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The knowledge that she doesn’t let just any guy do this to her is a trip. I feel as if I’ve had to earn her, like maybe I’ve wanted to for longer than Iknew.
The truth is, I want to imprint myself on her. It’s a male need, to want her to think of me every time she comes. But that’s not enough. Every time she comes, I want her to do it with me. If she does it herself, I want to know. To have her text me in the middle of the day when she’s turned on or thinking ofme.
I want to see her lips part and tremble, to feel her shake against me. I want that low voice saying my name as if I’m the only man she wantsforever.
I claim her mouth, kiss her slow and lingering, as if I can say it all withoutwords.
Except she likes words, so for her, I’ll findthem.
Pulling back, I take her hand, lead her to my bedroom, and stop her next to the bed. "I've never invited someone here. I only want you here. I want youeverywhere.”
I reach for the bedside table and hold up a strip ofcondoms.
She arches a dark brow. “That should beenough.”
“No promises,” I say, backing her into thedresser.
I lift her up on it and she winces, reaching behind her. A moment later, she holds up the dog. “Jet’s stalkingme.”
“No cockblocking tonight.” I take the figurine from her and toss it on the carpet a safe distanceaway.
I catch a second of her smile before I spread her thighs, then lower my mouth to her. Her hands thread in my hair. I love how she tastes, how she arches against mymouth.
She’s my best friend, but she’s more than that too. Having her here isn’t strange. It’s so fucking right, like tumblers clicking in alock.
I drag her ass to the edge so she’s clinging for balance, and while she does, I take advantage. My fingers press inside, and she squeezes aroundme.
I sneak a look up at her flushed body and face. The way she looks at me through half-lidded eyes as if the most capable woman I know wants nothing more than this moment. My tongue. Myfingers.
They’rehers.
I make her come, memorizing every second of her response—the way she pants and yanks on my hair and moans myname.
She’s fucking art, this woman. An expression of the best parts of being human, created for me alone tosavor.
I carry her to the king bed, her limbs languid with pleasure, her skin a warm contrast to the dark gray sheets. Daisy watches hungrily as I roll on a condom and flip her onto her stomach before positioning myself between herthighs.
“You just want to stare at my ass, don’t you?” sheteases.
“Your ass. Your back. Your shoulders. Your waist. The curve of your tits. But mostly, I want to watch you take every inch ofme.”
I play with her soaked pussy, loving how she presses closer. “You’re so ready,” I murmur against herback.
I grab her hips and sink inside her, one delicious inch at atime.
From this angle, I see every inch of her curves. But it’s her bowed head against the pillow and her fist twisting the sheets that make this the most beautiful sight I’ve everseen.
It might seem as if I’m control, but she’s the one who makes thisincredible.
She’s perfect forme.
The thought drifts through my brain as I fuckher.
“I’ve pictured you right here, in my bed.” My voice is hoarse, my hand stroking down herback.
She turns her head, her eyes dark, hazy orbs. “Thanks for saving it forme.”
She’s being deliberately provocative, but fuck, she’s notwrong.
