Page 96 of The Romance Line
“It’s been a while,” she says with some vulnerability.
“Same for me. I haven’t been with anyone for a year and a half.”
The corner of her lips curve into a grin, then she’s sassy again as she says, “Are you worried you won’t last, Lambert?”
My eyes narrow, and I stare harshly at her. “For that I’m going to give you three orgasms before I get one.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Threaten me again, Max.”
“And I thought I was the troublemaker,” I say.
“You are.”
“Pretty sure you’re trouble too, sunshine,” I say, then shift gears as I tug on the waistband of her sweatpants. “Can I take these off?”
She turns her face to the overhead light. It’s bright, and I flash back to the night we were here. How she dimmed the overheads when we walked in. Wait—is that what the apprehension was really about? Before she says anything else, I ask gently, “Do you want me to turn the lights down?”
She draws a shuddery breath as she sits straighter. “It’s not so much that it’s been a while,” she says softly. “It’s that I…have some scars. Kind of all over. And they’re not like hockey player sexy scars.” Her voice breaks off. My heart squeezes for her as her hand moves to her left hip and she rubs it, while meeting my eyes. “There’re some here.”
“Do you not want me to see them?”
She doesn’t answer. Instead, she pushes down her sweatpants, and holy shit. She’s wearing an even sexier pair of panties than last time. How is this possible?They’re sheer lavender, and they barely cover her sweet pussy. When her sweatpants hit the floor, she cups my face, grabs it, then pushes me down to the floor too.
The woman knows what she wants.
She doesn’t want to talk about scars anymore. She wants me to use my mouth for other things. So I listen to her. I settle between her thighs, staring wantonly at the tiny scrap of lace. “Sexy on. Even sexier off,” I say, then I yank them off in a heartbeat so I can bring them to my nose.
Her breath catches. “Is that what you did with them when you stole the pair?”
I draw another inhale of her sexy, aroused scent on the damp fabric, then meet her gaze. “What do you think?”
“You fucked yourself with them,” she says, a grin coasting across her face.
“You bet I fucking did, sunshine,” I say, then I drop the pair to the floor so I can touch her thoroughly, properly, reverently. I slide my hands along her thighs, then hike them over my shoulders, yank her to my face, and kiss her slick, hot pussy.
One taste and I’m groaning. One kiss and my cock is aching harder than it has before.
My hands slide up her thighs as I eat my woman.
She’s hot and wet, her juices covering my beard as I devour her. Her moans grow louder. They go to my dick. They go to my head. They go to my goddamn heart. She grips my face and pulls me close, crying out as I feast on the taste of her. Soon, she’s letting go of all her inhibitions, rocking harder against me, and riding my mouth like a queen. When she digs her nails into my skull, she screams my name.
My mind short-circuits. Pleasure rockets through mein a neon burst. I’m so fucking turned on from her coming fast and hard. When I look up, she’s more beautiful than she ever has been. “That’s one,” I say.
She smiles woozily as I run my hand along her hip where she placed hers earlier—where her scars are. I move my face closer, bend down to her thigh, and press a kiss to her hip where two thick jagged scars crawl along her flesh here. I travel over one with my lips, tenderly kissing its path, then the other.
When I come up for air, I look her in the eyes. It’s like she’s holding her breath. Waiting, hoping.
My brave woman. “There is nothing about you that isn’t beautiful,” I say honestly.
Something serene passes in her eyes as she says a quiet, “thank you.”
I rise, grab a condom from my wallet, then brandish it. “I got this for you.”
“Another gift?” she teases.
“A selfish one. Bought it tonight. What can I say? I was hopeful.”
“So presumptuous,” she says.