Blue Roses (Baker Street Romance #1)(21)
Author: Mimi Strong

He climbs onto the bed, kisses me lightly on the stomach, and then moves down.

I gasp as he kisses me on the tops of my thighs, and then between my legs. His lips and tongue make my pulse quicken.

I look down at his muscular back, his beautiful body.

He lets out a soft moan, the vibration traveling through me like a low, rumbling bass note.

My toes curl with pleasure. He keeps licking, driving his tongue against me. His fingers slip in, coaxing out even more pleasure.

He slows down and adjusts his body position, like he’s in no hurry at all. I’m the one who’s desperate with urgency, rocking against his every stroke.

He’s enjoying this, and holding back just enough so I don’t cl**ax.

Finally, I can’t take it anymore, and I say one word: “Please.”

He looks up, grins, and moves his body up.

He’s over me, on his hands and knees. His manhood is rigid, aligned with his torso, and right above me. I reach up and give it a careful stroke.

“Squeeze it,” he growls. “Both hands.”

I reach up and place one hand over the other. I’m amazed there’s space for both hands—and excited. He gives me a few more words of encouragement, and soon I’m working him hard.

I’m enjoying myself, playing and squeezing like I have a new toy. It’s so much fun that I almost forget about everything else. He grabs a condom from the dresser and hands it to me.

I’ve never done this part before, but how difficult can it be? I open the packet, and Luca rolls onto his side, alongside me. He folds one arm under his head and watches me with amusement.

I place the rubber on the tip, and try to roll down the rest of it. But it won’t work. At least he’s not going soft yet, but I’m an utter failure at this task. I keep working.

This is impossible.

It’s like trying to coax a shark into a Ziploc bag.

Luca snickers. “Grab a fresh packet. You’ve mangled that one.”

“This is impossible. These aren’t the right size, are they? Why are you doing this to me? Is this a subtle hint for me to go on the pill?”

He laughs. “They’re the right size. You put it on upside-down.”

I swear and toss the mangled rubber aside. I grab a fresh one, and this time I pay very close attention. It works! I feel very proud of myself, and pause to admire my work.

I don’t get to admire it for long, because Luca rolls me onto my back, climbs on top of me, and slides in, just a bit.

I cry out in pleasure, my toes curling already. He groans, and the rumble in his chest is like the roar of an engine.

I bend my legs, clutch my knees in my hands, and beg him to take me.

He takes his time, teasing me with each stroke. His body is my jungle gym, and I wrap my legs around him. I just want to be as close as possible, a part of him.

We move together, coaxing out more and more pleasure.

I wonder if I’ll ever get enough.

He warns me that he’s coming. I hang on tight as he plunges into me, harder and faster. In a flash, time seems to hold still for a moment, and pleasure pulses through me like a sonic boom. Time starts up again, and he’s so huge inside me and on top of me, everywhere at once. His body tenses, and I feel him pulse with pleasure.

When he slows down and rolls off to the side, we’re both gasping and trembling.

I’ve never felt so thoroughly satisfied.

In fact, I don’t know if I ever need to have sex again, because this has been immensely satisfying.

I roll over and tell him this.

He starts to laugh. “What are you talking about? I’ve ruined you for sex?”

I stroke his chest lazily. “Not ruined me. I just mean… that one was perfect, and I can’t see how it could possibly get better.”

He’s still laughing softly, and pretends to wipe tears from his eyes. “I’d be insulted if I didn’t feel the exact same way.”

“I know, right? It’s like you just ate Thanksgiving dinner, and you think you’ll never be hungry again.”

“You say that, but then after a few hours, you’re rummaging in the fridge to make a sandwich.”

I shake my head. “I can’t even imagine.”

“You can’t?”

I’m on my side, facing him. He reaches up and strokes down the side of my body, from my shoulder to my hip.

His fingertips send warm shivers through me.

“That feels nice,” I whisper.

“Don’t laugh, but all that talk about Thanksgiving dinner is making me hungry. What do you say to a late night snack? Dessert is still waiting in the fridge.”

My skin is cooling now. I grab the blankets and slide under them.

“Can I eat dessert in bed?”

Luca pretends to be horrified. He gets up and excuses himself to go take care of things in the bathroom.

He comes out a few minutes later with a robe on.

“Stay right there,” he says. “You can have dessert in bed if you promise to be really careful.”

“Of course.”

Shaking his head and muttering about me being a bad influence, he leaves the bedroom.

Chapter 18

Graffiti.

I’m at the flower shop, and I’m not happy.

It’s Monday.

Over the weekend, some little jackweed has tagged the front of the shop with lime green spray paint.

With a few curse words, I open the store and head to the back room for the supplies. I could spend a few hours trying to remove the paint with chemicals, or ten minutes painting over it. I grab the paint.

Out front again, I give the paint can a shake, then get to work with a brush. People walking by find this fascinating. I’m not sure why me applying paint to the bricks is so much more interesting than me out here setting up the flower display, but it is.

People stop to say hello and ask what I’m doing. I think it’s rather obvious, but I patiently explain.

The ten-minute job is threatening to take an hour, with all the people who stop by to chat.

I’m just over halfway done when Mr. Jackson, the owner of the pub, stops to chat. He’s harmless enough, just old enough to think he knows everything, but young enough to try to flirt with me.

“You’d better stock up on paint, Tina,” he says. “Things are sliding downhill around here, and they’re liable to get worse. I’m getting a new safe put in, for the cash. It’ll be on a timelock. And I’m getting metal bars on the back door.”

I look up from my work.

He’s staring intensely at me.

I check myself to make sure I don’t have any visible cracks for Mr. Jackson to look down.