Page 19 of Jerk Neighbor

It wasn’t only his boldness. It was the caressing touch, absent of groping. The enjoyment he was taking in feeling her; it made her want to push herself into his hand. So she did.

He let out a breathy grunt, and she felt a sharp tingle—his thumb, teasingly testing the nipple. Which got hard. Agonizingly hard. Again and again, he tweaked it, and each time Paula lost more of her sanity. “You’re not slapping me,” he panted.

“I’m trying one out in my mind,” she improvised, to cover her reaction.

“In your mind? A slap?”

“Yeah...testing it out. Kind of a—a slap test of all the systems.”

“I see. A slap test.” Two fingers took her nipple and pinched it. “And what’s the verdict of your test?”

“Mmm.” Her eyes had drifted shut, and it was hard to talk.

“This is insane.” Bastian captured her earlobe with his teeth. Lightning, hot and pleasurable, whipped through her, jarring along her spine and made her want to go all boa constrictor on him.

Before she could mobilize herself to do exactly that, Bastian’s hand left her breast to grasp her hip, and abruptly she was pressed close, her curves smashed into his body, which was harder and yummier than gingersnaps. “Why do you taste like this?” he muttered.

“Like what?” she whispered.

He didn’t answer. He just picked her up, carried her around the loveseat, and plopped her down on the cushions. And she, normally the epitome of sanity and rationality, acted like a limp love doll and let him.

He stared into her eyes, his pupils enormous. “I want to see you. Does that insult you?”

“No.”

His gaze lowered; his teeth clamped down on the corner of his mouth. And then he was crouching, rolling up her sweater, lifting it over her chest, baring one single breast.

“Now?” he breathed raggedly.

“Now what?”

“Are you insulted?”

She couldn’t answer, robbed of breath by pure excitement. Having him look at her like that, feeling the cool draft of air wash over her breast...she couldn’t help but arch, and it was undeniably the arch of invitation. The arch of wantonness. The arch of what-the-hell-was-wrong-with-her-she-was-going-to-regret-this.

“Paula? Are you...”

“No, I’m not. Not insulted. Not.”

“And the slap test?”

“Completed.”

“How about running another one.”

“A what?”

He plucked at her, over and over. “Any slapping now?”

“No, I’m testing the core functionality, and...oh, damn!”

“How does your core function if I suck this into my mouth?”

“It depends on...the mode...oh, my god, I’m all out of witty comebacks.” Her voice was slurred.

“I want my mouth here, on you, here, right here.” He cupped her, pinched, pulled. “Tell me yes, tell me yes...”

“Do it.” She’d barely gotten the words out before her breast was in his mouth. Not just the tip; nope, he’d opened wide and swallowed as much of her as he could, and he was apparently starving. This man was metro and sophisticated and controlled, but right now he was a beast settling in to feast. Her toes curled. She discovered her own hand clutching the back of his head, tangled in his hair.

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