Part 30 (2/2)

He dragged the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip. ”Maybe.”

”No maybe about it. You become who you want to be, not who your parents are or were. It's all up to you.”

He looked down at her and she got lost in the beauty of his face, the intensity of his eyes as he studied her.

”You're good for me,” he said.

”Am I? All this time I think you've been the one who's been good for me.”

Jenna pushed Ty onto the sofa in the living room of the suite. She went to the door and dimmed the lights. She came back to stand in front of him and removed her boots and tights, along with her panties, then reached inside her dress and pulled off her bra, leaving her wearing only that smoking-hot black dress. She kneeled on the rug in front of the sofa and crept in between his knees, snaking her fingers along his thighs.

Ty held his breath as Jenna shouldered herself in between his legs.

He should be pleasuring her, not the other way around, but d.a.m.n if he could find a good enough reason to object to this. His d.i.c.k was hard and pressing against the zipper of his pants, and her hands were inching their way to the promised land. No way was he going to stop her.

Her hair looked like midnight silver in the dim light of the room, her eyes smoky and dark as she lifted her lashes only long enough to give him a teasing glimpse before dipping her head and biting his knee.

He laughed. ”You want something to bite? I'll tell you where to bite.”

”I think I'm familiar enough with your anatomy to map it myself. Be patient.”

She sc.r.a.ped her fingernails down his thighs, then reached for his belt buckle, taking her d.a.m.n sweet time undoing the clasp before grasping the zipper. Each movement of the zipper caused him to grit his teeth. She was being deliberately slow when all he wanted to do was jerk the d.a.m.n thing down and release his swollen c.o.c.k.

Once his zipper was undone, she bent and took off his shoes and socks, teasing him by sliding her hands up into his pants.

”For a guy, you have great calves.”

He couldn't even speak. His throat had gone dry. He wanted her hands and her mouth on his d.i.c.k, not waxing poetic about other body parts. But this was her seduction and he was going to have to sit still and deal with it.

She pulled his pants and briefs down over his hips, dragged them off, and threw them on the chair.

His c.o.c.k jutted up, ready for the taking, but she ignored it, instead rising up to undo the bottom b.u.t.ton of his s.h.i.+rt...slowly.

G.o.dd.a.m.n it.

”Let me do that.” He reached for the b.u.t.tons, but she grabbed his hands and laid them on the sofa.

”No. This is my job.”

s.h.i.+t.

She undid the second b.u.t.ton, and the third, then the fourth, and he broke into a sweat. Who knew the act of undoing s.h.i.+rt b.u.t.tons could make him even harder?

When she'd undone the last b.u.t.ton she drew his s.h.i.+rt apart and laid her palms on his chest.

”I love your body, Tyler, the smoothness of your chest.” She mapped her way down his ribs and over his stomach. ”The way your muscles move under my hands.”

His abs jerked when she got the action going lower, antic.i.p.ation building when she swept her hands below his navel. She bent and kissed him there, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s brus.h.i.+ng his c.o.c.k.

And didn't that get his imagination going? He'd love to rub his c.o.c.k head over her sensitive nipples. How would she react to that? He filed that thought away for later.

Right now he focused on her hands, the way she planted them on his thighs. Her touch was light, her nails torture as she lightly sc.r.a.ped them across his inner thighs. His b.a.l.l.s tightened and he gritted his teeth, refusing to beg her to touch him, even though he really wanted her to.

She rose up and laid between his legs, lightly resting her body against him, and pressed her lips to his. He started to wrap his arms around her but she grabbed his hands again and laid them on the couch.

”No. Don't touch me. Let me touch you.”

”This is going to be hard, Jenna.”

She smiled against his lips. ”That's the idea.”

She kissed him, her tongue r.i.m.m.i.n.g his bottom lip before pressing her mouth against his. He tasted wine and something sweet-cinnamon, maybe. She deepened the kiss, cradling his head between her hands and moving her body against his in a seductive tease.

He wanted to touch her, to lift her dress and feel her naked a.s.s. But this was her game and he'd play by her rules...for now. So he kept his hands to himself while she undulated against him and drove him crazy until all the blood-and every thought-rushed to his d.i.c.k.

She moved her lips across his jaw, lightly nipping him there. He growled at her, and she gave him a low, throaty laugh that made his b.a.l.l.s quiver in response.

”Jenna,” he warned.

She ignored him, dragging her tongue along his throat and toward his shoulder. She bit him again, this time harder. He hissed, digging his fingers in the material of the sofa. If he had his way, he'd grab her, hoist her onto his d.i.c.k, and f.u.c.k her until they both came. He was more than ready, and her scent filled the room. This game she played turned her on, too. He could give them what they both wanted.

But he wasn't going to have this his way.

She kissed his chest, lightly sliding her tongue across his nipples. His nipple hardened and she wrapped her teeth around one and tugged, flicking it with her tongue at the same time.

He hissed in a breath, digging his heels into the rug.

She bit down harder, then released his nipple and graced him with a devilish smile.

”Come up here,” he said.

She shook her head and sunk lower, flicked her tongue out, and slid down his stomach. The silky fabric of her dress floated over his c.o.c.k, her body dragging over him.

”You're trying to kill me.”

”I'm trying to please you.”

”It would please me if you'd climb on my d.i.c.k and f.u.c.k me.”

She laughed. ”Later.”

She sank to the carpet and kissed each thigh, each time making her way closer to his c.o.c.k and b.a.l.l.s. He held his breath whenever she got close, then expelled a disappointed sigh when she moved away.

The woman was good at torture.

But when she lapped at his b.a.l.l.s, he let out a low groan, certain he'd died and gone to heaven. And when her tongue blazed a trail from the underside of his c.o.c.k all the way to his c.o.c.k head, he was sure he'd have to do some serious math to keep from blowing his load right then, because he was primed and ready to go off.

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