Page 46 of Red Hot Harmony

“What about now?” My fingers found their way to his navel, feeling the soft trail of hair there, the echo of the artery’s thrum.

“Ah—yes.” A pause. “At what point am I allowed to reciprocate, or is this entirely FLR?”

“The fact that you know what FLR stands for tells me you’re not particularly against it?”

“Hey, I’m a secret feminist.” He grabbed my chin lightly and angled my face to meet his. “Beautiful, independent woman dominating me in bed? What could be sexier?”

“I don’t know if anyone is dominating anyone tonight, but it’s been a very long time since I’ve been with someone. I plan on enjoying this on my terms.”

“Oh, I plan on making sure you’re enjoying this too, mama.” Hot, uneven bursts of breath fanned my cheeks. He stared down at me, expression unguarded, emotions exposed.

This glimpse of vulnerability tugged and pulled on something inside me.

Whatever logic I had left was suddenly out the window. That invisible barrier cracked, sweeping us up. My earlier plot to keep things at my pace was crumbling under the onslaught of our furious craving for one another.

He crowded me then, nudged me backward, cupped my face, laid me down against the cool covers. As if waiting wasn’t an option anymore.

The mattress dipped beneath the combined weight of our bodies. There was a rustle of denim over the bedspread, boots hitting the floor.

Thud.

Thud.

The soft shimmer of the city lights danced across his cheek and his shoulder, highlighting his curves and angles.

My arms came around his waist to his back, and the heel of my right hand followed the graceful dip of his spine. Lower and lower.

“You can totally grab my ass,” he said when my movement died, his voice husky and guttural but with a hint of a smirk.

And I did just that. I slipped my palm into his jeans and squeezed his butt cheek, the delicate fabric of his underwear being a total nuisance.

“Yes,” he muttered, eyes hooded. “That’s exactly how my ass should be handled.”

We shared a soft laugh then.

I shifted, hooking my leg over his thigh, and rubbed myself against his undeniably rock-solid erection. The friction of our bodies where they were intimately connected made everything more intense. Made my desire burn hotter. Totally ruined my plan to enjoy this slowly.

We kissed again. Long and hard. There was the pull of our lips, the graze of our teeth. Small sounds. Fingers tangled in hair. Knees bumping and limbs sliding against the covers.

Somehow, my bra was gone. Only my panties remained. Even then, not for long. His hands found the lace, dragged the modest piece of fabric down my legs.

Slowly.

Expertly.

He then started kissing my foot, making his way back up to my knee and my inner thigh. His tongue circled my center, teasing and teasing until I couldn’t take it anymore. The need pulled me over and under like a wild tidal wave.

“For fuck’s sake, do it already,” I muttered, my eyes closing, my limbs shaking from anticipation.

He obeyed.

It was everything I thought it would be...and better. Wet, deft strokes of his tongue that only made me whimper for more. Beg for more. My hands were in his hair, then grasping the bed covers because I didn’t trust myself enough not to hurt him in the heated moment of passion. Back arched and body wholly at his mercy, I cursed.

Something I usually never did.

But Dante Martinez was giving me what appeared to be the best oral of my life and since nonexplicit words failed to convey the meaning of what I was feeling, I had to resort to the dirty ones.

The flicks of his tongue became faster and concentrated exclusively on my clit.

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