Read Online Loves Me, Loves Me Knot by Heidi Betts - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Heidi Betts
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again to wash away any possible sting.
His breaths were coming in shorter pants now, his body stirring under her sensual ministrations. Beneath her breasts, his belly went concave as his diaphragm tightened.
Her own nipples pebbled at the knowledge that she was turning him on. He might not have expected to land in her bed, but he was going to enjoy himself—of that she had no doubt.
She kissed her way down his sternum, her breath whispering over the light streak of hair that led from his navel to his groin. His penis was fully erect now, responding to her every touch and caress, and hungry to be freed from the confinement of his briefs—an appeal she was more than happy to satisfy.
Pushing them down to join the tangle of denim near his ankles, she shifted to straddle his knees rather than his thighs. It was a shame he was on his back and had to stay that way for the duration because she wouldhave liked to see his rear end, maybe give it a squeeze or take a nice, ripe bite out of it the way she used to.
He’d always had a world-class butt. The kind you could bounce quarters off of—something she knew as fact because she’d tried it a time or two while they were married. He’d put up a fight, acted embarrassed by her fascination with his backside, but had eventually given in.
Forever after, when he was feeling particularly frisky, he’d hand her a quarter and ask if she wanted to put it to good use. Only once, when she’d been mad at him and he’d been arrogantly pressing his luck to begin with, had she threatened to do more with the coin than simply bounce it off his tight ass.
Then again, the view from the front wasn’t exactly a scene out of
Fright Night
. There were no two ways about it—Gage Marshall was a god. An Adonis in blue jeans and tight black tees. Or in this case, nothing but his birthday suit, a few gorgeous tattoos, and the long, feathery restraints wound around his wrists and ankles.
She took in all of that, every plane and angle, every bulge of muscle and inch of sun-bronzed skin. It was ridiculous for her to be nervous about making love to him considering how many times she’d been with him in the past, but that didn’t keep cocoons of anxiety from unfurling low in her belly.
Maybe it had been too long.
Maybe she’d been missing and wanting him all this time more than even she had realized.
That wasn’t something she particularly wanted to contemplate at the moment, however. It was too deep, too raw, and if she hadn’t figured out her feelings forhim in the last year and a half they’d been divorced or the months before when she’d been torn over whether to file or not, then she wasn’t likely to have some amazing epiphany in the next five minutes.
So she pushed that aside, tamped it down and buried it away once again, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand. And speaking of hands . . .
She gently cupped his testicles, cradling them in her palm, exploring their soft contours. Gage was already tense, his long frame rigid with anticipation. But if possible, he stiffened even more, every muscle drawing tight beneath her touch.
His cock twitched and she used her other hand to stroke it from base to tip and back again. She heard him suck in a breath and lifted her head to find him watching her through dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Neither of them said a word.
Holding his gaze, she lowered her mouth and took him inside. His teeth clicked together and the tendons of his throat jutted out in stark relief. Between her lips, he burned, he throbbed, and she tasted the evidence of his arousal against her tongue.
She would have liked to stay there, licking, sucking, driving him crazy and doing her best to make him come in her mouth. But she wasn’t here for sexual pleasure. Or not
only
sexual pleasure.
Giving him a blow job, as enjoyable as it might be for both of them, wasn’t going to get her any closer to her goal. And there was no time—or sperm—to waste.
With a last
His breaths were coming in shorter pants now, his body stirring under her sensual ministrations. Beneath her breasts, his belly went concave as his diaphragm tightened.
Her own nipples pebbled at the knowledge that she was turning him on. He might not have expected to land in her bed, but he was going to enjoy himself—of that she had no doubt.
She kissed her way down his sternum, her breath whispering over the light streak of hair that led from his navel to his groin. His penis was fully erect now, responding to her every touch and caress, and hungry to be freed from the confinement of his briefs—an appeal she was more than happy to satisfy.
Pushing them down to join the tangle of denim near his ankles, she shifted to straddle his knees rather than his thighs. It was a shame he was on his back and had to stay that way for the duration because she wouldhave liked to see his rear end, maybe give it a squeeze or take a nice, ripe bite out of it the way she used to.
He’d always had a world-class butt. The kind you could bounce quarters off of—something she knew as fact because she’d tried it a time or two while they were married. He’d put up a fight, acted embarrassed by her fascination with his backside, but had eventually given in.
Forever after, when he was feeling particularly frisky, he’d hand her a quarter and ask if she wanted to put it to good use. Only once, when she’d been mad at him and he’d been arrogantly pressing his luck to begin with, had she threatened to do more with the coin than simply bounce it off his tight ass.
Then again, the view from the front wasn’t exactly a scene out of
Fright Night
. There were no two ways about it—Gage Marshall was a god. An Adonis in blue jeans and tight black tees. Or in this case, nothing but his birthday suit, a few gorgeous tattoos, and the long, feathery restraints wound around his wrists and ankles.
She took in all of that, every plane and angle, every bulge of muscle and inch of sun-bronzed skin. It was ridiculous for her to be nervous about making love to him considering how many times she’d been with him in the past, but that didn’t keep cocoons of anxiety from unfurling low in her belly.
Maybe it had been too long.
Maybe she’d been missing and wanting him all this time more than even she had realized.
That wasn’t something she particularly wanted to contemplate at the moment, however. It was too deep, too raw, and if she hadn’t figured out her feelings forhim in the last year and a half they’d been divorced or the months before when she’d been torn over whether to file or not, then she wasn’t likely to have some amazing epiphany in the next five minutes.
So she pushed that aside, tamped it down and buried it away once again, bringing her attention back to the matter at hand. And speaking of hands . . .
She gently cupped his testicles, cradling them in her palm, exploring their soft contours. Gage was already tense, his long frame rigid with anticipation. But if possible, he stiffened even more, every muscle drawing tight beneath her touch.
His cock twitched and she used her other hand to stroke it from base to tip and back again. She heard him suck in a breath and lifted her head to find him watching her through dark, heavy-lidded eyes. Neither of them said a word.
Holding his gaze, she lowered her mouth and took him inside. His teeth clicked together and the tendons of his throat jutted out in stark relief. Between her lips, he burned, he throbbed, and she tasted the evidence of his arousal against her tongue.
She would have liked to stay there, licking, sucking, driving him crazy and doing her best to make him come in her mouth. But she wasn’t here for sexual pleasure. Or not
only
sexual pleasure.
Giving him a blow job, as enjoyable as it might be for both of them, wasn’t going to get her any closer to her goal. And there was no time—or sperm—to waste.
With a last
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