Page 90 of The Fixer

“I want to feel your skin against mine,” she purred.

He did too, but he needed to rein himself in so he didn’t lose his mind and his load. The thought of her giving over control, of her eventually coming unglued because ofhimwhipped up a frenzy of lust inside him.

With great restraint, he stood upright, putting inches of daylight between them, and unzipped his hoodie. “Take it off.” Without a word of protest, she slid the sweatshirt off his shoulders and down his arms while he watched.

The garment hit the floor. “Now take off my shirt,” he ordered.

She tugged at the hem of his T-shirt where it was tucked into his jeans, and he seized the opportunity to toy with her stiff peaks. Cock straining and aching at the thought of getting his mouth on that silky skin, he watched his fingers roll and pinch her pearled buds, watched her chest stutter when he increased the pressure. A gentle touch was not what got this woman’s body rocking.

Frustrated that she couldn’t loosen the T-shirt, she went for his belt, her nimble fingers making quick work of the buckle, but he put his hands on hers and stopped her. “Not yet. Only the shirt right now.”

She smirked at him. “Then this is going to take all night.”

Grasping the tee behind his neck, he yanked it over his head in one move. No sooner had it gone sailing across the room than her hands were on him, running over his pecs, circling his nipples, tracing his abs.

“You’re beautiful,” she murmured. His mind was a little too muddled to tell her that washisline. Instead, he let his hands dangle at his sides, let her inquisitive fingers explore, trying not to shudder under her touch. His skin sizzled in places and broke out in goose bumps in others. He was consumed by a need for more—more of her hands on him, more of her bare skin under his.

When she snaked a hand down and began stroking his dick through his jeans, he clenched his jaw.

“You’re so big,” she whispered, a touch of surprise in her voice. His ego shot to the moon.

“It’s all for you,” he gritted out. “But not yet.”

He moved her hand away, grasped her upper arms, and spun her so she faced the bed. His chest slid against her back. Dropping his mouth to her shoulder, he worked a slow trail of kisses up her neck while his hands cupped her breasts, kneading, tugging, alternating between rough and rougher as he gauged what flipped her switches. He wanted to know everything about this woman. He wanted to turn her inside out and make her unravel in every way possible.

Her breathing hitched, the sounds coming from her harsher, and it drove the blaze inside him to spark hotter, higher. He glided one hand down the back of her thigh and lifted her leg, planting her foot on the edge of the mattress while he pushed her knee to the outside, splaying her open. While one hand toyed with her tits, his mouth worked over the sensitive skin on her neck below her ear. He inched his fingers toward her seam, not quite reaching, teasing with the threat of a touch, until she was bucking against air. He kept his eyes open, watching her gorgeous body move.

Fuck, the noises she made!

The sight and sounds made his balls ache, made his tip leak. He might have been in control at that moment, intent on getting her off, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

Cupping between her legs, he kept his touch light, his fingers still. “What do you want, princess?”

A frustrated moan rolled through her, and she threw her head side to side against his chest, arching her back. One hand reached behind his head, yanking his hair by the roots, and her other one languidly stroked the breast he wasn’t fondling.

That was next-levelhot.He didn’t want to break the spell.

He watched, mesmerized, and began mimicking her movements. Her pleasure mounted, and soon she was grinding against his hand where he still cupped her.

“Charlie, I need … I …”

“Do you want my fingers inside you?”

Another moan, coupled with a garbled, needy plea.

“I need to hear you, baby. Do you need my fingers fucking you?”

The instant the word “fucking” left his lips, her body responded with a series of undulations, like the waving movements traveling up and down a belly dancer’s body.

“Yessss,” she cried out.

“Yes, what? Tell me what you want, Joy.” His voice was strained, like the rest of him.

He dragged his fingers along her entrance, coating them. She was fucking drenched, and his entire body shook with the need to slide inside her.

He might have been tormenting her, but it was no more than he was torturing himself.

Finally, she gasped, “I want your fingers inside me.Please.”

---