Slow Ride (Fast Track #5)(25)
Author: Erin McCarthy

“What point was that again, exactly?” Diesel couldn’t really follow the logic. Nor was he able to focus on anything other than the fact that she had stopped moving just inside the doorway.

“Oh, hello, there’s a dog here.” Tuesday bent over and petted Wilma, who had appeared, looking half asleep, her tail wagging lightly.

“That’s Wilma.”

“Wilma? Do you have an old lady fetish?”

“She’s named after Fred Flintstone’s wife. And even if I had an old lady fetish, what does that have to do with my dog?”

“Good point. I don’t know.”

“Speaking of points, what was yours again when you danced the blanket the other day?” He wanted to get back to that topic. Naked woman conversation trumped dog talk.

“I wanted you to see that I look alright.”

“Sweetheart, you look way more than alright.” He reached out and grabbed the lapel of her riding jacket and yanked her over to him. “In case you doubt it, here’s proof.” With his free hand he took her and guided her right to his erection, pressing hard.

“That’s definitely proof of something.” She looked like she was going to make a smart-ass remark but then her eyes fluttered shut briefly and she gave a sigh as she stroked him all on her own. “Damn, that’s a lovely penis.”

He wasn’t sure how he felt about having his dick called lovely, but he’d take it for a compliment. “And you haven’t even seen it yet. Or tasted it. Or felt it deep inside your wet pu**y.”

Her eyes snapped open and her hand stilled. “Who’s to say my pu**y’s wet?”

Diesel liked that she didn’t balk at his graphic language. She gave it right back. His c**k throbbed, hot desire tensing his muscles from head to toe as he fought for control. “Well, let’s find out.”

“Suit yourself.” Her shrug was nonchalant, but her hips tilted toward him and her legs spread ever so slightly in invitation.

The stretchy pants were a damn fine clothing choice because all he had to do was peel back the waistband and slide on in. What he was met with was smooth, soft skin, a swollen clitoris, and nothing else between him and her very wet, very juicy pu**y. He groaned, startled and aroused all at the same time. “No panties?” he asked, his voice gruff as he pressed his thumb into all that sweet moisture.

Her head was tilting to the side, her breathing deepening from his touch. “I didn’t want lines. These pants are fitted, you know.”

“Oh, I know. I f**king know.”

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“No panties? Uh, no, not a problem.” Nor was it a problem that Tuesday was almost entirely bare down there. From what he could feel, and he was feeling as much as he could, there was nothing but a landing strip of curls on either side. Which was very, very sexy. He was already imagining how easy it would be to move his tongue along that silky hot skin. His fingers were doing just that, teasing up and down, circling around her swollen clitoris, then pressing in slightly before pulling out.

Tuesday gave a soft little moan, her hips following his finger as he pulled back.

“What’s the matter?” he asked her, brushing a kiss alongside her temple.

“You’re teasing me.”

“Hell yeah.” He intended to do a lot of that. “You know you like it.”

“I don’t think I do, actually,” she murmured, still wiggling around trying to get him to penetrate her. “I like to just be given what I ask for.”

“I’m perfectly willing to do that out of the bedroom.” He already had, he thought. He’d let Tuesday call the shots. He was a laid-back guy most of the time and wanted any woman he was with to be happy.

“Except for when I asked you for a drink.” Tuesday rubbed up and down on his c**k through his denim, before nipping at his earlobe.

He put his hand over hers. “You’re right. Sorry about that. Normally the only place I insist on controlling the situation is in bed.”

“You insist? So you’re saying you’re a dom?”

Maybe he shouldn’t be talking about it. Maybe he should just be showing her. Diesel took both of her wrists with his hand and moved them up over her head. “Nothing as official as that. It’s just a preference, that’s all. You don’t mind, do you?”

“The funny thing is,” she said, her eyes slumberous, her br**sts rising up and down with her ragged breathing, “I like to be in control everywhere except the bedroom. It’s the one time I’m perfectly willing to be told what to do. And if you’re good at it . . .”

Diesel moved his left knee in between her thighs and rubbed the spot he’d abandoned with his finger. “Yeah?”

“If you’re good at it, you can get me to pretty much do anything.”

Now it was his turn to groan. “Anything?”

The corner of her mouth tilted up in a saucy smile. “Almost. Where are the cookies?”

“In my hand. But I’m setting them down.” Diesel erased the space between them and kissed her hard, deeply, his tongue thrusting into her partially open mouth. She turned him on like no woman ever had and while in the back of his mind he worried that his knee wouldn’t hold out for this kind of extended play, he was willing to take the chance. His fingers tangled in her long hair, his other hand still pinning her arms to the wall. An image of Tuesday tied up, legs spread for him flashed through his head, and he knew he needed to get her to his bed now. He wanted to taste and touch and feel every inch of her.

Breaking off the kiss, Diesel also completely stepped back from her. His heart was racing, erection throbbing. But with slow deliberation, he bent over and retrieved the crop Tuesday had dropped at some point. With it he pointed down the hall. “The stairs are that way. Use them.”

She sucked in a breath, her finger rubbing over her bottom swollen lip. Her eyes widened, and Diesel fully expected her to argue, or at the very least make a smart-ass remark. But she didn’t. Without a word, she started down the hall in the direction he had indicated. Which was one of the hottest things he had ever seen.

But just because her ass was there in front of him, tight and high, and because he had a crop in his hand, he swatted her with it. Not hard, but enough to get her attention. She jumped a little, obviously startled, and Diesel wasn’t sure what was hotter—the actual swat, or the fact that she didn’t snark at him about it.