SOPHIE WAS GOING to be the death of me.
Because just the sight of her—the sight—was giving me seriously concerning palpitations. My blond fantasy, up on her knees, wearing only my oxford and those boardroom glasses, poised to lower herself and take charge . . . honestly, it might’ve been hotter than if she were naked.
Her hands dropped down to the bed, just outside of my shoulders, and her hair fell around me as she licked at my mouth and brushed her body against mine like a stretching cat. I kissed her back like a man crazed, electrified by her skin sliding against mine, while her slim fingers slowly—way too fucking slowly—lowered my zipper.
I grunted when she pulled her mouth away from my lips, and my fingers drove into her hair as her mouth slowly—way too fucking slowly—made its way down my body. I think I stopped breathing entirely in order to better feel every touch of her tongue, every pad of her fingertips, every brush of her soft body.
“Fuck, Sophie,” I panted, groaning as she found me, as she made every muscle in my body go rigid with tension in response to her talented mouth. I thrashed against the pillow like a madman, gripped her hair as she destroyed me, and fucking begged my voice raw as I grew desperate to once again be inside her.
But I didn’t know true madness until she crawled back up my body. Because her hot, slick mouth found mine, her fingers unbuttoned every last button on the front of that shirt, and then she lowered herself onto me.
To. The. Hilt.
“Holy fuck,” I groaned, struggling for words because it was total sensory overload as I felt her tongue in my mouth, her breasts on my chest, and her body surrounding me—all in an instant. My hands clamped onto her waist, desperate to hold her there, as she sat up and lost herself in me, in the way we fit together, in pure pleasure.
Her head fell back, her eyes closed, her back arched, and Sophie started moving.
“Holy hell,” I bit out, clenching my jaw against the intense pleasure, because nothing had ever felt that good.
Ever.
In my entire fucking life.
I watched as she moved, graceful like a dancer, while those pretty hands slid everywhere I’d ever wanted them to be. The bands on her middle finger caught the light, sparkling, and my blood roared in my ears, desire clawing at me as my eyes tracked their every move. Every sinful touch, every sexual caress, every raw sound she made in the back of her throat in response sent me closer and closer to the edge.
I gritted my teeth and held on, my arms shaking from the rising pressure, but when she opened her eyes and watched me, those whiskey eyes on mine as she moved faster, that was the end for both of us.
“You sure you don’t want any?” Sophie asked, sitting crisscross-applesauce on the bed with a slice of pepperoni in her hand. “This is seriously the best pizza I’ve ever had.”
“You’re a psycho,” I said, my eyes only half-open as I lay on a pillow, watching her. “I cannot believe you’re eating pizza on your side of the bed.”
“I can’t believe you’re already calling this my side,” she said, her eyes twinkling as she popped a pepperoni into her mouth. “Attached much?”
“Not at all,” I said, fully in love with the idea of her eating pizza in my bed. “But lines need to be drawn if eating in bed is going to become a thing.”
“You’re very sexy when you look exhausted like this,” she said, her face a hundred percent the Twinkie-tossing version of Soph.
“Honey, anytime you want to make me look like this,” I said, already hungry for her again, “you are absolutely welcome.”
“Y’know, I really do FUCKRAH you,” she said, wearing a grin that was almost shy. “Kind of a lot, actually.”
“Steinbeck,” I replied, feeling sublimely happy, “I think I fell in FUCKRAH with you the minute you put Callie in a headlock.”
