Playing Her Cards Right: Choose Me. Jo Leigh
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nodded toward the wall, all windows, the electronic shades up and hidden to capture the view. “There,” he said. “I want you there.”
She turned. This gasp wasn’t for air. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”
“It pales.” He took her hand and guided her closer to the windows and kissed her again, sneaking his tongue between her lips as his fingers found the zipper pull. He heard nothing but breathing and blood flow, but he followed the zipper with his left hand on her bare back until he reached the end. He touched the strip of elastic that was the line of her thong. The touch was enough to pull him away from the gorgeous heat of her mouth. He needed to see.
The dress fell, puddling at her feet, and it was better than he’d imagined. The thong wasn’t black, but red. Dark red, tiny. Seeing it against her pale flesh made his cock harder, his desire intense.
Odd, so odd, this reaction of his. She was pretty, she really was, but she wasn’t architecturally beautiful. Perfectly proportioned, yet not so slender she didn’t have curves and a little bit of a tummy that made him want to rest his head right there for a week. God, her breasts. They were mouthwatering, with pale pink areolas and firm little nipples, puckered and waiting.
Bree stepped out of her dress, and oh, that was something. Her in nothing but a ruby thong and high heels. Stunning, delicious … for Christ’s sake, the woman was two feet in front him, willing and eager.
He worked his clothes off in a controlled frenzy, flinging things away as he multitasked, toeing off his shoes and socks, moving closer to Bree as he unzipped, hissing as the silk of his boxer briefs brushed against the underside of his aching cock.
He kissed her again, but she was trembling and just chilly enough for him to bow to the nonsensical urge to scoop her up into his arms—she was a featherweight of soft flesh and hitching breaths—and dammit, he should have pulled the bedcovering down. She huffed a laugh as he stood her up, and together they got rid of the extra pillows and pulled down the duvet.
He waited, and when she sat and bent to take off her heels, he made a noise. It wasn’t a squeak or a whimper, but it was close on both counts. Bree grinned, rose from the bed. There was a wicked sparkle in those lust-darkened eyes of hers, and when she turned around and went onto all fours on the mattress, Charlie made another noise, but this was a groan that came straight from his balls. She crawled across the bed, her hips swaying in invitation, giving him flashes of red between her thighs.
When she got to the second pillow, she made a show of lying down, grinning at him, flushed and breathing hard as she posed for him. Hands behind her, clutching the teak headboard slats, hair dark against the white pillowcase. Her legs came up, one canted over the other, like a pinup from the forties, like a siren, like a dream.
Miraculously, he didn’t come right there and then. He made it onto the bed, took his time but he had to close his eyes before he touched her. Because, God.
When he licked a trail up the inside of her thigh, she trembled on his tongue.
BREE STOPPED BREATHING as Charlie’s mouth inched up her thigh. The sexy pose wasn’t like her, but then, she wasn’t the same Bree tonight. Thank goodness her hands gripped the slats or she’d have floated straight up to the ceiling. She wanted to hurry him, his hot breath teasing her so near the creases where thigh met thong but not quite there.
He’d caught her left ankle in his hand, holding her leg aloft as his other hand smoothed up the front of her right thigh. She watched him, her excitement mounting, but the angle of her head was tricky to maintain with the firm pillow smooshed awkwardly under the top of her back. As much as she wanted to let her head loll back, her eyes close, let out the cry trapped in her throat, she couldn’t do anything but stare at him, naked, crouched low on the bed between her knees. So she kept watching, urging him to move up, let that hot breath of his sneak under the silk, let his tongue follow.
Every inhale expanded her chest so her breasts, too small for her long erect nipples, came into her line of sight. When he looked up, he smiled at the same broken view, but from below. Okay, so maybe her breasts weren’t too small. From how he groaned, never letting his tongue lift from her flesh, he seemed to like them. A lot.
Despite the groan, the stubborn man refused to move. “Charlie,” she whined as she lifted her hips. What did he need, an engraved invitation?
His low chuckle dialed up her frustration.
“Patience,” he whispered, his mouth moving closer to where she needed it. But instead of his tongue, he slipped his nose in that crease, nudging the thong over. He inhaled as if she were a bouquet of roses, and oh, God, he lowered her ankle as his teeth gripped silk. The tug was forceful, but not enough to snap the G-string panties, only to push things to the side, to let her feel a brush of cool air on her naked flesh.
When she let go of the slats, her hands ached. She was sure they were dented from the pressure, but she didn’t care. It was necessary to touch him. She was shorter than any one of her friends, but the distance between the top of the bed and Charlie’s body seemed to stretch on for miles. Yet she reached him with no strain, touched his dark, soft hair, her fingers tracing his temples.
He moaned, inches away from a different crease. Then that artful tongue of his started exploring and Bree’s body arched with the shock of it.
The battle with the awkward pillow was lost in an instant. Her head lolled back, her eyes shut as he licked and sucked and flicked until she had one leg pressing down on his shoulder and a grip on his hair that had to hurt like a mother.
He didn’t let up, not when she whimpered, not even when she turned his name into a pitiful plea.
She came with a jolt, another full-body arch and a cry that started low and ended so high only bats could hear it.
Charlie held her through the tremors, kissing his way up to her belly button, to her chest. Soft kisses, hard kisses, some wet and filthy, then chaste and sweet. His teeth scraped her skin, making her gasp, but the licks afterward soothed her into a sigh. When he reached her breasts, he settled in for a while. Bree quivered beneath him, every nibble and suck on her sensitive nipples sparking aftershocks.
She ran her hands across his shoulders as she whispered his name over and over, tugging him up, closer. But the obstinate bastard had other plans. He abandoned her nipple with a long swipe of his tongue and met her gaze, his eyes darker than ever. His lips were wet with her moisture, his smile three steps past sinful.
“You need to reach over there,” he said, nodding at his bedside table. “Open that drawer.”
“I do, huh?”
His smile widened and she felt his hand sneaking down her tummy. “If you wouldn’t mind,” he said, and she could have sworn his voice had lowered a full octave.
“Charlie, what are you doing?”
“I’m not finished being in you,” he said. “So I’ll just amuse myself until you think you might like more than fingers.”
“Maybe I’ve got a thing for fingers.”
“That’s okay,” he said. But he was pushing himself up to kneeling until she could see him. See his very hard, very ready cock.
The hand that wasn’t petting her pussy, toying at the very edge of her lips, encircled his erection. It was a handful and he looked like he knew how to use it.
She swallowed and clenched her muscles as he squeezed up his length until just his glans peeked out, a drop of precome beading obscenely.
Bree hated to look away, but it couldn’t be helped. She found the condom quickly, opened it with shaky fingers. He did the honors of putting on the rubber— making a damn show of it—and then he laid himself over her, leaning on his elbow so she wouldn’t be squished.
The kiss was salt and sex, his tongue giving her a preview of what was to come. Spreading her open, he rubbed up and down between her labia getting his bearings by feel. All the while, he watched her with dark, hooded eyes.
When