead, Prescott whirls around and walks me over to one of the chaise lounges in the center of the room. He lays me down and scrunches up the bottom of my dress, pushing it up over my hips and revealing the lacy pink panties beneath.
“Mmm, I like these,” he murmurs, so close to me I can feel the heat of his breath through the lace.
I squirm with need as he slowly, oh so torturously slowly, spreads my thighs and nuzzles his face between my legs. He groans in time with the little gasps and whimpers that escape my own lips, and at last he brings my knees together again so he can slide the panties off.
When I’m bare and open before him, it’s like nothing I’ve ever felt before.
There’s not a hint of shyness, or uncertainty. All I want is him, and I can tell by the way he’s practically licking his lips as he drinks me in that he wants me too.
“You’re perfect,” he says, swiping one finger through the slickness of my folds. I wrap my hands tightly around the edges of the lounge, holding on for dear life, and my hips rise involuntarily, wanting more. Needing more.
“Touch me,” I beg.
He gives me that wolfish grin, baring his perfect teeth, then nibbles on my inner thigh. “Like this?”
“Higher,” I say, smiling coyly.
“Here?” He kisses the crease of my hip. He’s just teasing now.
“Please, Prescott,” I beg, and at last, he gives me what I want. What I need. He buries his face between my legs, tongue swiping over my clit as he presses one finger inside of me, then another.
It feels so good my vision goes starry, and it seems like just a few seconds before I’m coming—hard—and bucking my hips against his mouth.
6
Prescott
Brooklyn completely loses herself as she comes, writhing and grabbing at the lounge I laid her on, and it’s about the hottest damn thing I’ve ever seen. My cock feels like a steel rod in my pants, so hard it’s almost to the point of aching.
But it’s well worth the tease when she finally comes back to herself, lifting her head up and gazing into my eyes with those gorgeous sapphires, her hair a messy halo around her head.
“Best first date ever,” she says, sitting up, the bottom of her dress still bunched up around her waist.
I look down at the raging hard-on I’m sporting, then back up at her. “I don’t know… I think it could get a little better. If you want—”
Before I even finish my sentence, she’s scooting to the edge of the lounge, wrapping her thighs around me again, my cock nestling against her warmth.
“Oh God,” I can’t help but groan.
“I do want,” she says, her gaze a challenge.
I scoop my hands under her ass and lift her off the lounge. What I’ve got in mind can’t be done on this narrow cushion. Instead, I pick her up and carry her to my bedroom, kissing her all the way. She’s threading her fingers through my hair, rocking her hips wantonly against my cock even as I carry her, and the result is an incredible tingle that works its way from my head all the way down to my groin.
Jesus fucking Christ, this girl is going to have me creaming my pants like a teenager. I can’t remember the last time I got this worked up over someone—maybe never, because Brooklyn isn’t just a curvy goddess, she’s the complete package.