Page 54 of Hat Trick

Well,then.

“This is your fantasy?” I ask, trying my best not to tremble under the weight of his stare. My dress is hiked up to my stomach, and I don’t even want to contemplate the reality of how I look right now. Messy hair, smudged lipstick, I’m sure. But Marshall studies me like he’s never seen anyone more beautiful, and I . . .melt.

Literally.

My legs fall wide and I reach for him, silently demanding akiss.

An unnamed emotion dances across his face as he meets me in the middle. His hands cup my face and mine go to his chest. He tastes like pie and sex, and there has never been a more singular flavor I wish I could bottle up and keepforever.

“This is my fantasy,” he whispers against mymouth.

He drops to his knees and his hands go to mythighs.

“As isthis.”

The first brush of his lips against my clit is enough to make me see the colors of the rainbow. I make the most ridiculous sounds, and even if I wanted to, there’s no chance that I could stifle the whimpers and themoans.

His tongue traces a line downward, thrusting inside me without preamble. His groan echoes in my ears as I watch him. Eyes shut, he feasts on me like I’m the best meal he’s ever tasted—the one that has been kept from him for so long that he’s starving, almost unforgiving in hiscaresses.

My cries mingle with his groans, and it’s with a burst of embarrassment that I realize I’m practically humping hismouth.

I’d like to pretend that it’s because I haven’t had sex in almost ayear.

But really, it’s the fact that I have never felt more loved than I do in thismoment.

I palm his muscular shoulder. “Sex.”

How eloquent. I mentally smack myself in theforehead.

“What I meant to say is, please sexnow.”

Because that’s anybetter?

Marshall chuckles against me, gives another swirl of his tongue in the most delicious way, and sits back. “Is this your fantasy ormine?”

His tone is nonchalant but there’s no mistaking the hunger in his grayeyes.

“Does it matter?” I ask, yanking on his shoulders so he’ll stand. When he does, my fingers go to the zipper of his jeans and I tug downward. Simultaneously, he makes quick work of his belt like we’re in a rush to the finish line, then shoves his jeans down the length of his powerfullegs.

I know that I saw him on our video chat, but . . .wowza.

Who sayswowza?

Obviously, when faced with the godliness of Marshall Hunt’s body, Ido.

Wowza, wowza,wowza.

Andddd now all I can think about is Marsha, Marsha,Marsha.

“What’s so funny?” Marshall asks. “It’s bad form to laugh at a guy when he’s half-naked.”

That cuts my laughter real quick. I eye his shirt. “I wouldn’t be opposed toallnaked.”

He gestures to my body. “After you,honey.”

He won’t hear a protest out of me. I fumble with the zipper of my dress, and tug that bad boy down, down, down until I’m shimmying out of the material completely and tossing it to the side. My bra is off inseconds.

I should be a lot more nervous than I am—but I just can’t find it in myself to be that way with Marshall, a guy who’s wanted me foryears.

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