Page 112 of Burn for You (Slow Burn 1)
His words were swallowed by another moan when I curled my hand around the enormous bulge straining the front of his briefs and gently squeezed.
Straight-faced, I said, “There seems to be something requiring attention in your underwear, Mr. Boudreaux. Judging by the size of engorgement, it could be a medical emergency. Shall I have a look?”
He looked like he was going to pass out. He said faintly, “Yes, nurse. Please do.”
It took a geologic epoch for me to pull down his briefs because I was enjoying his expression too much to go any faster. When I finally tore my gaze away from his and looked down, I gasped.
“Holy guacamole,” I breathed, floored by the sheer size and grandeur of Jackson’s jutting erection. “Mr. Boudreaux. This is life-threatening.”
In a strangled voice, he said, “Perhaps . . . you should administer . . . oral treatment?”
I nodded. “I concur. Excellent diagnosis.”
Then I applied my mouth and thrilled to the sound of Jackson’s hoarse gasp.
He was too big to fit more than a few inches into my mouth, but I made up for it with both my hands, which I wrapped around his shaft and stroked in tandem with my tongue. His shaking hands cupped my head. His breathing was labored. After I’d established a rhythm, Jackson matched it with gentle thrusts of his pelvis, each one working a soft groan from his chest.
He was ridiculously large, but I loved the way he tasted and smelled. All that masculine warmth and musk. Delicious. I opened my throat, testing my endurance, and was rewarded with Jackson barking, “Fuck!” His fingers twitched against my scalp.
So of course I had to do it again. And again.
And again.
He sucked in a breath like a hiss between his teeth. He warned, “Bianca.”
I looked up at him. His eyes were barely open. His face was flushed. His chest was heaving. I felt like a superhero.
I said, “Hmm. I can’t decide if I want to blow you until you come and then fu—”
In one swift move, Jackson had me on my back with my legs spread around his waist and my wrists pinned against the pillow. He kissed me, hard, holding nothing back.
I rocked my hips against the straining heat of his erection, and he bit my lower lip.
“Are you trying to drive me crazy?” he hissed, eyes blazing.
“Yes,” I said. “I want the Beast unleashed. I want both of us unleashed. I want it to be wild.”
His eyes closed briefly. He muttered to himself, “Thank God,” then kissed me again, so hard it left me breathless and bruised.
A small table sat beside the bed. He reached over me, grabbed his wallet, pulled something out. A rip of foil and I knew we were covered.
“Good thinking, Mr. Boudreaux.” I gasped as his heat and harness slid into me. Then I couldn’t talk anymore because he flexed his hips and drove himself deep inside.
My hips rose to meet his. My neck arched. My eyes slid shut. I heard his rough whisper against my ear like it was coming from somewhere very far away.
“Bianca. My Bianca. I knew we’d fit just right.”
Then he dropped his mouth to my neck and started to fuck me.
It wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t controlled, but it was everything I wanted and needed. I praised him with such loud, wanton moans I probably scared Droopy Dog half to death as he heard the echoes down the halls.
Jackson still had on his jeans, which somehow made everything even hotter. The waistband was bunched around his ass. I shoved it down farther so I could grip those gloriously firm globes as he pumped hard into me, grunting and swearing.
“So good so amazing oh God don’t stop,” I babbled, writhing beneath him.
He panted. “I can’t—we have to—slow down—”
I hollered, “If you stop, you die!”
