Sin With Me

47

“At least I don’t have a s*x-obsessed gherkin living in my pants.”

I snort. “Don’t you?”

“Oh. Yeah, you might have me there. Let me try again.”

“Sure. Have at it. Witch face.”

“I might have a witch face but at least I’m not a mama’s boy.”

I grin. Smart chicks are the best. And smart-mouthed chicks . . . if I were Kenji, this is where I’d heave a dreamy sigh and faint into a pile of lavender-scented pillows.

Instead I ask, “If I throw a stick, will you chase it?”

Grace laughs. “Oh, I get it, because I’m a dog! That’s called a metaphor. I’d explain it to you, but I don’t have any crayons.” I press a soft kiss to her lips and whisper, “The last time I saw a face like yours, I fed it a banana.”

She giggles. “Excuse me, Kong, we’ve already established that you’re the ape in this relationship.”

I’m trying really hard not to laugh. “I love what you’ve done with your nostril hair. How did you braid it like that?”

“Hey!” She playfully kicks me in the shin.

“Sorry, have I gone too far? Nose hair is where you draw the line?”

We grin at each other, until finally she sighs. “Okay. Obviously I’m not going to be able to convince you to have s*x with me. Which, by the way, has never happened to me before. So.”

“So feel special?”

“Exactly.”

I roll to my back, taking her along, and settle her on top of me. “Funny, but somehow that doesn’t make me feel so special.”

Gazing down at me with her hair curtained around her face, Grace smiles. “It should, Kong. Because if it were anyone else but you, I’d already have kicked his ass to the curb.”

“You wanton little trollop.” I cup her face and kiss her again, deeper this time, exploring her sweet mouth with my tongue.

Against my lips, she says breathlessly, “Your wanton little trollop.”

My heart stalls out before taking off like a rocket. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Slick.”

This time the kiss is serious. It lasts for what feels like forever. Her body is a soft, delicious weight on top of mine. She smells like shampoo and clean skin. An animalistic urge to tear off all her clothes, bury my face between her thighs, and find out what her p***y tastes like rips through me. She flexes her hips, rubbing her pelvis against my stiff c**k, and I groan.

“I’m sorry. That was an accident.”

I growl, “You’re a shitty liar.”

I have her breasts in my hands. How did that happen? They’re full and heavy in my palms, a lush weight covered by the barest layer of soft cotton. I rub my thumbs over the taut peaks of her n*****s and she gasps.

Acting purely on instinct, I lift my head and suck on one rigid nub, right through the T-shirt.

Her moan is so erotic I almost come in my pants.

I bite down gently and am rewarded by another moan, this one even more sensual than the last. Shuddering, she arches into my hands, into my mouth. Her hair spills down her back.

“More,” she begs, rocking on top of me. “Brody. More.”

Fuck. f**k f**k f**k.

“Grace.”

“Please? Just a little bit more?”

There’s no man on earth who could resist the beautiful woman that he’s completely insane over begging him to keep playing with her t**s.

If there is, he’s a better man than I am.

I slide my hands under her shirt. Her skin is hot, silky. My hands almost span her waist. Moving slowly, loving the sound of her ragged breathing, the hazy, lust-filled look in her eyes, I move my hands up, tracing her skin with the tips of my fingers.

When I cup her breasts, squeezing the fullness of the globes, she groans. I pinch both her n*****s and her eyes slide shut.

“Your mouth,” she rasps. “I need your mouth.”

I’m starting to sweat. My heart thinks it’s a jackhammer. I have no idea how much longer I’ll be able to keep up this little game before I have to go jerk off in the shower, but I decide to find out.

I push up her T-shirt and latch on to a rigid pink n****e with my mouth.

She moans my name.

I’m a warrior. I’m a king. I’m a f*****g god.

I go back and forth between her breasts, sucking and gently biting, stroking and pinching the n****e that isn’t in my mouth. Her t**s are gorgeous, rosy and flushed, incredibly sensitive to my every touch. My d**k is a steel pipe.

A throbbing steel pipe.

Grace rocks faster against it, dry humping me as I fondle her.

Against her breast I whisper, “Are you trying to get yourself off, sweetheart?”

Her only answer is a low, ragged moan.