His angel snorted.
“You’re not hallucinating. You’re hammered. There’s a difference.”
She’d sounded derisive, but he’d heard the telling tremble in her voice when he pressed his lips against a distended nipple.
“One and the same, if you can get drunk enough,” he muttered.
He cupped one ass cheek and rode her jeans-covered pussy against the ridge of his cock. She inhaled sharply and froze. He knew why. A powerful jolt of lust had torn through him as well. He’d thought his cock had been tamed with a combination of whiskey and his own hand for the past eighteen months, but he’d thought wrong.
It had just awakened, and not with a whimper but with a bang. In a matter of seconds he’d been transformed by the power of volatile need.
His thumb stroked the peak of a breast. He grunted appreciatively when he felt the button tighten. He wasn’t surprised she wore such a flimsy bra. She was supposed to be his fantasy, after all, and Lord knew he preferred women wearing very little, if anything, over their breasts. At least in the privacy of his mind that was his preference. In real life, he’d prefer they covered up and kept the beast in him from rearing its head.
Drunken delirium or not, he was going to love every minute of letting the beast out of its cage. Tomorrow would come soon enough, and he’d be plunged into the abyss once again. But that moment wasn’t now, thanks to this hallucinatory, blessed angel. He moved his head and slipped a stiffened nipple between his grinning lips. His smile faded at the sensation of turgid flesh against his laving tongue.
“You’re stiff as a bullet,” he muttered a moment later. He wanted that flesh served up raw on his tongue. Nevertheless, he forced himself to still, his nose pressed against supple, fragrant flesh. “Do you want me to do this more?”
“What?”
“Do you want me to stop, or do you want me to see to the other one?” he clarified in a tight voice.
Her breathy whisper felt like a caress along his cock. “I don’t want you to stop.”
He moved hastily.
“Rill!” she cried out when he suddenly shoved her tank top over her head. She sputtered against cloth, and he jerked the garment off her. He whisked aside the flimsy satin of her white bra, unveiling bountiful pale flesh capped by a fat, erect nipple. He paused, recognizing true beauty even with the feeble tool of his whiskeypickled brain.
“Aw, baby,” he whispered. His cock throbbed hard enough to make him wince when he saw how his whisking breath made her nipple peak beneath it. “You’re so pretty.”
Something between a whimper and a moan leaked out of her throat when he wrapped his lips around her nipple. His tongue moved like the fingertips of a blind man reading the secrets of the universe in Braille. He learned every tiny bump with fascination. He coaxed the center nubbin until it pressed like a hard little dart against his laving tongue.
When he drew on her, it was as if he had also drawn that sexy, surprised cry from her lungs. Power and lust stabbed at him. Heat rushed into his prick, and he once again rocked her against his straining erection. Her ass cheek filled his palm. He was inundated with the scents of sex and flowers and the sensation of ripe, soft flesh. Heat penetrated her clothing and his own, resonating from her pussy to his cock.
He ground her down on him and rotated his hips, grunting when she gyrated against him in return.
Arousal reared up, a beast about to pounce. The feeling was so powerful, it sobered him for a very brief moment. He’d long ago schooled himself against the charms of nubile flesh and inviting smiles. Lord knew he’d been offered more of that fare than a normal man.
Rill hadn’t been a normal man, though. He’d made a point of that.
He blinked and a dark pink nipple came into focus. It was a rose-tipped delicacy, glistening wetly atop soft curves of mouthwatering flesh. A snarl shaped his lips. A need to mate, hard and fast, swelled dangerously in his blood. He leaned down and latched onto the nipple. Distantly, he recalled her other sweet breast, and he couldn’t resist the temptation.
Her fingers clawed into his hair when he shoved aside her bra and sucked on her other nipple.
“You let your hair grow,” he heard her say through his haze of greedy lust.
He continued to feast on firm, responsive flesh. Did she know him? Was that how she knew that he’d shaved his head for the past couple years? He doubted it. As a film director—an ex-director—plenty of people had seen him on television and in entertainment magazines.
Besides, if he’d ever come face-to-face with a woman like this, he would have remembered. She was too sweet to be real. She melted on his tongue. He drowned in her scent and flavor. His balls pinched tight. He reluctantly withdrew his mouth from her breast.
The necessity for haste jolted through him like an electrical shock. He jerked up his hips and she fell off him, long hair spilling over her face.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he mumbled as he rolled on his hip and came up on his hands and knees. When he got there, he paused for a few seconds, willing his world to stop spinning.
“Rill . . . are you all right?”
“No worries,” he mumbled as he slowly, carefully stood, putting his hands out for a balance as though he were on a lurching ship. “I may be shit-faced as an Irish sailor on payday, but I’m in fine fucking form.”
“Charming,” he heard her say dryly when he grabbed his cock through his jeans and grimaced. He could tell by the tone of her voice that his angel thought he was being crude, but in reality, he’d been trying to alleviate the stab of lust that went through it when he noticed her shapely legs encased in tight denim and supple, calflength leather boots.