Read Online Brawler's Baby: An MMA Mob Romance (Mob City Book 1) by Holly Hart - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Holly Hart
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did.
I'd half-worried that after so many years without a man that maybe things wouldn't work down there, but I needn't have – I was as wet as I'd ever been. My pussy was on fire, quivering as every one of the thousands of nerve endings that surrounded my wet slit screamed out for attention. Conor gave it to them. Slowly, delicately he inserted another finger inside me, and his thick digits satisfied me in a way that my own never could.
When I saw to my own needs, I knew exactly what I was about to do, and what was about to happen.
Conor, though was as unpredictable as he was practiced.
He was like a force of nature, but one that knew exactly how my body would react to his ministrations, and one that never allowed it to relax. Every time I thought the waves of pleasure were about to subside, he altered the angle at which his fingers were probing the soft, delicate folds between my legs, or the speed at which his thumb was pressing against my pulsating clit, and drove me to another height of pleasure.
"I need you," I begged with an urgency in my voice that surprised even me. "Inside me, now."
It didn't seem as though he'd heard me – or if he had, he wasn't paying me any notice. I felt like I was running on Conor's time, not the other way round. He was calling the shots, not me. I felt powerless in the face of this man, who had such power over himself that he could resist a temptation, no – an invitation like that.
He yanked my panties off, tossing them aside in no particular sense of hurry, and the sensation of the old cotton simply brushing against the soft skin of my inner thighs made my entire body squirm with unexpected pleasure, my legs clenched together, and my mouth fell open to let out a gasp of delight. And then Conor did something I simply hadn't expected – he lowered his mouth to the dripping slit between my legs.
I'd been prepared for him to continue his delicious, unbearable assault with his fingers.
I'd been prepared for him to flip me over, pull me onto my knees and enter me from behind.
I'd even been ready, half-willed him to grab the back of my head and pull my head down onto his cock. Hell, I could almost taste the salt in his pre-come on the back of my tongue.
But I hadn't been prepared for this .
My legs fell away as I simply lost control – what little control I had left – of my body. The things Conor could do with his tongue were almost indescribable. It was difficult to put into words how good he made me feel, especially as my head was pushed back with agonizing pleasure and my jaw was clenched in a lost, futile attempts not to cry out with pleasure.
Conor used his tongue with all the precision of a lifelong trumpet player, like the soft, wet muscle had been strengthened and honed over the course of years of practice. And it was all for me.
"Jesus," I whispered. I felt bad for blaspheming, but it was all I could say.
"You're saying it wrong, love," he growled in that knee-clenchingly sexy Irish accent of his. "It's jay-sus…"
I could only moan in reply.
His tongue tickled and teased and tensed and probed at the soft, wet lips of my pussy until I grabbed his head and pushed it in. I couldn't help but think how glad I was that he wasn't the kind of man who felt that going down on a woman was beneath him. Hell, it was almost as though Conor was the complete reverse – he lived for this. Judging by the thick, engorged cock hanging lustily between his legs,
I reached out, desperately searching for the his thick member, but my hands closed only on empty air.
"Please, Conor…" I begged.
I need you inside me , I didn't say. I didn't need to. He got the message.
"You don' ask," he grinned, limbering his way up my body, lingering for a short, sweet second over my breasts, where his mouth closed for a half second around one of my nipples, flicking that well-practiced tongue over my sensitive nubs. "You don' get."
"I'll bear that in mind," I panted, interlacing the fingers on my
I'd half-worried that after so many years without a man that maybe things wouldn't work down there, but I needn't have – I was as wet as I'd ever been. My pussy was on fire, quivering as every one of the thousands of nerve endings that surrounded my wet slit screamed out for attention. Conor gave it to them. Slowly, delicately he inserted another finger inside me, and his thick digits satisfied me in a way that my own never could.
When I saw to my own needs, I knew exactly what I was about to do, and what was about to happen.
Conor, though was as unpredictable as he was practiced.
He was like a force of nature, but one that knew exactly how my body would react to his ministrations, and one that never allowed it to relax. Every time I thought the waves of pleasure were about to subside, he altered the angle at which his fingers were probing the soft, delicate folds between my legs, or the speed at which his thumb was pressing against my pulsating clit, and drove me to another height of pleasure.
"I need you," I begged with an urgency in my voice that surprised even me. "Inside me, now."
It didn't seem as though he'd heard me – or if he had, he wasn't paying me any notice. I felt like I was running on Conor's time, not the other way round. He was calling the shots, not me. I felt powerless in the face of this man, who had such power over himself that he could resist a temptation, no – an invitation like that.
He yanked my panties off, tossing them aside in no particular sense of hurry, and the sensation of the old cotton simply brushing against the soft skin of my inner thighs made my entire body squirm with unexpected pleasure, my legs clenched together, and my mouth fell open to let out a gasp of delight. And then Conor did something I simply hadn't expected – he lowered his mouth to the dripping slit between my legs.
I'd been prepared for him to continue his delicious, unbearable assault with his fingers.
I'd been prepared for him to flip me over, pull me onto my knees and enter me from behind.
I'd even been ready, half-willed him to grab the back of my head and pull my head down onto his cock. Hell, I could almost taste the salt in his pre-come on the back of my tongue.
But I hadn't been prepared for this .
My legs fell away as I simply lost control – what little control I had left – of my body. The things Conor could do with his tongue were almost indescribable. It was difficult to put into words how good he made me feel, especially as my head was pushed back with agonizing pleasure and my jaw was clenched in a lost, futile attempts not to cry out with pleasure.
Conor used his tongue with all the precision of a lifelong trumpet player, like the soft, wet muscle had been strengthened and honed over the course of years of practice. And it was all for me.
"Jesus," I whispered. I felt bad for blaspheming, but it was all I could say.
"You're saying it wrong, love," he growled in that knee-clenchingly sexy Irish accent of his. "It's jay-sus…"
I could only moan in reply.
His tongue tickled and teased and tensed and probed at the soft, wet lips of my pussy until I grabbed his head and pushed it in. I couldn't help but think how glad I was that he wasn't the kind of man who felt that going down on a woman was beneath him. Hell, it was almost as though Conor was the complete reverse – he lived for this. Judging by the thick, engorged cock hanging lustily between his legs,
I reached out, desperately searching for the his thick member, but my hands closed only on empty air.
"Please, Conor…" I begged.
I need you inside me , I didn't say. I didn't need to. He got the message.
"You don' ask," he grinned, limbering his way up my body, lingering for a short, sweet second over my breasts, where his mouth closed for a half second around one of my nipples, flicking that well-practiced tongue over my sensitive nubs. "You don' get."
"I'll bear that in mind," I panted, interlacing the fingers on my
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