Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (23 page)

She certainly made him want to try. His hands reached for her hips as if on their own. He needed her flesh, needed her heat. Soft material slinked under his touch. He dragged it up a few inches, the better to see her lush thighs.

“Maybe.”

“Do it,” she said, low and certain.

His gaze snapped up to hers. So much challenge. She seemed to expect him to balk. To quit. “You can be more specific than that.”

Her brows lifted and that sharp chin came back up. Her mouth tweaked into a tiny smile. “Jon Carlisle, take off every scrap of your clothing, including boots and socks.”

“I’d never leave my socks on. That would be a travesty.”

She managed to get her smile under control behind a tiny cough. “Do it slowly. Then lie down on the bed, on your back, with your hands laced behind your head.”

“But how will I touch you?”

“God, you’re mouthy.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s in my breeding.”

“Lots of things are in your breeding.” She backed up until she stood in the middle of the floor. He might have believed she was taking well to this idea, except her toes curled into the weave of a thick rug. Practically twitching. But her voice was still steady. “Do it.”

“You’re not even going to dim the lights for my modesty?”

“Nope.”

Flight jacket first, shucked down his shoulders and tossed over the back of her vanity chair. He kept his movements slow as he pulled the T-shirt over his head, but he didn’t add any silly bump or grind. That would be beneath them both. More, it might scatter the slow heat that had built since leaving the diner.

He toed off his boots and socks while he folded the shirt and set it down on the seat of the vanity chair. He found her smirking.

“You fold T-shirts?”

“You don’t?”

She twirled her fingers for him to get on with it, but her gaze went to his stomach first then skipped over his shoulders. His arms. She was eating him up with every inch of skin revealed.

Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all.

The jeans went next—and yes, he folded those too, lifting his brows at her in challenge. But she didn’t say a word. She was smoothing her own hips, so obviously restless. When Jon pulled down his boxer briefs, her breath hitched.

The sheets were cool under his ass, his back.

It was harder than he’d expected to stack his hands behind his head. His muscles protested. His respiration jacked. He bit the tip of his tongue.

Most of the time, control didn’t seem like such a big thing. Untouchable and ephemeral. He’d never made any bones about how much he liked it. There was something to be said for a woman who’d challenge him. That had been Heather from the start.

He had no idea where they were headed. Maybe nowhere. Tonight at the diner had almost been enough to spark impossible thoughts, but then she’d corralled him back into her bedroom. All in a neat line. She liked order. He liked it himself.

Contemplating more was no good for either of them. Just this. Just this fierce, explosive moment of potential.

So he waited, but he didn’t do so comfortably. He figured the odds were fifty-fifty whether he broke and tumbled her over. He’d wind up fucking her rather than the other way around. She’d need to break out some restraints to have it any other way.

When Heather opened a drawer and pulled out a silk scarf, he thought she might have figured that out. Her lips parted. Her gorgeous chest rose and fell on deep breaths. Apparently she liked what she saw.

Score one for his ego, at least.

But as she came closer, she narrowed the scarf into a slender strip. “Lift your head.”

“Hang on now,” he found himself saying.

Her smile turned wicked. “Don’t tell me the great Jon Carlisle is going to safe word because of a simple blindfold. Are you afraid of the dark?”

“Mostly afraid I won’t get to see your body.”

“You’ve seen my body before.”

“I happen to like it.” He took one hand from under his neck and slid it inside her thigh. The side of his palm grazed her panties. Hot already. Damp. He got such a rush off that simple tell.

Anything was worth it if Heather got off.

She tilted her head. Another dare. He expected nothing less from her. She stripped efficiently, though she didn’t fold her clothes. Rather, she let them puddle on the floor.

Jesus, he loved her curves. The neat sweep of her waist. Hips designed to be held. The weight of her breasts and her rounded shoulders. All gentle. Made for fucking and bearing a man’s weight. She left on her satin thong and bra, which cupped those parts he most wanted to touch.

The dark descended when she wrapped the makeshift blindfold over his eyes. The scarf was light purple silk, but it blocked out everything.

He was left in blackness.

His other senses roared to life. Smell brought him Heather’s sultry scent. His hearing caught the rush of his jerky pulse. And Heather too, every rustle of clothing and a tiny whimper.

“Are you touching yourself, Heather love?”

The mattress dipped along his side as she edged onto the bed. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Fuck yes, I would.” He bared his teeth. Couldn’t help it.

He shifted. The sheets were warming, sliding against his back and ass. His left his legs flat on the mattress. All hers. Playground. He had to keep himself calm but he was rapidly losing control of his cock, which lifted from his stomach. Wanting Heather.

Her touch came from out of nowhere. She skimmed two fingertips along his bottom lip. He jerked. He licked and instantly recognized her taste. Slightly salty. A little bit of sweetness. He followed her fingers. His tongue curled around her, took her into his mouth. More of that taste.

“Ride my face,” he growled.

“I’m in charge here.”

He unfurled one of his best smiles, ignoring the fact he was starkers and splayed out for her whims. “Are you really going to try to convince me that it wasn’t what you wanted?”

“Maybe.”

He shut his mouth. Had to let her make up her own mind. But when the bed shifted and her knees rested above his shoulders, hard and fast triumph rocked down his body. Even better than flying.

Cool hands found purchase on his chest as she turned away from his face. Her fingers splayed wide and left a wash of sensation across his skin. She didn’t lower her body to his mouth. Not yet. She was close. He could tell by the weight to the air, the strength of her aroma.

He couldn’t help but fill his palms with her thighs.

She pinched his nipples, fast and mean. “I didn’t tell you to move.”

He skimmed his fingers up, higher, to the bottom curve of her ass. He liked exploring her by touch alone. She was a miracle of curves and hollows. The satin skin between her cheeks welcomed the tips of his thumbs. “You’re not telling me to stop, either.”

He tugged her down. Gently, but inexorably, he tilted her hips for better access.

He opened his mouth over her pussy and licked. She tasted almost too good. Went right to his head. A few more flicks and he delved between her damp lips. A flood of moisture was his reward. Sucking her skin left her shaking under his grip. There was nothing better.

Her moan drove him crazy. He lifted his face closer. He needed all of her, every bit, until she melted. Until she spread her knees and ground her pussy against his mouth.

He kept his mouth firm and added a slight edge of teeth—a kiss of hurt to balance all the softness.

More. Closer. He could feel when she was almost there, another wash of her taste across his tongue. So good. He followed every bit, every drop. Took it all into himself.

He flattened his tongue over her clit and stroked. Relentless. Her shakes told him she was on the verge of coming. So soon. He nudged her along with a couple fingers stroking deep into her sheath. All slow. The upward angle made it awkward, but Jesus, so worth it.

Especially when she broke apart in orgasm. Quiet, breathy moans filled the air. She curled over his body, scratching his torso. All but lost. Her hot breath practically burned him.

On the laugh that rose from his depths, he realized he was actually giddy. They did this to each other.

Heather curled along his side, but he could tell from the beat thrumming through her lax body that they weren’t done. Not yet. Her hands started roaming.

Thank God, because if he didn’t come soon…

That unexpected rush of happiness might start him thinking about things best left alone.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Do toys insult your manhood?”

“Toys are for play and having fun,” Jon said with a smile. “Are you having fun, Heather love?”

“Oh, yes.” She leaned in and licked his jaw, his mouth, his cheeks. He was stubbly and tasted of her. The groan that rumbled through his chest spoke of both arousal and satisfaction. She adored how much pride he took in ensuring she was satisfied—almost as if his pleasure would always be secondary. No matter how much he took, he always held back. He made sure she writhed and gasped before demanding his turn.

Only now, he was in no position to demand anything. Technically.

She traced a finger between his pecs, through the line of hair below his navel. He took in a sharp breath when she stopped just short of the base of his cock. “You’re not really good at this submission thing, are you?”

“No.”

“At least you’re not coy about it.”

“Never lie, remember?”

“Then tell me what you want. Right now.”

Twin dimples peeked out. “To flip you on your back and fuck you. I wouldn’t care if you came now. You’ve had your chance. Would take me about…oh, twelve strokes.”

“I’m nearly tempted to let you, just to check your math.”

Restless male hands kept touching what he couldn’t see. “I’m good with numbers.”

“So I’ve heard. But no.” She flicked her tongue into the hollow at the base of his throat. The reward, each time, was his surprised response—a jerk or a quiet hiss. “That’s not what will happen. Back to toys.”

“Toys are fine.”

“Pain?”

He hesitated. Swallowed. Oh, she
fucking
loved that.

“Sure. But what if I said the lack of control was actually killing my good time?”

Heather laughed, gratified when he joined in. His chest heaved on it, and his whole face shaped around a smile. Combined with his beautifully muscled body, the purple silk blindfold and his fresh-from-juvie buzz cut, he was an exotic amusement park. All hers.

She finally took hold of his prick. His lean hips bucked softly between her hands. “I’d say you were a lying bastard.”

“Oh, come now. My parents are unpleasant, but I
was
born legitimately.”

“Do I really give a shit right now, Captain Carlisle?”

Another smile. “No, ma’am. Proceed, ma’am.” She gave the tip of his penis a hard pinch. “Ow! Fuck off!”

“Mind your manners,” she said, bending over to lick it better. He reached out to hold the back of her head, but she pushed his arms away. “Remember who’s in charge and you’ll come in spectacular fashion.”

“So full of yourself, Ms. Morris.”

“And you thought me, what was it? Tame? Predictable?”

“Have you always had such a good memory, or have I been in willful denial?”

“Shut up so I can suck your cock in peace.”

She took his hard, swollen head between her lips and sucked, just as she had when teasing him with the straw in the diner. Roughly. She’d swallow him like a milkshake.

After popping off his head and giving it another lingering, appreciative lick, she said, “And if you touch me,
anywhere
, I stop. Got it? So hands up, flyboy.”

Again, that hesitation. Slowly, so slowly, he exhaled. Even his face relaxed. He lifted his arms above his head and wrapped them around a pillow. The pose stretched his lithe muscles and showed off the pure masculinity of his lats, his ribs, the way the muscles of his arms folded against his shoulders. He turned his face toward the pillow, which accentuated the tendons along his throat. He swallowed thickly. A small nod.

God, she was taming a wild mustang. She was getting wet all over again.

Heather returned to his prick, which surged beneath the first touch of her tongue. She ringed both hands at its thick base and pressed hard. He grunted. She wanted to hold off the promised orgasm for as long as possible. She’d heard of edging a man. It had always struck her as…cruel? Why would she want to draw it out so long?

Now the answer was fabulously obvious: to make him suffer in the best possible way.

By turns aggressive and soft, she fucked him with her mouth. It wasn’t making love, or teasing, or playtime. It was full-on fucking. Fast, then slow and torturous. She flicked her tongue, sucked hard, stroked him without mercy, then trailed her hair from chest to knees. Jon twitched and made the most delicious noises with every switch. She looked up at the way he fought his body’s impulses. His hands clenched and released the pillow sham. Ropes of muscles popped on his forearms and frustrated fists.

“You’re enjoying this,” he rasped.

“Yes. Are you?” She suckled his head and flicked her tongue along the sensitive ridge just beneath. “No lies, remember?”

A long exhalation. “
Yes
.”

Win. Win.
Win.

She barely contained the bubbles in her blood. Knees clamped together, she stroked him as if in reward for his honesty. Then she backed off. Again and again, she took him to the edge and kept him from flying over. After exquisite minutes of watching him writhe beneath her deliberate torture, she put the full force of her mouth and hands into making him come.

But not really.

When he bucked his powerful hips off the bed, really fucking her clasped hands—that’s when she pulled away. His solid prick thumped onto his flat belly and arrowed toward his navel. His hips jerked to a stop.

Jon actually yanked down the scarf. In his eyes blazed a decadent combination of arousal, surprise and a tiny snap of anger. “What the hell, Heather?”

“Shut up and turn on your side.”

“Bullshit.”

She lifted her brows. “Really? I thought you were up for more than this. I can climb on and get it over with if you want. Pandas are very pretty, after all. We could talk about them.” With the haughtiest expression she could muster, she stared him down. The anger was gone. So was the surprise. A battle remained, some fight between his curiosity and his need for control. “But if you decide to keep going, don’t stop again.”