Page 21 of Rim Job

God…that toned body of his underneath.

I bite my lip and try to stifle a groan as my eyes trace down the fitted dress shirt covering his back, the muscles there flexing and bunching with his movements. I trail my gaze down to the perfect globes of his ass.

Damn, nice ass at that.

He turns, catching me off-guard and looking at his ass.

Shit.

“Like what you see, wife?” His face lights up with a glint of amusement, and that crooked smile curves his perfect sexy lips.

Fuck yes, I like what I see, but I'll never tell him that. Damn it, he’s hot. So. Freaking. Hot.

“Don't call me that,” I snap, embarrassed to be caught ogling the goods. I turn my gaze away from him.

I'm a smart woman. I can control myself.

But damn, how the fuck am I supposed to control myself around Rimmington Banks?

He's like female catnip. Too sexy for his own good and mine.

All I can think of is him naked in that bed, sheets rumpled around every inch of his sexy, muscled body.God, his body.It is a thing of beauty. He must have spent years honing that masterpiece, and I want to see it again, lick every valley, dip, nook and cranny. I can't believe I've finally ended my dry spell, with this gorgeous man nonetheless, and I can't recall a second of it.

I know it was good. The lingering ache between my thighs tells me so. At least drunk Christina still has standards. That's good to know.

The air between us crackles with suppressed sexual tension. I can feel his eyes dragging across my body, so intimately, almost like his fingers caressing my flesh. The hair on the back of my neck prickles with awareness as he nears.

“Your drink, my lady.”

I make the mistake of looking up.

His arm extends out to me, cupping a delicate glass in thick, strong fingers. His grip sure, all male strength.

Ugh…to be that glass.

He brings his drink to his mouth, takes a generous pull, and then his pink devil tongue darts out to flick his plump lower lip, which now glistens under the dimmed lighting. My nipples pebble painfully inside my bra. Those phantom fingers of his trace my flesh and grab my hips as he thrusts into me.

I see it.

A memory.

Rim balls-deep in me from behind, riding me like I'm the prize pony at the Kentucky Derby. His hands full of my hair as he drives me down a one-way street. Destination—Pound Town.

Anger heats my blood.

How could I be stupid and/or drunk enough to get myself into this position in the first place?

I’ve apparently had life-altering sex with the sexiest man I've ever seen and only have a few fuzzy memories as a souvenir.

I want to remember. I want to know. I want to feel his body pressed against mine. His mouth on mine. His cock flexing inside me. I want to have sex with Rim.

Right now.

I've always been careful, regimented, cautious. I plan everything. Hell, I plan my plans. Not tonight. I'm putting myself on the line and taking what I want.

My husband.

I steel my nerves to lay it all out there.

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