Perfect Strangers

21

James chuckles against my mouth. “Is all this wriggling an escape attempt or am I doing something right?”

“You’re fishing for compliments again. That’s a bad habit of yours, Romeo.”

His lips brush against mine, whisper soft. His voice comes very low. “It’s not about compliments. It’s about feedback. I want to make you feel good. I want to know what you like.”

Heat detonates throughout my body, leaving me tongue tied and sweating. The heat wave is followed by panic, because I don’t have any idea what I’m going to put on the list he demanded of all the things I want him to do to me in bed.

Though they’re two of my favorite things, cuddling and foot massage are probably not what he has in mind.

I say meekly, “Oh, okay. Um…this is very nice.”

One of his brows climbs. “Nice? Hmm.”

The hmm sounds vaguely threatening, but I don’t have time to dwell on it. I’m too preoccupied trying not to die at the electric touch of his tongue against my bare stomach.

He pushes my T-shirt up so my bra is exposed and bends his head to my belly, licking and kissing a slow path from the bottom of my bra to the top button of my jeans. I lie frozen, panting, staring glassy-eyed at the ceiling, convinced his tongue is equipped with tiny electrodes due to the pulsing currents of electricity shooting straight down between my legs.

When he sinks his teeth into my flesh, I jump, gasping.

“Too hard?” His voice is muffled by my skin. He kisses where he nipped, his mouth gentle.

“N—no. Just wasn’t ready for it. Ignore me. Busy dying. Proceed.”

He rewards my breathless blathering with an indulgent chuckle and a firm squeeze of his big hands around my waist. He flicks open the button on my jeans with his thumb, then eases the zipper down, nuzzling his nose deep into my panties.

When he gently bites me there, too, I moan.

“That sounds encouraging,” he whispers. “Let’s see if I can get you to do it again.”

He tugs on the waistband of my jeans, sliding them past my hips to the middle of my thighs. Then he pulls down my panties and stares at me, exposed and trembling.

His eyes burning black with desire, he licks the pad of his thumb, slips it between my legs, and presses down on the engorged bud of my c******s.

I suck in a breath, closing my eyes. When he lazily strokes his thumb up and down, I give him the moan he wanted, this one louder than before.

“Tell me what you want, Olivia.”

“I want…” To not have to talk about what I want.

“Be brave. Talk to me.”

His voice is soft and hypnotic. His thumb is wreaking havoc on my body. It’s probably the combination of the two that makes me blurt, “I want your mouth.”

He makes a pleased hum. “Good. Where?”

“You’re killing me,” I say, panting, my eyes squeezed shut. My hips start to flex in time with the up and down strokes of his thumb.

He teases, “You’re a writer. Use a few of all those big words you must know.”

When he slides his thumb inside me, I groan, arching.

“Although I love that sound, it’s not a word. If you don’t talk, I’m going to stop.”

Through gritted teeth, I say, “Bossy!”

He chuckles. “You haven’t seen bossy yet, beautiful, but you will. Here, I’ll start a sentence for you. ‘James, I want you to put your mouth…’”

When I bite my lip and stay silent, he removes his hand. I groan again, this time in protest, and open my eyes.

He’s kneeling over me, staring down with bedroom eyes and a sultry smile. He lifts a hand to my face and slowly presses his thumb past my lips and into my mouth so I taste myself.

Then he kisses me, deeply, until I’m making desperate noises and pawing at him, at all those muscles of his and his warm, smooth skin. I grab his ass and grind my pelvis against his erection.

He moves his cheek against mine and whispers next to my ear, “Do you want my mouth on your p***y, Olivia?”

Dear sweet Jesus in heaven, I’m dying. This is it. I’m dying right here and now.

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

Now that was bossy. His tone is low, rough, and unmistakably dominant, and sends a thrill straight through me. It pulls the words right from my lips.

“I want your mouth on my pussy.”

It’s barely audible, but it does the trick. In one swift move, he slides down my body and puts his face between my legs.

I realize the benefits of frank s****l communication the moment I feel his hot, wet tongue stroke over my c**t.

I cry out, my back bowing from the sofa. He slides his hands under my ass and grips it as he sucks and licks me, making little grunts of masculine satisfaction that are almost unbearably sexy. My jeans aren’t low enough on my legs to allow me to open my thighs wider, but that small restriction seems unbearably sexy, too.

In fact, the only thing that doesn’t seem sexy at the moment is that I’m too aware of my hands. They’re clenched next to my hips. Am I supposed to put them into his hair? Fling my arms out to either side? Play with my boobs?

Obviously, I haven’t had s*x since the dark ages.

“James,” I say breathlessly.

He lifts his head, licking his lips.

God, so f*****g hot. “Since we’re being so verbally expressive, is this a good time to tell you I’m feeling awkward about my hands?”