Page 11 of Mr. Wicked

My hands rose high above her head, my arms extended, creating a cage.

One I wanted to keep her in.

But one that, if she wanted to escape, she could.

Except that was the furthest thing from her mind, because she was moaning into my mouth and tracing my chest, learning the curves of my pecs, the ridges of my abs, feeling over my shirt the trail of hair that led to my cock.

I tasted her exhales, swallowing each one, experiencing the heat lift through her body until a chime echoed inside the elevator, letting me know we’d arrived, and I rushed her into my condo.

I wasted no time lifting her onto my kitchen island, spreading her legs over the stone so I could stand between them.

The moment she was seated, she began to look around the space and whispered, “What a magnificent kitchen. I would die to cook in here.” As her gaze returned to me, it was filled with hunger and desire. “How about I make us a fabulous breakfast in the morning?”

I nuzzled her neck, moaning. “How about we just focus on right now?”

She giggled, and when I looked at her again, her gaze was filled with hunger and desire. “You’re a man of your word.”

“And I’m just getting started.”

I gripped the bottom of her tank and pulled it over her head, letting the fabric fall to the floor as I admired her bra.

Red.

Satin.

The same shade she’d turned when I kissed her at the bar.

I couldn’t have picked a better color myself. It looked incredible on her.

I unclasped the back, the bra joining her tank on the floor, and I instantly got to work on her shorts, popping the button, lowering the zipper, and shimmying the heavy material down her thighs.

Her panties matched her bra.

And my hard-on fucking raged.

Her body was even better than I’d suspected. Toned. Tanned. Tits that were small, perky, a size no bigger than my palm with light-pink, pebbled nipples begging for my tongue. A tiny, narrow waist with hips that dipped toward her incredible ass.

Curves I wanted to kiss.

Skin I wanted to lick.

A body I wanted to get lost in.

“My God, Jovana, you’re perfect. Spread your legs,” I ordered.

Her eyes hadn’t left mine since her first piece of clothing had come off.

“They’re wide—”

“Wider.”

She slid them apart more, and I took a step back to admire the view.

Bare.

Tight.

A pussy that didn’t just demand my tongue but deserved it.

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