Wicked Pleasure. Taryn Leigh Taylor

yes.

      The sound of the condom wrapper ratcheted up his need.

      He opened his eyes so he could watch, so his brain could sync the pleasure of her touch with the visual of her hand on his cock.

      “Let’s move this to the bed.” His voice was strained as she slid her hand back up his length.

      “Why would we do that?”

      “Because I want to taste you. Pleasure you with my mouth until you beg me to bury myself inside you so you can come that way, too.”

      Her hand stopped its methodical stroking, and he used the slight reprieve to take a full breath.

      “Look, I’m sure you’re a generous and talented lover and the champagne and lingerie crowd goes gaga for your smooth promises and high-thread-count sheets, but in case it wasn’t clear, I’m not here for declarations and foreplay. I don’t want to make love. I want you to fuck me.”

      Jesus Christ. If his cock hadn’t already been so hard it hurt, that would have gotten him the rest of the way. “Are you—”

      “I’m sure.” She grabbed the sides of his open shirt and leaned up to cut him off with her mouth, not kissing him, but catching his bottom lip between her teeth and giving it a sharp tug. When she let go, he soothed the slight sting with his tongue. “You talk too much, you know that?”

      “Can’t say I’ve ever had any complaints.” Liam let himself touch her, resting his hands on the warm curve of her hips. His fingers flexed, as though seeking the warmth of her skin beneath the fabric in their way. If he didn’t get her naked and wrapped around him soon, he might lose his mind. “But now you’ve forced me to defend my honor.”