Page 67 of Imperfect Player

“Is that what you want, sunshine?”

His fingers dance at the waistline of his jeans, toying with the button, waiting for my consent.

“Yes.”

Naked, a picture of perfection, except for one scar along the right side of his torso. Whatever happened, it looks like it was painful.

Tonight isn’t a night about pain, so I don’t ask the question that burns my lips.

My eyes fall to his dick. The massive appendage that I had assumed would be impressive, but never would have dreamed to be this.

The corners of his lips quirks up into a wicked smile when he catches me staring.

All I can think is that this is actually going to happen. He’s going to fuck me. He’s going to make me lose control and then probably do it again. I can see it in his smile. His eyes. In the erect appendage that’s staring me in the face.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promises.

“Don’t be.”

He emits a low growl before reaching for me. Hands, rough against my hips, tear at the denim shorts, yanking them from my body. The tiny, lace thong the only thing left between him, me, and sex.

“Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are?”

He kneels on the bed, the mattress beneath me dipping as his body moves over mine, his hands sliding up my sides, pushing the jersey with them until it slides over my head and off my arms. He pins me there, arms above my head with just one of his strong hands as the other moves lower to toy with the pink lace on my bra, fingers brushing over my pebbled nipple.

His body hovers over mine, lips so damn close I can taste them. Feeling completely powerless, I suck my bottom lip in between my teeth.

“Fuck,” he growls as he watches me for a moment before searing me with the kiss of all kisses.

The kiss doesn’t stop at my lips, but trails across my body, down my neck, my breast, until he reaches my core and the soaked silk that barely covers it.

He puckers his lips – and blows. The heat of his breath mixed with my wet skin sends a shiver through me. I can feel him smile against me, before moving the lace to the side.

His hot, wet tongue laps over my core, swirling around my clit.

The hands his descent had forced him to release fist the sheets at my sides.

The feel of his tongue against me is amazing, but it’s not enough. I want to protest, but I don’t. His words, I’m going to worship you, run through my mind.

So I let him do that. I let him savor away, enjoying every lick, every suck, every nip. Each leaves my nerve endings on the verge of explosion. I’m so sensitive, so stimulated that I can’t do much of anything except enjoy the moment and buck my hips up to beg for more.

He presses a finger inside of me, giving me the more I need.

“Yes,” I cry out at the feeling of his finger moving in and out of me.

It’s what I had been begging for, but it still isn’t enough. As though he can read my mind, he pulls the one finger out and replaces it with two.

The bedding curls under my fingers as I grip it tightly, eyes rolling back in my head. A toe-curling, body-burning, soul-completing orgasm hits me.

My body spasms, my core tightens, and his name, oh God, his name is screamed out in the most utter pleasure I’ve ever experienced. The best orgasm I’ve ever experienced. Given to me by a man who looks all too pleased with himself for doing it.

He’s kneeling between my parted, weak thighs, the remnants of my soaked core still on his face. Then the bed shifts, and he’s gone.

I want to ask what he’s doing, where he’s going, demand that he come back, but I’m still coming down from my high and unable to utter a word let alone speak a full sentence.

He returns, condom in his hand. “Almost forgot.”

Thankfully he hadn’t because I had. Swept up in the moment, in the whirlwind this night turned into, a condom hadn’t even dawned on me.

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