Roan stopped what he was doing. “Are you all right?”
She felt herself blush and covered her face with a palm.
“Hey, hey. You okay?”
She nodded. He smelled so good.
He stroked her hair, cooed her name, drew out her name. “Jazzy.”
She shifted and peeked up at him. “That was interesting.”
“Not bad for an old guy, huh.” He wriggled his eyebrows and stretched out beside her.
Playfully, she swatted his shoulder. “You are not old. You’re in your prime. Like fine wine.”
“That’s what they say to old guys,” he teased. “Now, where were we.” He slid back down the sheets to press his mouth at her sensitive spot again.
She squirmed. “I’d rather have sex with you.”
“You don’t like this?” His tongue stroked her.
“Oh, I like it very much,” she said. “I just want to merge with you.”
He gave her a wry grin and looked down at his penis. “Little Roan is just aching to be with you too.”
“There is nothinglittleabout Roanie,” she said with a growl and pounced, tackling him to the mattress and pinning his wrists.
“Roanie?” He laughed. “Kind of on the nose, but I’m not complaining.”
She almost asked him what Claire had called his member but bit her tongue before it came out.
Con, she thought,dead wife land mines.
Jazzy leaned down to give Roanie a kiss and he instantly sprang to attention. “Your turn, fella.”
“Are you having a private conversation with my penis.”
“I am.” She giggled. “Is that a problem?”
“Not in the slightest.”
She kissed the head of his penis.
Roan hissed like he’d sat on hot coals.
“Oh, too intense? I can back off.” She shifted again, went to nibble his chest, and traced her fingers over his skin the way he’d done to her.
A guttural groan poured from his throat. His approving noises made her feel powerful, and her heart was pumping so hard she could feel it thumping against her throat. She paid close attention to every part of him that she plied with her tongue. Noticing everything he liked or didn’t. His jawline. Steely and strong. His scar at his collarbone. He wriggled when she touched her tongue there.
“That bothers you?” she asked.
“Freaks me out a bit.”
“What happened?”
“Thrown from a wild mustang when I was fifteen. Compound fracture.”
“Ouch. Collarbone PTSD. Will steer clear.”