I get even closer, press myself up against him. “No, not really.”
“Got somethin’ else in mind?” His eyes almost sparkle with real, unhidden humor. Not to mention, blaze with heat.
“You could say that.” I run my hands up under his T-shirt, touch the hard boxes of his abs, the sloped muscle of his pecs.
“Somethin’ else you’d rather discuss?”
I shake my head, push his shirt up. “No, I wouldn’t say I’m looking to discuss anything, exactly.”
He lets me peel the shirt off. His hands skate down my back, over the knee-length khaki skirt I’d changed into before we flew out here—it’s been averylong day, and Vegas feels like a lifetime ago. Usually, I’m naked before he is, and I’m determined to flip that script. He untucks my maroon V-neck T-shirt, slips his hands under it, palms hot and scratchy on my back.
I toe off my sneakers, my socks. While my feet are busy, I lift up and kiss his chest, the groove between his pecs. “Boots, honey,” I murmur.
He rumbles quietly, steadies himself with a hand on my shoulder as I move slowly to a crouch, kissing his torso all the way, chest, ribs, abs, and he yanks at the laces of his boots, rips off one boot and the sock, shifts to his other foot, repeats. I palm his waist, moving to my knees, kissing his abs, all eight of them.
“Myka,” he whispers, voice heavy, rough.
I ignore him, unbuckle his belt. Leave it in the loops and tug open the button, draw down the zipper. He’s hard for me, bulging out into the opening of his fly. I hook my fingers into the elastic of his underwear.
He buries his fingers in my hair. “Myka—baby.” I pause at the rough warning in his voice, look at him. “This cool? In your parents’ house?”
I tug his underwear away and down, free his thick hard cock. “Yeah, it’s cool.” I grin up at him, bringing my mouth closer to him, eyes up on his. “We just have to be quiet.”
His jaw pulses. “You’re loud.”
I frown. “I am.”
He nods. Gathers my hair in his hands, lets it filter through his fingers. “Yeah. Fuckin’lovethe sounds you make. Could get off just from listening to you come. But you’re not exactly quiet about it.”
I kiss his thigh, so close to his member that it brushes against my cheek—and I feel it twitch. The other side, and then slide my lips along his skin, up to his belly. Pause, look up at him again. “Then you’ll just have to muffle me.”
“Fuck.” This is bitten out, his fist clenching in my hair. “Myka, don’t like you on your knees. Not where a woman like you belongs.”
I grip him, slide my fist down him. “Maybe I like it down here.”
He hisses through his teeth as I touch my lips to the very tip of him, my lips closed. “Oughta be the one on my knees in front of you, Myka. Worship your sweetness.”
I tilt my eyes up to his, my heart clenching at his words. “I’m exactly where I want to be, Rev.” I whisper this against his hot flesh, lips moving against him. “Although, when I’m done, I might take you up on that.”
I open my lips and take him into my mouth, swirling and fluttering my tongue against him.
“Fuck...beautiful.”
I pull away, lick the tip. “What’s beautiful, Rev?”
“You.” He grips my hair in that way he has, tightly, fierce, rough, commanding, but in no way painful. Guides my mouth to him again. “Doin’ that. Fuckin’ beautiful.” This, through gritted teeth, as I move my mouth down around him again. “Don’t deserve your beauty, Myka.”
I cradle the heaviness of his balls in my palm, cup my other hand around his girth. Look up at him. “Yes, you do.” I take him, deep, once, move away to speak again. “There’s no deserving, Rev. There’s only choices. And I…” I murmur against the side of his length, between kisses and licks up and down one side and the other, cradling his length opposite my mouth, tilting him this way and that so I can kiss and lick every inch of him. “Choose…” take him into my mouth again, deep, till I have to open my throat and swallow around him, back away again. “You.”
“Fuckin’…why?”
I run the flat of my tongue up the underside. “Because I like you. I think you’re hot…more than that—you’rebeautiful. You’re a work of art.” I kiss the head, mouthing it, tongue swirling around the tip as my lips suction around the groove. “You’re good. You’re kind. You’re protective.” I pull away, look up at him, meet his eyes—they’re full of primal heat, furious arousal; he’s ready to pounce. “You make me feelsobeautiful. So desired. Safe.”
“Good,” he grunts. It’s a question. “I’m a killer, Myka.”
I hold him and hold his eyes. “When necessary. When ordered to. When protecting. When forced to.”
“Yeah.” He grunts his acceptance of this. “Still. Ain’tgood.”
