Joy Ride

Her hair spills across my lap, and as she licks, she lets the strands trail over the hair on my legs. The ends tickle my thighs. She flicks her tongue in a long, lingering line going up, up, up. She stops at the head then draws a luscious circle with her tongue.

My throat makes a deep, rumbly sound, signaling my lust. But I don’t push her head down. I don’t ask for more. I let her set the pace and just play with me. The next thing I know she’s kissing my cock. She’s leaving lipstick marks on my dick. Smooches and pecks, and then deeper, throatier kisses. My skin sizzles and pleasure tightens incomparably inside me.

She brings her lips to the tip and gently, so fucking gently, draws me in. I shudder, and clasp my hands around her head, holding her in place as she kisses my dick.

God help me. I’m not sure I can withstand this slow-burn blow job.

“Henley,” I rasp out.

She looks up, the tip of my dick still in her mouth. Those brown eyes shine with gold specks. They twinkle with mischief as she slowly puts my entire dick in her mouth, hitting the back of her throat.

Holy fuck. I will come in seconds if she does that again.

I tug her up. I gather her close, pulling her onto my lap. I run my hands through her hair, marveling at how soft it is, how pretty she is, and how many times I’ve thought this about her. Countless. And countless times I’ve locked those thoughts up tight. Awareness bursts in me. I’ve never told her. I’m nearly ashamed that I haven’t said this, so I say it now. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Her smile is radiant. It lights up her entire face. She glows. “Really?”

My voice is hoarse, and I’ve no idea why. “So. Incredibly. Beautiful.”

She drops her face to my neck and nuzzles me. “So are you,” she whispers.

Warmth rushes over me, and something else, too. Something unnamed. But then there’s a familiar sensation—a deep and powerful desire, jostling every other emotion out of the way as she kisses my neck, and I run my nose across her hair.

I need her.

I untangle her from me, setting my hands on her slim shoulders. “I need you to take all your clothes off.”

“Why?”

“Last night I didn’t get to admire you. I want to see all of you. I need you naked. I need it so fucking much.”

“Then you can have it.” She stands and strips for me, and when she’s down to nothing, I can’t take my eyes off her, nor can I decide where to stare—the swell of her breasts, the softness of her belly, or the curves of her hips. I stare for a long time at the thatch of dark hair between her legs, then I drag my rough hands along those lovely, strong legs.

But her face is where I land. I stand and cup her cheeks. “Every inch of you is beautiful. Now, I’m thinking I’d like you to head over to the window, so I can watch your gorgeous face and admire your perfect ass while I’m fucking you.”

“I like the way you think,” she says, with a wink. She walks to the window and presses her palms against it. As she breathes out, the glass steams up.

So does my blood.

The edge of Manhattan twinkles in the windows, a collection of fireflies in buildings that reach for the sky. Just beyond, the East River seeps its inky dark waters across the night. Someone working late in the skyscraper mere blocks away could grab a pair of binoculars and zoom in on a man brushing a woman’s hair off her shoulder then sliding his lips across her neck. The show would be impossible to turn off.

It’s my peep show. My fucking perfect night.

Henley’s back arches. She shudders. I press my chest to her, caging her in with an arm across her breasts. I map the soft flesh of her stomach, playing with the curls of her hair between her legs.

My fingers travel to the slick heat between her legs.

Her lips part, her eyelids flutter, her hips grind down on my fingers.

I growl against her neck as I slide my fingers deeper inside her. She grips me as she rocks back, her hips swaying and swiveling.

It’s obscene.

It’s wanton.

It’s exactly how a woman should feel when a man touches her. A man she wants. A man who wants her.

“One last time,” I whisper, then I break contact to grab a condom from my wallet on the coffee table.

She whimpers while I’m gone. “Max, get back here now.”

I expect her to stomp a foot. “I’m not exactly lollygagging,” I say, laughing.

“I know, but I’m dying for you.”

I rip open the foil, slide the condom down my erection, and then grab her delicious ass. My palms cover her, my thumbs digging into the crease where her butt meets her thigh. She rises on her tippy-toes. I spread her open, raise her rear higher, and notch the head of my cock against her slick entrance.

“Ready?” I growl.

She sways back against me. “So ready.”

“You sure?” I rub the tip against all that lush wetness.

“Max . . .” It’s a needy, wild whimper.

“Tell me you—”

“I want you,” she shouts. “I want you inside me. I want you jealous. I want you to have me one more time.”

I part her lips so I can ease in, but once I’m there, I don’t go gently. I shove inside, and we both groan in unison as I sink deep into her. Electricity crackles over my skin, and Henley melts into me. I band my arm around her stomach, gripping her tight as I rock into her.

I watch her in the reflection. She’s never been hotter than she is right now. I’m fucking her in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass window, Manhattan is at our feet, and the sexiest woman I’ve ever known is giving herself to me.

“I’m just getting this out of my system,” I say roughly.

“Please, please, please get me out of your system.”

Heat rushes through my veins. It’s addictive. I crave more of it. I want to feel this pleasure everywhere. And as much as I fuck her, she fucks me back. She grinds her sweet little ass against my cock, taking me deeper, her arms braced against the glass.

“Someone could see us,” she murmurs, like that would be the height of scandal.

“I don’t care.”

“You don’t care who can see me naked?” She’s taunting in her playful way, riling me up.

I cup her tits, squeezing them as I fuck her fast and hard to make my point. She cries out a nearly ear-splitting oh God.

“It’s my hands that are on your tits,” I say roughly. “It’s my cock that’s buried so far in your sweet pussy. You think I care who sees?”

I slam my lips down on her neck. I suck the delicate flesh between my teeth. She shivers, and a wave seems to roll through her.

“My mouth is on your delicious neck. Ask me again if I care who sees me fucking you,” I say, seizing her jaw as I thrust.

“Do you care?” she says in a feathery voice as I bury myself deep inside her, locking my gaze with hers in the steamed-up glass. She’s lost—dazed, glossy eyes, heady expression, features twisted in pleasure.

“I don’t care. Want to know why?” I jerk her closer.

“Why?” she asks, as if she’s begging.

I run my index finger over her bottom lip. “Because it’s my name on your lips when you come.” I thrust. “Say it.”

She trembles, a full-body shudder. A quake rumbles through her. I wrap a hand tighter around her hip, and then she shakes. It’s almost violent. It’s certainly erotic. And it’s soundless at first, as her lips open in the most sensual O I’ve ever seen.