Page 31 of Blindsided By You

“You can fuck me Geordie,” she breathes. “Any way you want.”

With those four extra words, I know what’s happening here, and it only encourages my cock to stand at full attention, pressing so damn tight against my boxer briefs it’s painful.

Jenna’s not in charge here. I am. She’s abandoning control, offering it to me. It’s dizzying and thrilling.

All my imaginings of succumbing to her—allowing her to use me, accepting whatever direction she chose to satisfy her need—tumbleaway. Jenna wants me to take her and I’m going to take great pleasure in doing so.

With careful hands, I unzip her jeans and shimmy them down roughly, trying not to pounce on the tiny triangle of lace held up by only a thin string across those sumptuous hips. She steps out of the jeans, kicking them aside, while I remove my own, only pausing to retrieve my wallet.

I leaf through it, finding a couple of condoms tucked in there, and toss them onto a bedside table. Three. Hopefully, it will be enough, but I’m not sure. We’ve got hours ahead of us, and I doubt once will be enough to satisfy this burning need consuming us.

I tug her towards me, reaching a finger to the wispy lace panties, eager to finish unwrapping the beautiful gift I’ve been given, as she presses her warm wet mouth to mine. With my hand, I boldly seek the other wetness I can scent drifting from between those golden thighs, her desire for me tangible in the air.

Greedily I reach towards it, my hand frantic now, desperate to meet her arousal with the pleasure she deserves and I so willingly offer. I rip the white lace aside, a small annoying obstacle removed, leaving her exposed and beautifully naked before me.

She’s a fucking goddess of honeyed curves and soft molten skin. I could be hallucinating; the heat, the heavy air, the smells of musk and heady flowers. Maybe I’m back in some tropical hellhole and this is just a vision sent to me in my delirium. But, no, my dream woman speaks—and there’s a very real look of shock on her face, jolting me into the present.

Chapter 16

JENNA

There’satearingsoundas Geordie’s long fingers grapple with the lace. I pull away, staring down at the tiny white puddle on the floor. I was rather fond of that one—pretty and expensive, too—but it’s too late now. It’s history.

“Geordie,” I yelp out.

“Christ, sorry,” he says, releasing me. A rueful grin, so reminiscent of the boy I knew, breaks across his flushed face. “You did say I could do anything I want.” He huffs out a laugh like he’s not at all sorry.

“Yeah, although I didn’t imagine that would involve destroying my underwear,” I tease.

“Oh, believe me, it’s not only underwear I’m going to destroy tonight.” His eyes darken and his voice drops back to that deep baritone, all man, nothing boyish in the promise. “You wanna get rid of mine, too?” He flicks a finger at his waistband, pulling it out teasingly, and I almost groan at the thought of uncovering what lies beneath, very evident in the solid bulge.

I nod, suddenly a little shy, but I don’t hesitate, sliding the boxer briefs off his narrow hips, down those muscular legs to his ankleswhere he steps out of them. He pauses, as if to allow me a moment to admire him, and shamelessly, I do.

Oh, I’ve seen it all before. With the Highlanders, I usually kept out of the locker room, but occasionally I’d arrive unannounced on some urgent mission. The boys were mostly quick to cover up, respectful, understanding I was there doing my job not to ogle them, but sometimes I’d catch an eyeful. Some pants-less and towel-less rugby player, not the least bit modest, standing unashamedly with all his junk on full display, as if challenging me to look down or to flinch away. I’d maintain professionalism—eyes up, locked on faces—carrying on as if I wasn’t actually speaking with a naked man.

Tonight, I’m going to savour the beauty of an unclothed Geordie MacDonald standing in the middle of my hotel suite, dominating the space. He’s tall, although slightly less than ideal for a flanker—around six-foot, maybe six-one—and long-legged, like a young thoroughbred. My eyes rove up the length of him, taking in the lean muscle, lingering on the large erection, prominent in amongst a nest of golden hair. I swallow at the thought of taking that thickness and length inside me.

I follow the line of hairs upwards, narrowing where it’s flanked by taut abs, before bursting into springy curls between well-developed pecs. His broad shoulders and powerful upper body speak of dedication. Amateur player or not, he trains seriously.

I suck in a breath. The realisation I’ve surrendered control to him fires heat between my legs.

He advances with determination, one hand at my waist, another prowling around my neck, insisting my body meet his. He draws me in, crushing my breasts against his firm chest; the peaked nipples pebbled against my skin, and pressed to my belly, the hard lengthof him rearing up between us. I shiver in anticipation, want raging inside me like a firestorm. My hands, looped behind his neck, urge him forward, desperate for him to devour me with another kiss.

With mouth locked on mine, lips insistent, tongue probing, he edges me backwards across the room, leading me like his dance partner. As energy rises between us, a sharp current lighting up my every nerve ending, our pace quickens—a slow waltz transforming into a dramatic tango. My veins pulse and there’s an aching burn in my centre. I’m immersed in him, drunk with the taste of his tongue, intoxicated by his smell, the musk of his arousal blending with the freshness of aftershave, and the pressure of his body enveloping me as we stumble and whirl.

Then with an unexpected bang, there’s a sudden press of wood behind my thighs. We’ve come up hard against a desk, but Geordie immediately turns this obstacle into an opportunity, sweeping off a notepad lying there, thrusting a chair aside. He clasps my bum, giving it an appreciative knead, before lifting me onto the desktop.

“You know what, Jenna? I’m going to fuck you on this desk,” he growls. “But first, spread wide for me, sweetheart.”

He gives me a light shove, and I do as he demands, leaning back, thighs opening before him. I feel wetness erupt between my legs as he gazes down at me, licking at his lips, tongue flickering lazily, as if in contemplation of its next move.

It’s the only warning I get before his mouth is on me. Starting at one nipple, he taunts it, while one long finger plunges inside me, the thrust rocking me backwards. I moan as my muscles grab around it, seeking the pressure. He responds with a second finger, twisting and curling to find the perfect spot, leaving me grinding against hishand, writhing in pleasure, as his thumb circles my clit. I’m already chasing the sensation, arching to press closer.

One strong arm wraps around my waist, holding me in place, suspended. The splayed fingers say ‘I’ve got you, I won’t let you fall’.

His mouth leaves my heated nipples and slides down my stomach. He kneels before me, as if I’m a queen, him my willing subject. But the roles are reversed here—he’s giving the orders, and it totally turns me on. Geordie nips at me, teeth first teasing the crease above my hipbone, then moving to my thigh, deliciously inching closer to the place where I’m most desperate for his touch.

His mouth descends on my clit, replacing his thumb with an exquisite mixture of licking and sucking, as if he’s devouring me. Hands braced on the table, I lean back further, opening my body to him. He hums with satisfaction as I lose control, my voice no longer my own. The feral yowls and mewls only encourage him further. Every time I open my eyes, it’s as if Geordie knows, and his gaze flickers up to me. Without missing a beat of what he’s doing with his mouth and hand, his eyes are dreamy, as if spellbound.

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