Page 60 of Arrogant Devil

He stares up at me, and his expression does all the talking, replacing all the hatred Andrew filled my head with. His expression is love, and need, and adoration. His eyes are smoldering as I gently push my underwear down and step out of them.

The moon is nearly full and bright enough that I’m pretty sure he can see every inch of me.

I smirk and point down. “Your turn.”

He laughs. “Oh yeah? So I have to put my ass cheeks on cold metal? Interesting how that worked out.”

“Oh!” I snap. “That’s why I brought the jacket!”

I’d almost forgotten about it.

He stands and I situate the fabric. He tugs off his boxer briefs and my mouth waters. I fist my hands by my sides and do a nice, slow once-over of him. It’s a lot to take in, like a whole lot. He chuckles under his breath and reaches for my hand, tugging me down onto him again. This time, though, he spins me around so my back hits his chest. It’s a new angle, and now we’re both facing out to where the starry sky meets the horizon.

“Lie back against me,” he says, easing me toward him until my head rests against his shoulder. He cradles me there with one hand around my waist and the other tugging my thighs apart. My knees splay out like butterfly wings and then he traces soft circles up the inside of my thigh.

Suddenly I feel exposed. Suddenly I feel like we’re out in the middle of nowhere and anyone could wander up at any second.

“Are you sure we’re alone?”

He chuckles. “It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”

Oh god, what have I done?

He kisses my cheek. “Relax.”

The second half of that word coincides with his finger sliding inside me. My back arches and can we get this man a slow clap because he really knows what he’s doing. He adds a second finger while his thumb skims little circles across my most sensitive area, the spot where all my hopes and dreams live. I wrap my hands around his neck and hold on for dear life. His other hand (the one not currently BLOWING MY MIND) wraps around my chest and palms my breast. Details hit me from every sense: warm, floral summer air, callused hands, hard muscle, smooth wetness. Any residual shyness has flown out the window. I’m splayed out on top of him like I’m on a pool float, basking in the summer sun, but this is better. I’m basking in Jack and I tell him that. He laughs and his chest rumbles and then his fingers start sliding faster.

I was ready for him as soon as we turned off the main road. I was even more ready for him after we started kissing in our underwear. Now—now, I’m a puddle, barely sentient. I’ll come any second if he keeps moving his fingers, pumping them into me like that. My hands turn into tiny hooks as he drags his fingers out slowly and brushes soft circles. It’s like he’s giving me a preview of what’s to come. My toes are already curling. I can feel the warning signs—those first delicious sparks—and then I realize I’m speaking. I’m begging him to stop. I know what it feels like to have him bring me to the brink of oblivion like this. It’s so good—applause-worthy—but I will not be distracted from my end goal. I AM GOING TO HAVE SEX WITH THIS HOT COWBOY IN THE BED OF A PICKUP TRUCK LIKE IT’S MY CONSTITUTIONAL RIGHT.

I tell him this, too, and now we’re both laughing, but I’m not distracting him enough, because he’s teasing my breast in a way that’s making it hard to form complete sentences. I know what he’s doing. He likes this position where he’s in charge and I’m nothing but a gasping mess of want. He promises me he’ll make me come again, but NO. I am done waiting. I push his hand away and spin around, reaching for his crumpled jeans.

“Please tell me you keep a condom in your wallet.”

If not, I’ll fashion one out of something—a corn husk, perhaps woven grass.

My aim is to get his wallet from his back pocket, but I’m so impatient, I just end up pawing at his jeans like an animal who lacks opposable thumbs. We’re laughing as he yanks them away from me and extracts the condom, tears it open, and rolls it on with such precision, such grace. He could go to the Olympics for condom application. It’s obvious he’s done this before, and I know I’m in for a treat. I’d rub my hands together like a little evil mastermind but they’re currently occupied with his very tempting pectoral muscles.

I sit down on his lap and touch every surface I can get my hands on. Yes, I realize I’m so close to having him inside me. I can feel him beneath me, stiff and demanding, but now maybe I’m not in the same hurry I was a second ago. I have him right where I want him. All that hard, tan muscle is just sitting there waiting for me to touch it. That chest is just the tip of the iceberg. His shoulders are something else. I take hold of them and try to shake him. He doesn’t budge. I move my hands down to his biceps and squeeze, trying to see if I can close my fist. I make it halfway around.

“It feels like you’re trying to size up what part of me you want to eat first,” he says with a lazy smile.

I smile wickedly, and then I bend down and sink my teeth into his shoulder, not hard, but he still reaches around and grips my ass. I yelp and release him. It’s tit for tat.

I go back to my exploration. I’m charting unmapped territory, staking claims with tiny Meredith Avery flags. It’s important to be thorough. I don’t let a single inch escape my notice, not his tight abs or the hair that trails down, down, down. He’s tan everywhere, warm everywhere, hard everywhere.

“Not in such a hurry now?” he teases, right before he skims his hands up from my ass and grips my hips. He uses his hold on me to drag me back and forth across his length, and I think one of my eyes starts to twitch. He’s taunting me. He’s wearing a devilish smirk I try to wipe away with a kiss, but that was a mistake, because now he’s still dragging me back and forth and he’s kissing me senseless. He slides his tongue into my mouth and this isn’t even foreplay anymore, this is the best sex I’ve ever had and we aren’t even doing it yet. A ripple shoots up my spine, and I pat his shoulder like I’m tapping out of a fight.

“No…no more of that.”

There are heavy, hot breaths in between each of my words.

This is falling apart. I’m falling apart. I was the one to initiate this little bone-a-rama. I was supposed to be the one rocking his world, but there’s no more delaying. We are having sex right now, and if it kills me, then so be it. I lived a good life. Adios.

“I was going to do this sexy thing where I tease you until you’re weeping with want,” I admit.

“Oh yeah?” he taunts. “Go ahead.”

I spin a little circle on his chest. It’s the manliest thing I’ve ever seen, a broad plane with a sprinkling of dark hair.

“Ha ha. Yeah, right. I think I’ve lost feeling in half my body. My heart is only pumping blood to my nether regions.”

“If it helps, I think you’re sexy as hell.”

My brow perks up. “That does help.”

He grinds his very hard, very erect length against me. It’s a sure sign that he’s as turned on as I am. Maybe my plan didn’t backfire as much as I thought it did?

With a burst of courage, I reach down and grip him in my hand. It’s, ahem, bigger than I’m accustomed to, but hey, that’s what they say about things in Texas.

This is happening. He reaches up to grip my hips in his hands, holding some of my weight for me. It makes it easier to push onto one foot and angle myself over him so that together, we can guide me down until he slides into me the first few inches. I hiss, surprised by the tight fit. I ease off a bit, but the second he’s gone, I crave him again.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

It’s sweet, the idea that if I wasn’t okay, we’d stop. He could crack my pelvis and I would demand he keep going.

“Here,” he says, moving my free hand to his shoulder at the same time he lifts some of my weight off him. Now I have a better angle and I can ease down onto him gentler this time, bit by bit so it’s not painful. It’s earth-shatteringly sexy, being filled up while he stares into my eyes, watching for any sign of pain or hesitation. I clench. He groans. I exhale, relax, and he slides deeper.