silent plea. Back arched and breasts thrust forward, letting the wind kiss those perfect pink-tipped nipples. Nipples that Bill would personally lick, kiss and suck before the night ended.
He withdrew his finger, added another, then delved them both into her dripping passion, steadily thrusting in and out, in and out, while she jerked beneath him.
“Bill.” His name was a whimper on her lips. A pleading request that he would fulfill.
He’d wanted to make her wait a little longer, build up to an explosive climax she’d never forget. But the way her thighs had tightened, flexing for the touch that would send her soaring, he knew he couldn’t make her wait any longer.
His thumb moved up her tender folds to her swollen clit.
Lettie hissed through her teeth.
“Is that it, Lettie? Is that what you want?” He knew he’d found her secret spot, and he caressed it fervently as he waited for her response.
When she didn’t answer, Bill stopped, holding his thumb steady on her aching nub. It pulsed beneath his touch, so ready to push her into a frenzied climax.
“N-no,” she pleaded. “Please, Bill.”
“Please what? What do you want?”
His dick pushed against his pants, as though wanting to help her give the right answer.
“I want—”
Bill pushed his fingers deeper, pulled them out, plunged them in again, while she flexed around them. “What do you want? Tell me.”
“Make me come.”
While those might not be the three words he wanted to hear most from Lettie Campbell’s luscious mouth, they sure as hell weren’t far behind.
“With pleasure.” His fingers continued pumping, while his thumb joined in, softly circling her tender cleft, then gradually increasing pressure. Faster and faster, harder and harder . . .
Her hips jerked off the seat as she screamed into the wind, while the depth of her passion soaked his fingers.
Then, as her body shuddered through the aftermath of her climax, Bill eased his hand away from her center and, while Lettie watched with sex-glazed eyes, he sucked her essence.
Shifting in her seat, she leaned against him. “Bill?”
“Yeah.”
“I want you.”
Lettie definitely had a way with three-word sentences. Particularly the ones that put an up-periscope in his pants. Who was he kidding? His dick had been on red alert since he’d glimpsed that dress. Those eyes. Mouth. Legs.
“How far are we from your place?”
His laugh echoed through the car.
“What?” Lettie asked.
“We passed it ten miles ago.”
She nipped his ear, cuddled close, her bare breasts pushing against him. “I swear, Bill, I’d never dreamed.”
“Dreamed what?”
“That you were so bad.”
“Lettie Campbell, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He steered up an exit ramp, then crossed over the interstate to head back toward home, and hoped his words conveyed his confidence in his ability to be bad. So far, she seemed convinced. Then again, giving her a screaming orgasm while doing eighty in the HOV lane qualified as pretty damn bad, if he did say so himself.
Now he had to prove his wildness in the bedroom. Without a car, the wind and the traffic adding to the appeal. Sure, he knew his way around a woman’s body. He’d even wager he’d find that spot Jeff had missed during Bill’s first tangle with Lettie in the sheets.
However, he wasn’t all that certain what was different about a bad boy having hot and heated, wild and wicked, sex in the bedroom . . . and a good boy doing the same thing?
Because deep down, Bill Brannon knew he wasn’t bad; he was good. And deep down, he knew he wasn’t bad in the sack; he was good.
Damn good.
In a matter of minutes, he pulled in his driveway and prepared to head inside and continue being bad. But he quickly learned that being wild, being bad, didn’t take much effort on his part, not with Lettie so willing to aid in his corruption.
His hand had barely grasped the door handle on the car when she stopped him in his tracks with, once again,
He withdrew his finger, added another, then delved them both into her dripping passion, steadily thrusting in and out, in and out, while she jerked beneath him.
“Bill.” His name was a whimper on her lips. A pleading request that he would fulfill.
He’d wanted to make her wait a little longer, build up to an explosive climax she’d never forget. But the way her thighs had tightened, flexing for the touch that would send her soaring, he knew he couldn’t make her wait any longer.
His thumb moved up her tender folds to her swollen clit.
Lettie hissed through her teeth.
“Is that it, Lettie? Is that what you want?” He knew he’d found her secret spot, and he caressed it fervently as he waited for her response.
When she didn’t answer, Bill stopped, holding his thumb steady on her aching nub. It pulsed beneath his touch, so ready to push her into a frenzied climax.
“N-no,” she pleaded. “Please, Bill.”
“Please what? What do you want?”
His dick pushed against his pants, as though wanting to help her give the right answer.
“I want—”
Bill pushed his fingers deeper, pulled them out, plunged them in again, while she flexed around them. “What do you want? Tell me.”
“Make me come.”
While those might not be the three words he wanted to hear most from Lettie Campbell’s luscious mouth, they sure as hell weren’t far behind.
“With pleasure.” His fingers continued pumping, while his thumb joined in, softly circling her tender cleft, then gradually increasing pressure. Faster and faster, harder and harder . . .
Her hips jerked off the seat as she screamed into the wind, while the depth of her passion soaked his fingers.
Then, as her body shuddered through the aftermath of her climax, Bill eased his hand away from her center and, while Lettie watched with sex-glazed eyes, he sucked her essence.
Shifting in her seat, she leaned against him. “Bill?”
“Yeah.”
“I want you.”
Lettie definitely had a way with three-word sentences. Particularly the ones that put an up-periscope in his pants. Who was he kidding? His dick had been on red alert since he’d glimpsed that dress. Those eyes. Mouth. Legs.
“How far are we from your place?”
His laugh echoed through the car.
“What?” Lettie asked.
“We passed it ten miles ago.”
She nipped his ear, cuddled close, her bare breasts pushing against him. “I swear, Bill, I’d never dreamed.”
“Dreamed what?”
“That you were so bad.”
“Lettie Campbell, you ain’t seen nothing yet.” He steered up an exit ramp, then crossed over the interstate to head back toward home, and hoped his words conveyed his confidence in his ability to be bad. So far, she seemed convinced. Then again, giving her a screaming orgasm while doing eighty in the HOV lane qualified as pretty damn bad, if he did say so himself.
Now he had to prove his wildness in the bedroom. Without a car, the wind and the traffic adding to the appeal. Sure, he knew his way around a woman’s body. He’d even wager he’d find that spot Jeff had missed during Bill’s first tangle with Lettie in the sheets.
However, he wasn’t all that certain what was different about a bad boy having hot and heated, wild and wicked, sex in the bedroom . . . and a good boy doing the same thing?
Because deep down, Bill Brannon knew he wasn’t bad; he was good. And deep down, he knew he wasn’t bad in the sack; he was good.
Damn good.
In a matter of minutes, he pulled in his driveway and prepared to head inside and continue being bad. But he quickly learned that being wild, being bad, didn’t take much effort on his part, not with Lettie so willing to aid in his corruption.
His hand had barely grasped the door handle on the car when she stopped him in his tracks with, once again,
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