Read Online The Best Laid Plans by Tamara Mataya - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Tamara Mataya
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jerks waiting to torment his Angel.
Angel! He could play the song for her!
So, gathering his courage, keeping his gaze firmly on his hands, he began to play. And sing.
“You bastard.” Her words rang out in the present, clear and angry, a second before the door slammed and the lock slid shut.
“What?” Two bangs answered his question.
“I thought about you all day.” She strode into the room barefoot, which explained the banging sounds. Her pupils were dilated, making her eyes look black and languid. Raw need was written all over her body, from her clenched fists to her nipples, visible through her silk blouse as she stripped her jacket off. He was fully erect before it hit the floor.
Two long strides and he’d taken her roughly in his arms and claimed her mouth with a crushing kiss. Her breathing deepened, arms wrapped around him drawing him closer as she opened her mouth, widening the kiss. He nipped at her vanilla-flavored lip, grabbed her ass and squeezed it, unable to get enough. She did that spiraling thing with her tongue and he lost it. Her thin blouse tore beneath his hands as he ripped it open, and moved his mouth to her neck. He sucked hard and fast, and felt a sort of savage pride as a small mark formed on her pale neck.
Her knees buckled slightly as he pulled away and spun her around. He trailed possessive hands up her thighs, under her grey tweed skirt, pulling it up and over the curve of her luscious ass. She hadn’t been wearing pantyhose … the sheer, black nylons covering her legs proved to be thigh-high stockings she wore with no panties. His dick throbbed painfully hard, trapped inside his jeans. He pulled her close to him, pressing against her. With a callused fingertip, he traced her birthmark, then kissed the sensitive spot on the back of her neck. She smelled like coconut and he breathed her in until his lungs hurt, then reached around to cup a breast in one hand and stroke her clit with the other.
He loved her ass. Too many women sacrificed their curves for a smaller dress size. Hers was shapely, firm, and perfect. He wanted to sit on a bed, have her reverse-cowgirl the shit out of him while he sat back and watched the show, but knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands from her. He wanted to be the one on top, the one in control, the one driving her wild. The one driving into her.
He unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the ground, before he stripped his t-shirt. He lightly slapped her ass, turned the slap into a caress and then a squeeze. God he wanted her way too much.
“Undo my pants, Jayne.” He was unsure how she’d respond to a direct order, even gently issued.
She immediately turned around and undid the button fly of his jeans. He ran his fingers through her hair, cradling her face, backed her up until her back pressed against the wall with her fingers hooked in his belt loops. Then his lips met hers, passionately, wildly, losing himself in how fucking badly he wanted her. She clawed at his pants, desperate to remove them – he helped by kicking them off when they fell to his ankles.
Her skin felt buttery soft beneath the hands he trailed down her sides on the way to grab her hips. Her hips were almost as sexy as her ass. Their combined power was staggering – as was the feeling of her hands rubbing him through his boxer-briefs before stripping them off of him. He abruptly pulled back from her. She followed.
“Bedroom. Now,” he said. She bit her lip with a grin, and hurried ahead of him.
He shut the door and locked it, knowing women felt freer to give in to abandon when they were behind closed doors. To truly get to her, he had to make her forget everything else, even herself. He remained standing by the door.
“Sit on the bed,” he growled, surprised at the gruffness of his voice. She sat. “Spread your legs.” He leaned against the wall.
Her legs visibly trembled as she complied. Her breathing hitched, lips suffused with
Angel! He could play the song for her!
So, gathering his courage, keeping his gaze firmly on his hands, he began to play. And sing.
“You bastard.” Her words rang out in the present, clear and angry, a second before the door slammed and the lock slid shut.
“What?” Two bangs answered his question.
“I thought about you all day.” She strode into the room barefoot, which explained the banging sounds. Her pupils were dilated, making her eyes look black and languid. Raw need was written all over her body, from her clenched fists to her nipples, visible through her silk blouse as she stripped her jacket off. He was fully erect before it hit the floor.
Two long strides and he’d taken her roughly in his arms and claimed her mouth with a crushing kiss. Her breathing deepened, arms wrapped around him drawing him closer as she opened her mouth, widening the kiss. He nipped at her vanilla-flavored lip, grabbed her ass and squeezed it, unable to get enough. She did that spiraling thing with her tongue and he lost it. Her thin blouse tore beneath his hands as he ripped it open, and moved his mouth to her neck. He sucked hard and fast, and felt a sort of savage pride as a small mark formed on her pale neck.
Her knees buckled slightly as he pulled away and spun her around. He trailed possessive hands up her thighs, under her grey tweed skirt, pulling it up and over the curve of her luscious ass. She hadn’t been wearing pantyhose … the sheer, black nylons covering her legs proved to be thigh-high stockings she wore with no panties. His dick throbbed painfully hard, trapped inside his jeans. He pulled her close to him, pressing against her. With a callused fingertip, he traced her birthmark, then kissed the sensitive spot on the back of her neck. She smelled like coconut and he breathed her in until his lungs hurt, then reached around to cup a breast in one hand and stroke her clit with the other.
He loved her ass. Too many women sacrificed their curves for a smaller dress size. Hers was shapely, firm, and perfect. He wanted to sit on a bed, have her reverse-cowgirl the shit out of him while he sat back and watched the show, but knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands from her. He wanted to be the one on top, the one in control, the one driving her wild. The one driving into her.
He unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the ground, before he stripped his t-shirt. He lightly slapped her ass, turned the slap into a caress and then a squeeze. God he wanted her way too much.
“Undo my pants, Jayne.” He was unsure how she’d respond to a direct order, even gently issued.
She immediately turned around and undid the button fly of his jeans. He ran his fingers through her hair, cradling her face, backed her up until her back pressed against the wall with her fingers hooked in his belt loops. Then his lips met hers, passionately, wildly, losing himself in how fucking badly he wanted her. She clawed at his pants, desperate to remove them – he helped by kicking them off when they fell to his ankles.
Her skin felt buttery soft beneath the hands he trailed down her sides on the way to grab her hips. Her hips were almost as sexy as her ass. Their combined power was staggering – as was the feeling of her hands rubbing him through his boxer-briefs before stripping them off of him. He abruptly pulled back from her. She followed.
“Bedroom. Now,” he said. She bit her lip with a grin, and hurried ahead of him.
He shut the door and locked it, knowing women felt freer to give in to abandon when they were behind closed doors. To truly get to her, he had to make her forget everything else, even herself. He remained standing by the door.
“Sit on the bed,” he growled, surprised at the gruffness of his voice. She sat. “Spread your legs.” He leaned against the wall.
Her legs visibly trembled as she complied. Her breathing hitched, lips suffused with
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