Hot Moves. Kristin Hardy
outline of his cock as she got higher. She reached for his belt buckle.
He gave her a quick, startled glance. “What are you doing?”
“Eyes on the road.” She pulled his zipper down. His cock, when she pulled it out, was heavy in her hand, already half hard and getting more so by the second. She let out a long, uneven breath. “Drive carefully,” she told him, and unfastened her seatbelt so that she could lean across and put her mouth on him.
She’d always loved giving blowjobs, that hard immediacy, that complete and utter connection to a man’s arousal. It had been so long, though. Nerves warred with anticipation. And then the fascination took over. Brady’s cock was long and stiff, thickest just below the head. She nuzzled it and it bobbled against her with urgency. Experimentally, she gave him a lick and was rewarded with the sound of his breath hissing in.
And she abandoned subtlety and slid it into her mouth, taking him deep and fast so that she wrenched a groan out of him.
HE WAS GOING TO LOSE IT right there, Brady thought. Thea slid his cock in and out of the liquid warmth and it was all he could do to keep from nudging his hips toward her. And he was glad it was late at night with only a handful of cars on the road because suddenly he didn’t give a damn about his lane or his signals or anything but the slick wet heat of her mouth and the way her tongue wrapped around his shaft with every bob of her head, stroking along the underside of his cock, inching him closer and closer to orgasm with every motion.
She wrapped her hand around his shaft and squeezed and he groaned again. And then she started to suck, keeping her head still, running her hand up and down.
And god, it was all he could do to hold on. He concentrated on the road and he recited batting averages in his head and the peaks of the Cascades and named every type of hop and malt he knew because there was no way, no way he was going to let himself come before he’d gotten her home, before he’d watched her face as she’d orgasmed, before she was underneath him, naked, abandoned and wrapped around him. Before he’d buried himself deep inside her.
There would be time, he thought, grinding his teeth as he drove up to his house. There would be time for everything.
Provided his molars held out.
Then he was turning off the engine and gingerly easing his aching cock back into his jeans.
The house was dark but he didn’t care. All he was looking for was to get inside as quickly as possible. It needed to happen fast.
More. The demand drummed in his temples as they went through the side door. Moonlight streaming through the windows formed silver trapezoids on the linoleum of a kitchen floor.
“Roommates?” she asked as he led her into the living room with its broad bay window.
“Not unless you count my kayak.”
“Good.” And she flowed up against him, sliding her hands up under his shirt, ravenous for the feel of his body.
“You were so hot tonight. I saw you out there dancing and I thought I was going to die,” Brady whispered against the side of her throat. “All I could do was watch you move and think about what you’d look like if you were out of this dress.”
He trailed his fingertips around her shoulders to the nape of her neck where the red silk came together. His lips licked her collarbones. “And what you would say if I just started undoing it.” He heard the growl of the zipper and felt her shiver as his fingertips traced the sliver of exposed skin. He purposely slowed his touch, made it excruciatingly slow and deliberate, as though he had all the time in the world.
She made an impatient noise.
He slipped his fingers inside the open back of her dress. “What’s your rush? We’ve got all night.”
SHE COULDN’T TELL HIM that her rush was because she was unable to believe it was real, that she wanted to experience it all before she woke up and realized it was all a dream. That was how it always went. She had girlfriends like Delaney who talked about the orgasms they had in their dreams. It never worked that way for Thea. Oh, sometimes she’d dream of arousal, maybe even of kissing or touching a man. The urgency would build, the anticipation. And then, somehow she’d find herself somewhere else and they’d be gone, no matter how hard she looked, leaving her to wake, empty and wanting.
But Brady’s hands were on her, his fingers tracing the widening triangle at the back of her dress as the fabric fell away. And finally it was completely open, loose against her. He teased them both, his fingertips tracing the groove of her spine, the point where her back flared out to the rounded curve of her ass. And then he slipped his hands up the front of her, tracing over her flat belly, over the slight rise of breasts and into the deep vee of skin revealed by the neckline of her dress.
Thea shivered. He felt goose bumps rise in the wake of his fingertips as they brushed over the sensitive skin. He bent down and traced the line of her neck with the tip of his tongue, searching out the hollow at the base of her throat.
She ran her fingers up into his hair. And with a quick shrug of her shoulders, sent the dress slipping down her arms and cascading to the floor.
“OH, HONEY.” And Brady’s mouth went bone dry. There was the pool of red fabric on the floor and there was Thea, wearing nothing else save a ridiculously small scrap of something silky at her hips and her red stilettos. She was long and lean and lovely, sleek and strong and slightly curved. And he wanted to just stare because she was so beautiful, he wanted to devour her, run his hands and tongue over every inch of her at the same time. So he stood, helpless, while she gave one of those knowing smiles, those female smiles of wisdom as old as the hills and walked forward to slide her fingers under his shirt.
“I think you’re overdressed.” She circled around behind him. “Yes, definitely overdressed,” she murmured and pulled his shirt off over his head.
And then he felt her move up to press her bare breasts against his back and he swore the top of his head was going to blow off. Thea gave a throaty laugh at the noise he made and stepped away. “Now who’s impatient?” She trailed her fingers down his lats as she moved away. “Anyway, I don’t know what you’re so upset about. You’re the one who’s behind. Maybe you ought to get out of those jeans.”
She turned around and walked over to flop down on the couch, lying flat with her arms crossed under her head and her legs kicked up over the arm, those mile-high red heels still on.
Brady watched her a minute, poleaxed.
“I’m waiting,” she said.
Galvanized into action, he stripped off the rest of his clothes and crossed to the couch. Now he was the one who was shaking, out of eagerness. He didn’t know where to start. He wanted every bit of her at once.
THEN SHE LOOKED UP at him, dark-eyed and tempting, and bit her lip. “Are you going to touch me or do I need to do it myself?” she asked, sliding her fingertips down her throat.
Brady dropped to his knees beside the couch and put his hand over hers to stop it. “I think I can take it from there.”
And he did know how to take it, she thought, closing her eyes to better savor the sensations as he licked his way down her chest and over the slight curve of her breasts. The strands of his hair trailed over her skin, making her shiver, making her nipples ache to be touched. He took his time, though, kissing his way inward in a spiral, making her wait, lingering over it while he traced circles over her other breast with his fingertips.
Now it was she who made the inarticulate noise of need. But he wouldn’t be hurried. Instead, he circled his way slowly up the peaks and she watched as her nipples transformed to hard red beads, watched her breasts swell.
Then she closed her eyes and lay her head back to feel as he drew first one nipple, then the other into the wet heat of his mouth, rubbing with his tongue, biting lightly with his teeth to send the sharp twinge through her, followed by slick caresses that had her arching and gasping.
And he moved lower