Hard kisses rain down over my shoulder, along my chest, and he sinks to his knees as he goes. A brief, suckling kiss on my exposed nipple makes my entire body twitch, but he’s moving south, his hands caressing my sides, sliding over my hips. Calloused fingers trail up the backs of my thighs, gathering my skirt, lifting it up.
Oh, God. My breath hitches, an audible sound that catches his attention. Defiance is in his eyes as he glances up at me. I can stop him if I want to. The knowledge is thick and heavy between us. But I can’t move, much less protest. I’m so ready for him, I can’t stand it. If we move, if we stop now, it might all dissolve. Illicit excitement is a drug in my veins. The wall is cold against my heated shoulder blades as I lean into it, trying not to crumple. Still he watches me and inches the skirt up and up. My soaking panties are exposed.
I’m so wet there the air feels cold. As if he scents my desire, his nostrils flare, and he finally looks. He groans as though in pain. “Fuck. Holy f**k.”
My upper thighs are wet.
Fisting my skirt in one massive hand, he uses the other to ease my legs apart. I comply without thought. I want him to touch me so badly that I shake. My cl*t pulses in time with my heartbeat.
His fingers tug aside my panties before his thumb presses into my wet, swollen lips. I bite back a moan, as the world spins around me.
Baylor takes it all in, his thumb slowly stroking, slip-sliding through slick arousal. Holding my gaze, he leans closer, his lips nearly touching my aching flesh. “Stop me.”
My heart is in my throat. I want this so much, my voice is as rough as sand. “Stop yourself.”
He doesn’t. Doesn’t even try. Before I can take my next breath, his mouth is on my sex. White lights pop beneath my lids, and I groan low and long. Jesus. I can’t take it. The pleasure almost hurts.
Gritting my teeth, I grab the short, silken hairs on his head as if he can anchor me, keep me from spiraling into the dark vortex of need that’s pulling me down. But I can’t keep still. My h*ps rock against his mouth, the tight seam of my wrenched aside panties rubbing my ass in a tormenting counterpoint to his tongue.
“Yeah,” he whispers against my skin. “Fuck yeah. Ride my mouth, Jones.”
Crude words that make me burn hotter. Sweat trickles between by br**sts. My thighs tremble, and my sex throbs. I’m whimpering, incoherent, my h*ps writhing. The hall is a dark tunnel, the party loud below us. Our exposed position has my heart threatening to pound out of my chest and highlights what he’s doing to me. The luscious wet sounds he makes, the little groans. The rough stubble on his jaw sanding my inner thigh, the heat of his mouth. He’s feasting on me. His big calloused hand holds my hips. I can’t get away. I’m his. And when his thick finger plunges inside of me, curling in towards some hidden, perfect spot as he sucks hard, I come with a suppressed scream that ravages my throat.
I’m falling into him, and he’s sweeping me up, wrapping my legs around his waist as he stumbles into the room behind us. I’m too far-gone to care if anyone is inside. Cool, quiet darkness greets us.
We land on a couch, Baylor knocking things from it even as he sets me down. My nails clutch at his shirt, tugging it, desperate to get the thing off. I need to see him, touch his skin. With a muffled curse, he yanks the shirt over his head in one move, his hair tufting in wild angles as it comes away. One glimpse of his glorious chest, hard-packed with muscle and gleaming in the pale light from the outside street lamp, is all I get. Then he’s on me, his mouth at my throat, licking, kissing, sucking. Zeroing in on a spot that sends pleasure and heat skittering through my flesh. Fingers rake my shoulders, grab hold of my top and pull it to my waist. He eases back as he does this, his greedy gaze taking in everything. I lift my exposed br**sts. An offering. A plea. I’ve become a wanton thing, needing his touch.
“Christ.” It’s a growl in darkened room. “You’re so...”
His head lowers, steamy breath buffeting my hard nipple, and then his hot, wet mouth draws me in. The way he goes at me. It’s almost lewd, his tongue sliding and flicking over my nipple as if he’s lapping up melting ice cream. I feel it to my core, as if he’s licking there too. His big, warm hand covers my other breast, kneading and shaping it with just enough force to have me restless and shifting beneath him.
When he plucks my throbbing nipple, I rear up, my hands finding his narrow waist, my mouth on the heated skin of his shoulder. He tastes of salt and smells of sex. My knuckles scrape on the buttons of his jeans as I tear at it. And then his c**k is in my hand. I revel in the thick, satin heat of him, a pulsing living thing that twitches in my grasp, before his mouth returns to my neck, his hands grabbing for my skirt. Our heads bump, our breath coming short. We’re booth too greedy, too eager to touch each other.
My panties are wrenched off and cool air hits my exposed skin. Baylor rises up over me, his honed body a work of art in the weak light. His open jeans sag about strong thighs, the jut of his long c**k just visible in the shadows. He’s reaching into his pocket, pulling a wallet out. His hands shake, the wallet threatening to fall as he struggles to get a condom packet free.
“Hurry.” My legs tremble, my sex so swollen it aches. “Now. Now.”
Cursing, he tears at the battered packet. My vision blurs, and I rub a boot-clad foot over his ass. He flinches as though burned, then rolls the condom on, canting his h*ps and holding the root of that big c**k of his in one hand as he does it. God, the way he moves, so confident and just a bit dirty. I can’t wait any longer. I’m empty, so empty.