Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
“God, yes, everywhere,” he rumbles against my skin.
I moan, then gasp again as he cups my breast through my sweater, making my nipple burn with the need to have his lips wrapped around it.
“Truck,” I pant. “In the truck. Close the door.”
He pulls back, looking as dazed as I feel. “We can’t get naked in my truck.”
“We really can’t,” I agree, even as I reach past him, popping the passenger’s side door. “Not unless that seat reclines. I bet it doesn’t, does it?”
“It does,” he says in a faux whisper that makes me grin. “It goes all the way back.”
“Good.” I kiss him again, long and hard, before mumbling against his lips, “I want to go all the way back with you.”
“I want to go all the way back with you, too.”
And then I’m off my feet again, swept up in his strong arms as we fumble our way into the cab—my good knee stabbing him in the stomach, my hair catching in the seat belt—before we finally get the damned seat down and the door shut behind us.
Then, he’s on top of me, and all I can think is, yes.
Yes, please, and thank you…
Four
DEAN
Her knee catches me in the gut, and my elbow cracks against the window as I slam the door and fumble for the seat release, but I barely notice.
Because fuck, this woman…
She’s so sexy.
So wildly, shamelessly sexy.
And only twenty-four, you creep, the inner voice mutters, but I ignore it.
I’ve never had a thing for younger women. Never sought them out online. Never let my gaze linger on the herds of sorority girls wandering the French Quarter in skintight dresses. Never so much as gone out for drinks with someone who wasn’t roughly the same age.
Hell, Frederica, my ex, was two years older. So was my girlfriend before her. I don’t have a younger woman kink, and I’m not a creep. I honestly thought Clover must be in her late twenties or early thirties, like Cristina. Clover and I met at Cristina’s house, and my next-door neighbor is thirty-one.
Besides, we’ve already decided this is just for fun.
Just one night.
One night, it would be pointless to waste feeling weird about an age gap when I could be making Clover come.
I brace a hand against the cab interior and kiss her with my full focus, not bothering to hide how desperate I am for more of her taste, her touch. She matches me stroke for stroke, her tongue dancing with mine, her hips grinding up against me, proving she isn’t the least bit bothered by how hard I am.
Her right leg hooks around my calf, and her thigh presses flush against mine to the knee. I’m pushing six-four, but she fits against me almost limb for limb, a thing I’ve never experienced before.
A thing I had no idea would be this damned hot…
“Off,” she mumbles into my mouth, yanking at my sweater. “I need to see if you’re as delicious as I think you are under there.”
I rip the sweater over my head, cracking my knuckles on the roof of the cab and getting stuck halfway through before I finally fling it into the driver’s seat, making us both laugh.
But she isn’t laughing as she drags her hands down my bare chest to my stomach.
“Wow,” she breathes. “I’ve been fantasizing about this since you carried me up Cris’s driveway. I knew you had to be built like nobody’s business. Even with two casts on, you made me feel like I was made of fluff.”
“You’re tiny,” I say, biting my lip as her nails bite into my abs hard enough to sting.
“Not that tiny. And I’m tall,” she murmurs, glancing up as I hiss in a breath, my muscles flexing beneath her touch. “You like nails?”
“Love them,” I grit out, my cock throbbing even more insistently.
She grins up at me and does it again, harder. I reach down, jerking her good leg up and around my hip as I grind forward, showing her what she does to me. The sound she makes as I rock against her center—hungry and eager—makes my blood pump even faster.
I push her sweater up.
My turn to discover all the parts I’ve been fantasizing about …
The skin on her stomach is so soft, it’s almost shocking. Like feathers. Or one of those microfleece blankets the girls love to snuggle under on movie nights, but warm and fluttering beneath my hand.
I skim my palm up her ribs, making her shiver as I murmur, “Best thing I’ve ever touched.”
“Ever?” she breathes, arching to help me guide the fabric higher.
“Ever,” I confirm. I push the sweater past her collarbone, revealing the beautiful valley I’ve done my best to keep from staring at all night.
Her breasts are full and high, encased in a white cotton bra with a tiny yellow bow between the cups. No, not a bow, I realize, as I look closer. It’s a skull and crossbones that feels…strangely right.