Beth Andrews - About That Night

He shook his head. How the hell was he supposed to think clearly when his mind was buzzing? When she knelt on the bed like a fantasy come true, her hair a mass of gold, her eyes heavy-lidded, her mouth pink and swollen from his kiss?

“Your turn?” he repeated dumbly.

“My turn to look at you.” She let her gaze roam over him, taking her time—payback, he was sure, for how he’d taken his with her. “My turn to touch you.”

If possible, he got even harder, his entire body stiffening as she moved toward him, not stopping until the tip of his penis brushed the soft curls at the apex of her thighs. It took all his willpower not to yank her against him, not to bury himself in her, right then and there.

She laid her hands below his chest, her palms flat against his rib cage, then smoothed them down to his waist before trailing her fingers across his lower abdomen. His cock jumped.

And smiling, she wrapped one warm, soft hand around him and squeezed gently.

His eyes nearly popped out of his head, and he couldn’t stop from pulsing against her palm. Prayed he had the strength to make it through the next few minutes without embarrassing himself. Without letting her know how badly he wanted her. How much he needed to be with her.

She shifted closer, and the movement had her breasts swaying, her hair sliding over her shoulder. Then she bent her head, that hair a curtain, and licked the tip of his erection. Made a purring sound of approval before taking him in her mouth.

He went wild. The sight of her giving him such pleasure, the feel of her mouth on him was too much. He jerked her upright, cut off her delighted laughter with a rough kiss.

He couldn’t get enough of her. Wanted only the feel of her on his fingers, the taste of her kiss on his lips. It was exciting and frightening as hell, but he couldn’t stop himself. He cupped her breasts, kissed her throat and then moved down to take one tip into his mouth and sucked. Her hips bucked, and she dug her nails into his back.

C.J. fell onto the bed, had enough sense to support his weight on his elbows so he didn’t crush her, but kept their cores aligned, her softness against his hardness, their hands giving pleasure as their kisses grew hotter, a clashing of tongues and teeth.

She grabbed his ass, pulled him against her, rubbing her curls against him. “Clinton,” she gasped. “Now.”

The words sounded ripped from her throat, raw and needy.

He reared up, grabbed his pants from the floor and dug into his pocket for his wallet, pulled out a condom. He sheathed himself quickly and took her in his arms, but she pushed against his shoulders, turning them until he was on his back. She straddled him, a siren here to make all his dreams come true, a woman in control of her body and her emotions.

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