“Spank me?”she suggested, eyes alive with laughter.
The idea was not without merit, but she’d probably like it.“Not let you come.”
“Rude,” she gasped.
“Are you going to stay put?”he demanded.
She bit her lip, but it did nothing to quiet the mirth in her eyes.“Is this where I say ‘yes, Sir’?”
“Just stay,” he ordered, and stomped back to the front door with her laughter echoing after him.He scooped up the bucket, blanket, roll of paper towels and beer bottles in his arms, dumped the whole lot on the kitchen table, and had her ponytail back in hand within fifteen seconds.
“You should put it in the refrigerator,” she told him as he walked her into the bedroom.
“Fuck the chicken.”Drawing to a halt beside the bed, he reached past her to snag the duvet and drag it off the mattress—he’d done enough laundry today—then grasped the hem of her dress and whipped it over her head.
Flushed and sparkly eyed, she turned to face him, hands on her hips, and struck a pose in her pretty purple lace bra and panties.“No, fuck me.”
He wanted to take a moment to savor the view.Eight years hadn’t diminished her beauty or her sex appeal—if anything, the years had only added to both.She was soft and round, breasts and belly, hips and ass thick and curvy, not an angle or edge to be found.He could sink into all that softness, those bountiful curves, and find both comfort and passion, a combination he’d always found unfailingly appealing.
And she knew it.
Giving himself a mental shake, he noted the gleam in her eyes, the smirk on her lips.Realizing he needed to regain the upper hand, he planted a hand on her sternum, between those magnificent breasts, and shoved.“I told you to shut up.”
She fell back on the mattress laughing, bounced once, then propped herself up on her elbows to aim that smirk at him.
But since she kept quiet, he let it go.
“Stay,” he warned, pointing a finger for emphasis, and crossed the room to let down the blinds on the windows.Since his bedroom faced the street, he thought it best, and he liked the dim cast they lent to the room.Light enough to see, but more intimate.
Turning back to the bed, pleased to see she was where he’d left her, he peeled his T-shirt over his head and frantically tried to come up with a plan.He’d thought as far ahead as getting her into bed—and had figured he had a fifty-fifty shot of making that happen—but now that he had her here, he wasn’t one hundred percent clear on what to do.
They’d played around with BDSM a bit in college, but neither of them had been particularly suited to it.He was no Dom, at least not a natural one, and the times he’d tried to act the part, they’d both ended up laughing instead of coming—which, if he wasn’t careful, was how this was going to end.But he’d learned a few things since he was twenty-three, including patience and restraint, which was good because looking at her now, he was going to need every drop of both he could muster.
Tossing the T-shirt aside, he reached for the fastening on his shorts.Her eyes tracked the movement, and he noted with satisfaction that the flush on her face had spread to her chest.She was just as in the moment as he was, thank God and, with his ego swelling, he popped the snap.
It made a tiny sound, barely noticed under normal circumstances, but in the quiet room it was like a hammer strike on a nail head.She blinked at it, gave a little humming sound of delight or anticipation, and when he drew the zipper down and dropped the shorts to the floor, her breath caught in her throat.
“Where is your underwear?”she choked out, her eyes locked on his bobbing dick.
“I didn’t want to waste time,” he told her, fighting to keep his voice even.The end of his dick was damp, sensitive, and the conditioned air was like cool fingers stroking.
“What, like you knew we were going to end up here?”she asked, outrage seeping into her voice as she finally raised her eyes to his.
“I told you.I know you.”He jerked his chin.“Get in the middle of the bed.”
“Asshole,” she accused hotly, but she shifted to the center of the mattress anyway, and he would’ve smiled if he’d had enough blood in his brain to direct his mouth to move.
“Panties off.”
She hissed like a feral cat, and he figured the odds were again about fifty-fifty that she’d tell him to go to hell.But there was heat along with the defiance blazing in her eyes, and after a glaring at him for a solid five seconds, she shimmied out of the purple briefs and tossed them over the side of the bed.
He kept his eyes on her face out of pure self-preservation, because if he looked at her pussy, he was a goner.“Up against the pillows.”
Eyes still flashing, she wiggled her way up the mattress, all the round, bouncy parts of her bouncing—that bra was doingnothingto restrain her tits—and he knew damn well she had her knees further apart than necessary, and when she finally sank into the pillows stacked against the headboard, she didn’t bring them back together.
“You sneaky slut,” he accused.
She just smirked.“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”