Текст книги "Miss Match"

Автор книги: Laurelin McGee

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Текущая страница: 13 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

It was freaking amazing.

She spun to face Blake. “PinballWizard for your network password? That was you.” She took a step toward him and swatted him across his biceps. Hard. “You big jerk.”

“Ow!” Blake rubbed his arm. “What was that for?”

“You could have told me you liked pinball. It would look great on your profile.”

He ducked when she tried to hit him a second time. “I don’t need pinball to look great on my profile.”

She scoffed. “You do. Trust me.” Andy turned around the room once more. “This could have made up for a lot.” Finally, something that showed some goddamn personality.

Of course, in her weeks working with Blake she’d discovered many other things that were interesting and endearing about the man. Little things that she could never put on a profile or explain to a potential date, like, how he insisted on drinking a full glass of water before any meal, and how he made funny expressions as he read his emails. This, though, she could have used to sell him. Why on earth had he not told her?

Blake scratched at the back of his neck, something Andy had learned he did when he was nervous. “So, it’s not a big … turnoff? That I’m secretly nerdy?”

“That you have an awesome-ass classic pinball setup in your house?” She couldn’t believe he had to ask. “Hell, no. It’s a big turn-on.” Like, really big.

“Is that right?” Blake’s voice was teasingly low and seductive.

Andy swatted at him again, much lighter this time. “Stop it, you fiend.” She nodded toward one of the machines, a hybrid mechanical pinball-plus-video game called Caveman. “Show me what you got.”

He raised a brow. “Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“Okay.” He started to the game she’d shown interest in.

Andy followed behind. “Oh, I bumped into Ellen as she was leaving. She said dinner’s in the warmer.”

“Thanks.” Blake paused, one hand on the side of the Caveman machine, his brow furrowed.

“What is it?”

“I was just thinking…” He hesitated, as if nervous. “Would you like to join me for dinner? You don’t have other plans, do you?”

Dinner. That was decidedly against their rules. Decidedly intimate, warmer or not. And she hadn’t suggested it—he had. It was happening organically after all. “I don’t have other plans.”

Again Blake scratched the back of his neck. “You can say no, of course. Just, I wouldn’t want the food to get cold while we were fooling around up here.” He swallowed, seeming to realize what he’d said. “I mean, Ellen always makes enough for leftovers. She’s a great cook.”

Andy smiled at the charming way he was selling the idea of a meal together. “I don’t doubt she’s a great cook. I’ve seen you bring her leftover meat loaf to the office for lunch. It smells delish.”

“Oh, she’s wonderful.” He swallowed again. “Then when dinner’s out of the way we can come back up here and beat the ball around.”

It was her turn to raise a brow. “You mean play pinball, right? That’s not a euphemism for anything else, is it?” She winked.

He broke into a smile—a beautiful grin that touched Andy low in her belly. “It’s not a euphemism. I mean play pinball.”

Andy nudged him with her shoulder, mostly because she was yearning to touch him in some fashion and couldn’t stand that she hadn’t yet. “Well, then. Let’s get dining because I can’t wait to play against you.” She began to stroll out of the room then called behind her. “Blake, have I ever mentioned that I won the Beacon Hill Area Pinball Championship when I was in eleventh grade?”

She was glad she peeked over her shoulder or she would have missed his adorably worried expression.

He cocked his head at her. “Are you trying to intimidate me?”

She turned to face him head-on and shrugged. “Maybe.” She smiled coyly. “Is it working?”

He leveled his blue eyes at her, his lip ticking up ever so slightly. “Andrea Dawson, there is never a moment that you don’t intimidate me, and it has nothing to do with pinball. But I mean that in the very best way possible.”

Goose bumps scattered down the back of her neck and over the bare skin of her arms. It was a simple statement, but so uncharacteristic of anything Blake had ever said to her that it was impossible for her not to cling to it. If she was making too much of it, so be it. She’d treasure those words for a long, long time.

Blake gestured toward the open door. “Now let’s go down, shall we?”

*   *   *

Dinner was delightful, to say the least. Besides the spectacular meal—Chicken Cordon Bleu and glazed carrots paired with the best white wine Andy had ever tasted—the conversation and company was also very enjoyable. They’d eaten in the kitchen rather than the dining room, which was more casual, but also more intimate. They laughed and chatted, never falling into awkward silence. It was surprising, really. After the feedback she’d heard from Blake’s dates, she expected him to be an impolite conversation hog. Instead, he was gracious and entertaining. Charming, even.

When they finished, Andy helped clear their plates, carrying them to the sink. Then she watched in wonder as he rinsed them and stuck them in the dishwasher.

She knew it was cheeky, but she had to say something. “Blake Donovan does dishes?”

He scowled. “No. I just wash off my dirty plates and put them in the dishwasher. That’s all. They’d get crusty and gross if I left them in the sink for Ellen in the morning.” He started the machine and washed his hands.

Andy folded her arms and leaned against his granite counter. “That’s doing dishes.”

“It’s being sanitary,” he protested as he dried his hands.

“Uh-huh.” She crossed to the kitchen door and looked back over her shoulder. “Are you ready to go upstairs?”

“I am.”

After a brief stop in the bathroom, Andy followed Blake up the stairs. At the top, he turned toward the office, but Andy paused at a strange sound coming from the double doors at the other end of the hall. She strained her ears trying to figure out what it was she was hearing. It sounded like scratching followed by soft whimpering.

“What’s that?”

Blake turned back to look at her. “What’s what?”

“That noise.” She took several steps toward the doors. “It sounded like…” She stopped herself, listening again to be sure.

“It’s nothing.” Blake sounded panicked, speaking rapidly. “It’s nobody. Or the maid. She sometimes—has Tourette’s—” He corrected himself quickly. “A mouse, I mean. Mice. Lots of mice. Big mice. Get away from there. I’ll call pest control tomorrow.”

With fists on her hips, she turned and narrowed her eyes at the man behind her. “Blake Donovan, did you keep the puppy?”

“I…” It was that or he did have a Mrs. Rochester in there.

The scratching creature let out a definite all-dog yap.

Without permission, Andy opened the doors in front of her, and out ran the fluffy corgi she’d left with Blake over a month before. “You did!”

She bent to hug the excited creature, who was alternately licking her face and nipping at her hand.

With a sigh, Blake knelt next to her. “I didn’t keep him, exactly. I just haven’t gotten around to taking him back yet.”

“There was a ten-day return policy. You’ve passed that.” As soon as the puppy realized that Blake’s face was within his reach, he abandoned Andy and ran to his master.

“Then I’ll donate him to someone.” Blake rubbed the dog affectionately, nuzzling his cheek to the furball as the puppy licked his ear.

Andy’s chest grew warm. “No you won’t. He loves you. You love him.” If she wasn’t mistaken, the man’s cheeks flushed.

“Absolutely not.” He wouldn’t meet her eyes. He was definitely blushing.

The heat in Andy’s chest spread downward toward her core. Damn, a man with a dog was hot. She knew she was right about this plan. “What’s his name?” she asked, trying to keep her mind off what was going on between her legs.

“Puppy.”

She laughed. “Of course. Creativity has never been your strong suit.” She petted the dog, her hand accidentally on purpose bumping into Blake’s. At her touch, he looked up and met her stare. His deep-blue eyes were softer than she’d ever seen them. They caught her up. Mesmerized her completely. Eye contact had always been their kryptonite.

“Well, you don’t name things you don’t plan to keep.” Her sister had once had a theory like that with men. It was called “Don’t Name the Puppy,” in fact. She wondered what it meant that he said her name, even the hated nickname, with such tenderness.

When she could speak, she asked, “You are keeping him, though, aren’t you?”

“We’ll see.” But everything about his expression said yes. He stood and reached a hand out to help her up. “Come on.” When she hesitated, his forehead creased in confusion. “What?”

She might be falling in love with him, that’s what. All her jealousy and rage over Jane wasn’t just because she was being petty or possessive. She was falling. And she was done feeling guilty about it because the more she got to know him she more she realized he wasn’t as douchey as he appeared. Actually, he was pretty fantastic.

But even if things were happening between them organically and all, she wasn’t about to admit her feelings and ruin it. “Nothing. You just surprise me; that’s all.”

At his suspicious glance, she added, “Pleasantly.” No point in rubbing this in. She was just chalking it up as a mental win for herself. It didn’t bring her nearly the satisfaction it would have a few days ago. That felt weird, but nice—oh, hell. Everything was surprising her today.

“I’ll have to work on that.” He waved his hand, urging her to take it. “Now come on.”

She laughed, slipping her hand into his. “Eager much?”

But she got it. She was eager, too. Not for the pinball war that was about to take place but for this … thing … that was going on with her and Blake to continue. This surprising, amazing, wonderful … thing.

And for the pinball war. That was going to be fun too.

*   *   *

Blake couldn’t believe how great the evening had been. Better than anything he’d ever done with Andrea, and in the last month, he’d done a lot with her that he’d liked. Liked a lot. And tonight they still had all their clothes on.

In fact, he was having more fun with Andrea, as they laughed and played every pinball machine in his playroom, than he’d had on any date in months. He’d also been more relaxed, more himself, than he could ever remember being.

He didn’t know what to do with that realization, so instead of dwelling on it, he concentrated on putting his all into his game playing. Turned out his employee really was a pro at pinball. She scored well, almost as well as he did. Blake had the distinct feeling that the only thing that kept him in the lead was his familiarity with the games. She was certainly the best opponent he’d had in ages. The perfect match for him.

He watched her now as she expertly batted the flippers on the Bally Williams Doctor Who game, his favorite of all his machines. Damn, she was sexy—her eyes lighting up as they followed the ball around its cage, her mouth oohing and ahhing silently, her breasts bouncing in her T-shirt as she got into her playing. It was a testament to his character that he continued to win with those temptations so close at hand. Hands. His hands. His hands covering her breasts, caressing—

“Oh, no,” Drea exclaimed, bringing him out of his less-than-chaste thoughts. “It’s multiball. I screwed this up royally last time. What am I doing wrong?”

With a chuckle, Blake came up behind her. “You can do this. I’ll help.”

“Okay.” Her voice was almost a whisper, begging him to move closer.

He placed his hands over hers at the buttons on the side of the machine. It felt good to touch her. Too good. His palms burned over the soft touch of her hands. It took all his concentration not to press into her back, not to bring his pelvis up close to cradle her ass.

Focus on the game, man.

He inhaled—ignore the apples—and placed himself in the B-Zone. “Instead of watching where the balls are going,” he said, his face leaning in over her shoulder, “keep focused on the flippers.” With her hand under his, he pressed the button as a ball came toward the exit. The flipper made contact and the ball rolled on to score another thousand points.

“Uh-huh.” But Andy didn’t seem to be watching the game anymore. She was watching him.

Blake tried to keep anchored. “There’s no way you can watch all the movement at once, but you can zoom in on one area.” His voice sounded strained, even to himself. Low, and about to burst. “When anything comes near the flippers, you hit.” Another ball rolled toward the exit. He pressed both of her hands this time, and he heard her breathing pick up.

Her face was still angled toward his. So close to his. Nearly touching. She could tip up and she’d be kissing his jaw. He could turn and he’d be kissing her lips. And, God, wouldn’t that be wonderful? One of his favorite fantasies began like this—spreading a woman across his pinball machine and going down on her, making her scream while the lights and the game went on underneath her.

Okay, maybe that was a ridiculous teenage wet dream, but he could so make it happen. Perhaps without the game going on would be better—just him and the woman and the pinball machine as a table. Just him and Andy.

But the idea felt off. As much as he’d love to do that, as much as he sensed that she would even be a willing participant, it wasn’t exactly what he wanted from her at the moment. After they’d bonded and connected and had this wonderful almost romantic night … she deserved more. They deserved more.

What the hell kind of thinking was that? More? With Andrea Dawson?

Damn if it didn’t feel so right. And that scared him.

So he did nothing. Didn’t fuck her on the pinball machine. Didn’t lead her down the hall to his bedroom. Didn’t even kiss her.

Andrea’s focus turned back to the machine. “Blake? You lost your balls.”

And hadn’t he.

But she meant the game. He’d lost all those balls, too. “I did.”

The enormity of the situation hit him like a ton of bricks. He was bonding, and bad, with a woman who was nothing like his ideal. Not just bonding, he was falling. Falling hard.

Quickly he stepped away, unable to touch her anymore without tearing all her clothes off or asking her to do something crazy like stop looking for silly women for him to date.

Seeming to sense his sudden change in mood—and how couldn’t she?—Drea rubbed her hands over her arms. “Well. Game over. It’s late anyway. I should go.”

“Yeah. I suppose you should.” She should. She really, really should.

He didn’t want her to go.

“We can go over those ideas for your date tomorrow in the morning. First thing.”

“Yeah, first thing.” He had a meeting that had come up for first thing in the morning, but he didn’t say that. He didn’t want to ruin this night with Andy by talking about another woman. He didn’t want to talk about another woman ever again: if you asked him at that moment.

He was no longer scared. He was terrified.

“Um, I need to call a cab.” She wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I can take you.” Or was it him who wouldn’t meet her eyes?

“You can?” Her voice sounded both happy and sad. As if she was glad that he offered, but maybe not so glad about going home.

Or was he simply transferring his own emotion onto her?

“Of course I can.” He gestured for her to go ahead of him. “After you.” He was confused and awed and he needed a minute to gather himself. Except he wasn’t sure a minute would be enough.

What was he doing? With Jane? With Drea? All of it was a muddle. The life plan he’d set seemed off kilter. Seemed wrong. The only thing that felt right was the woman standing outside the door, waiting for her ride home.

He wasn’t sure what to do with that realization. But he couldn’t keep her waiting.

When he stepped into the hallway, he found her leaning against the wall, panic on her face as she kicked her leg out to the side of her. Blake looked down to see the dog was attacking her leg. At least she was laughing.

“Puppy, no. Shoo. Stop that.” Chuckling, he bent down to the floor to pry the dog off Andrea’s leg. “Get out of here.” Puppy obeyed, scurrying down the stairs.

With the dog gone, he grew serious. He pinned his focus on the gorgeous calf in front of him. “I don’t blame him, though. You do look awfully good in jeans.”

Andy giggled. “So you want to hump my leg?”

He didn’t answer, but he made a choice. For the first time ever, he decided to stop thinking about rules and life plans. He only wanted to live in this moment with Andrea, consequences be damned.

He trailed his hand up her beautiful denim-clad leg as he stood, settling it at her waist. He put his other hand on the wall behind her, caging her in.

Her breathing sped up as she peered up at him. “Blake…?” The question trailed off as if she couldn’t say the words she meant to.

“Andy…?” He suspected he knew what she was asking, but he wanted to know for sure. Needed to know for sure. After all, he was about to break all the rules, and though he was decided on it, her permission was absolutely necessary.

A smile eased across her beautiful rose lips. “You called me Andy.”

That’s right, he had. It was fitting for her at times, he realized. As fitting as Andrea was at others. Both names describing different aspects of this woman that he so adored. This woman that he might even, maybe, love.

Hoping she didn’t see the true depth of his emotion on his face, he simply said, “Slip of the tongue.” And oh, how he wanted to slip his tongue in other places. Slide it along the line of her jaw. Flick it across her nipples, which he noticed were already standing at attention.

He moved in closer, his mouth hovering just inches above hers.

“Blake…?” Her voice was soft and pleading.

If she couldn’t say what she wanted, he’d have to help her. “If I asked you to stay the night—”

She cut him off. “I’d say yes. Are … are you asking me?”

“Yes.” Blake closed the distance between them, kissing her jaw first and working his way up to her lips. He wanted to take his time, loving the build of anticipation. Also, he knew that this kiss was going to be important—it was going to change everything.

Chapter Seventeen

When Blake’s mouth finally met Andrea’s, he felt like he’d found the Force. Like he’d been searching for it his whole life and now he had it in his grasp. Though he’d kissed her before, both sweetly and frantically, this was the first time it had been with all his walls down. He was naked before her, exposed—and he still had all his clothes on. It gave the kiss a sense of newness. It was surprising. Exhilarating. The best goddamn kiss of his life.

His lips sucked at hers, teasing, tasting before he allowed his tongue to slip in and stroke along her own. For several minutes, their hands were still, letting the movement of their mouths take center stage. They had an entire conversation with lips and tongues moving in rhythm—I want you, they said to each other. To get to know you. To savor you. To have more with you.

Soon, though, kissing wasn’t enough. Andrea brought her hands around his neck and pressed into him, rubbing her body against his like an affectionate kitten. God, that made him hot—the way she moved her tits along his chest, her pelvis pushing at his erection. If he didn’t stop her now, they’d be doing it in the hall, and that was not where he wanted her.

He wanted her in his bed.

He pulled away, the confusion in her gaze lasting only until he took her hand and led her silently to the double doors on the opposite side of the hallway. Without flipping on the light, he continued past the threshold of the darkened room, steering her to his bed where he helped her sit.

She reached for his embrace again, but he stopped her.

“I want to see you.” He flicked the switch on the nightstand lamp, the sudden light causing them both to momentarily blink and adjust even though the illumination was dim. The overhead was too bright, but he was aching to gaze at her when he stripped her naked.

In their trysts at the office, they’d never undressed fully. It had been almost an unspoken addendum to their rules—sex with clothes on was much different from sex with clothes off, after all. Maybe not fundamentally, but emotionally. So many times he’d wanted to unbutton her blouse, strip her of her bra, and take her naked breast into his mouth, yet he’d restrained himself. Tonight, with all the other rules already broken, there was no longer a reason to hold back. He’d feast on her with his eyes, then with his tongue. He’d make love to her with nothing between them. Hell, with her permission, he’d even forgo the condom.

When he turned back to face Andrea, he found she’d moved to a kneeling position. She reached forward to tug on his shirt. He smiled, letting her pull him toward her. She was as desperate to keep touching as he was. Cupping her hands around her face, he kissed her again, thoroughly. Then he grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and broke away from her mouth so that he could rid her of the clothing. Her powder-blue lace bra came off next, joining her shirt on the floor.

“That’s better.” Much better. Blake was amazed at how Drea didn’t try to cover herself up, but let her arms stay loosely at her sides, showing him her goods without shame. And she had nothing to be ashamed of in the least. Why had he wasted so much time on such scrawny girls in the past? Drea’s breasts were magnificent. They would fill his palms, voluptuous without being showy. Absolutely perfect. He wanted to squeeze them and watch her shiver. Wanted her perfect dusky nipples between his lips.

Before he could act on those desires, however, his attention was drawn to a nipping at his toes. Puppy.

“Oh, no.” He bent to scoop up the dog in one hand. “You are not staying in here.”

“Blake, he’s fine,” Andrea called behind him as he escorted the creature to the doors.

“No. He’s not.” This was a private party Blake had planned. No Puppy invited.

He set his dog on the floor and shooed him away. Before shutting him out, though, he said quietly, “I promise to give you one of those treats you love in the morning.”

“I heard that,” Andrea teased, confirming again that she knew he had an affinity for the animal.

With a wicked grin, he turned back to the woman he’d left on his bed. “And I’ll give you the treat you love right now.”

“So full of yourself.”

“No, but you’ll be.” He sauntered over to her, enjoying the blush that sparked from his naughty words and ran down her neck to the tips of her breasts. “Now, where were we?”

“You were taking off your shirt.” She pulled again at his T-shirt until he took her hands, lacing her fingers with his.

“That’s not where we were.” Hands locked in hers, he bent down to lick along one of her perfect nipples. “This is where we were.”

She wriggled under his attention. “Come on, I want to see you.”

“You will. But I want to see you first.” And suck you. And taste you.

“It’s supposed to be ladies first, Blake.” But she moaned, thrusting out her breasts so that he could take her more fully in his mouth.

He tugged until her nipple was standing erect. “And ladies will come first. I promise.” Again, she blushed. “Now stop talking.”

“But—”

He let go of a hand and placed his finger at her lips. “Stop.” Turning his attention in full to her bosom, he distracted her from any thoughts of conversation. He adored her breasts completely, sucking and biting at one while kneading the other. Then switching his hand with his mouth until Andrea was gasping.

When he had his fill, he moved down, his tongue swirling along the rim of her belly button before his hands worked the button of her jeans. Gently, he pushed her back to lie on the bed so that he could remove her sandals. Then her pants. Then her panties.

Holy mother of God, he’d died and gone to heaven.

He had to stand back and admire her—her hair spilling around her shoulders, her nipples still puckered from his ardor, her thighs spread to showcase her pretty little pussy. “Andrea Dawson.” His voice was thick with desire. “You are so damn beautiful.”

She whimpered at his words. Or maybe from his touch as he moved in, trailing a hand down each of her inner thighs, his fingers meeting at her core. He skidded across her clit, and her hips bucked. That’s when he lost all his reserve. He’d wanted to go slower, take his time teasing her with his hands. But he couldn’t wait any longer. He had to have his mouth on her and now.

He fell to his knees and pulled her to the edge of the bed.

“What are you—”

He answered with his tongue on her flesh.

“Oh, my God,” she cried, sitting up.

With a smile, he urged her back down and returned to his feast. He licked up her crease, dragged his mouth across her folds, skated his teeth along her sensitive nub. She whimpered and moaned as he pleasured her, her sexy sounds telling him just what she liked and how she liked it. Then he moved a hand to tickle along her opening, and she nearly screamed.

Damn if that didn’t make him harder.

He was desperate now to make her come, eager to watch her fall apart from this new viewpoint. He plunged two fingers inside her, bending his knuckles to hit the spot against her wall that he knew was particularly sensitive. She was almost there. He could sense her getting near. Could hear it in the way her breathy gasps were coming closer and closer.

With his mouth and hands, he worked her until her legs were tensing and shaking, and her whimpers had turned into cries. His tongue drew letters on her clit, a trick he’d learned in college.

Then he found himself straying from the alphabet and wrote a sentence instead. “I heart Andrea Dawson.” Because he did. He hearted her hard. Not just because his face was buried between her thighs, but because of everything else that had transpired between the two of them. Because she laughed at him when he was pompous. Because she didn’t slap him any of the times he’d deserved it. Because she got dolled up and arrived on his doorstep in an attempt to seduce him when she was never sexier than when she was herself. Because she was feisty and outspoken. Because she gave him Puppy and could hold her own in pinball.

Mostly, though, because she was just the most incredible woman he’d ever met, and she owned him wholly—body, soul, and definitely heart.

*   *   *

Andy screamed and wrapped her fingers in the bedspread as she came. And came. And came. Blake Donovan was a god, she decided. A one hundred percent freaking sex god.

He was more than a sex god, though, she thought as she began to wind down from her dizzying orgasm. He was also more extraordinary than she’d ever imagined a man like him could be. He was funny and even sweet. And he kept the dog. And he had a fully loaded pinball playroom, for crying out loud. How much cooler could a person get? It was overwhelming and also really amazing in ways that she couldn’t comprehend when she was still half blind from her release.

When she’d settled down enough that she could form a more coherent thought, she was no longer interested in analyzing her emotions. She was interested in the god before her—more specifically, getting the god naked.

She scrambled to her knees and pulled at his shirt. “No excuses, now. This has to go.”

Thankfully, he didn’t fight her.

His chest bare in front of her for the first time, she scanned every part of him, tracing along his contours with her fingers. He was gorgeous. Though not completely ripped, he had muscles. Well-defined muscles. Hard muscles, and not just the one bulging in his pants. And those sexy ridges that some men had at their hips? He had those. She had to trace those with her tongue.

Except his stupid jeans were in the way of her path. Too anxious to work at removing them herself, she simply commanded, “Off,” and sat back on her knees to wait.

Blake had them shucked in no time, his briefs as well. Oh, she loved it when he responded to her like that. Almost as much as she loved the sight in front of her—his beautiful, thick cock. While she’d spent a good amount of time in the last week with it inside her, Andy had never actually taken much time to admire it. Now it was standing boldly in her face and she could no longer resist.

“I want this,” she murmured. And so she intended to have it. Circling her hand around him, she pumped his length from top to bottom. Blake’s low mmm pushed her to do it again. He leaped in her hands and she couldn’t help smiling. She brushed her fingertips over his crown and he moaned again. She loved this, too—loved torturing him. Loved having the power to make such a strong, composed man twitch at her touch.

Letting her stroke fall back down his rigid flesh, she realized that this was the component she’d been missing in her matches for Blake—she hadn’t found the woman who could get to him. The woman whom he could expose himself to without fear. Not just clothes-off exposure, but everything-about-him exposure. The kind of exposure he’d shown to her tonight.

Wait. Did that mean that she was that woman? Was she Blake Donovan’s match? She’d been into him, consumed with him, but she’d never quite believed that they were actually good together. Not long-term. But maybe they were.

Wouldn’t that be something?

She ignored the tingle of hope that ran through her at the thought and tucked it away to deal with later. There would be plenty of time to analyze it further when she didn’t have her mouth full.

Andy swirled her tongue along Blake’s crown and then drew his shaft in toward the back of her throat. He groaned and she instinctively echoed him, her sounds reverberating along the length of his erection.

“Andrea. Drea.” Blake sounded on the edge. “Please. You have to stop.”

Before she could figure out if his request to end was because her actions were too awful or because they were too good, he had pulled out of her mouth and pushed her back onto the mattress. He covered her with the length of his body. Automatically, her legs fell open to him, and she felt his shaft against her opening.

“Your lips are heaven on my cock,” he said in husky tones at her ear. “But keep doing that, and I’m going to come. And I already made a reservation in your pussy that I intend to keep.”

Too good, then. She smiled at that. “I need you inside me, Blake.”