“Salty,” she observed before lowering her head to go to work again. She nibbled, licked, sucked . . . God, could she suck. And she wriggled in excitement as she fed more of his cock into her waiting mouth, feasting like she’d been deprived of sustenance for months. She found a rhythm very quickly—it was sweet and untutored and mind blowing in its sensuality.
One of his hands could no longer resist the allure of her hair, and his fingers wove through, and then fisted in, her curls. His other hand crept beneath the tight skirt that was still hitched up over the creamy thighs, and he delved into the warmth between those soft thighs, seeking and finding the dampness he had known would be there. His fingers burrowed beneath her sodden lacy panties, and his thumb found her swollen clit almost immediately. She wriggled in appreciation, spreading her thighs as far as her skirt would allow, and he happily used the extra space to put his other fingers to work, plunging three of them into her grasping, hot, slick channel.
She squealed around his cock and enthusiastically rode his thrusting hand while increasing the suction on his length. Harris’s breath was gusting in and out of his chest; he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than what her mouth was doing and where his fingers were playing. He didn’t want to come. Not until she did. But because she was clearly a complete novice at blow jobs, she didn’t know to tease and titillate—she full on went for it. Demanding his orgasm with relentless suction that overstimulated him nearly to the point of pain.
He tried to stop it, but he couldn’t find the breath to tell her to slow down; instead all he could produce were inarticulate, frantic sounds. Her hand fisted around the base of his cock, adding another dimension to the pleasure pain that was driving him relentlessly toward his climax.
By now his fingers were plunging into her as he desperately tried to make her come before he did. But it was a lost cause. She swirled her tongue around the bottom edge of his corona, and he was gone.
“Tina.” Protest? Plea? Prayer? He did not know. But it was the only word he could utter before his entire body convulsed and he lost control, spilling into her eager mouth. She cried out, the force of his orgasm taking her by surprise, and for a second she hesitated before continuing to suckle. Her mouth gentling around his jerking shaft. After one last suctioning pull, she reluctantly lifted her head. She gave him a smug grin, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.
He carefully used the fist in her hair to tug her head up and brought her to him for a hungry kiss. He could taste himself on her lips, and it was more erotic than he could ever have imagined.
She made a muffled sound against his lips and finally clenched around his still-thrusting fingers and came. Beautifully. Her head flying back to reveal the arch of her throat, her mouth opening on a soundless scream. The tightening of her sheath around his fingers was almost painful, but he fucking loved it. Against all odds—considering his mind-blowing orgasm of just a few minutes ago—he was semihard watching this fully clothed, wantonly disheveled, gorgeous creature come on his fingers.
She collapsed on the bed beside him and snuggled against his side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and held her close, burying his nose in her fragrant hair. Apples . . . her hair smelled like freshly sliced green apples. It was appealing. Like everything else about her.
“That was nice,” she said sleepily. Her hand had crept under his T-shirt, and her fingers were toying with the pendant he always wore beneath his clothes. He tensed. The damned thing was such a part of his identity that he hardly gave it much thought anymore, and he knew she hadn’t noticed it before now. She had fallen asleep soon after their bout last night. And then after the nightmare everything had gone to shit. But now, the more she fiddled with it, the more he sensed her interest growing.
She lifted her head and pushed his shirt up. But he flattened his hand against hers, effectively stopping the movement.
“What is that?” she asked, her voice alive with curiosity.
“Nothing.”
“I didn’t know you wore a necklace.”
“Pendant,” he corrected stiffly, and she rolled her eyes.
“Potato, potahto,” she said dismissively.
“I never got that. Nobody ever says potahto.”
“You’re dissembling. What is it? Show me.”
Shit.
He sighed and tugged on the corded black leather strap, dragging the pendant out from beneath his T-shirt. She flipped over onto her stomach, draping one arm over his chest and lifting the pendant with her other hand. She peered at it closely, looking baffled.