Chapter Two Larissa
Chapter Two
LARISSA
ASURPRISED GASP LEAVES me as my jacket is ripped open and my modesty is stripped from me entirely.
Within an inhale, all six feet—maybe an inch or two more—of him blankets me while palming my lace leotard–covered body.
His eyes light fire, and I instantly become scorched earth as he drinks me in unabashedly.
“Jesus fuck, you’re cruel perfection,” he all but growls before gripping my lower half and yanking it forward, forcing me to stumble a little in the ridiculously tall heels currently pinching the hell out of my toes.
“Since you know who and what I am, I’m sure you know that I’m a man who takes precautions”—he grins wickedly—“and baby, I’m thorough. ”
It’s his intoxicating scent that briefly dizzies me enough to not voice any objection.
He’s so close that I can smell the heavy trace of alcohol lacing his breath and take note of the honey-colored ring around his irises.
His lashes are exaggeratedly long, jet-black, and naturally curled.
From afar, he’s intoxicating, but up close … lethally fucking handsome.
Tyler Jennings is a truly beautiful man.
This is only driven further as his eyes flit back to mine, assaulting me with the lust building inside them.
His darkening stare starts to pool with uninhibited intent as it heatedly sweeps over my face, pausing at my glossy lips and slowly lowering, igniting every inch of my body.
The scrap of fabric covering me leaves absolutely nothing to his imagination, stretching thinly over every line and curve.
My exposed nipples peak as his gaze blazes over me, thoroughly soaking in every detail.
He pauses at my neatly trimmed pussy for a good long beat as if surveying a menu and deciding on what to order.
Fully absorbed and lost in his assessment, his exhale hits my nipples, which are drawing painfully tight due to his rapt attention.
Gooseflesh erupts on the skin left in his wake as I manage to stifle a shudder.
“So … fucking … beautiful,” he groans as if he’s fighting himself before his eyes slam back into mine and he shakes his head ironically.
He seems to be weighing a decision as he easily grips my hips in his hands.
Lips parted, chest heaving, I stare back at him, body alive from his touch and fully responsive.
Weighted seconds pass as we mingle breaths, and my heart starts to hammer in my chest.
“Fuck it,” he snaps before fisting my hair and crushing my mouth with his.
Stunned by how quickly, and why it escalated in this direction, I take as much of his ferocious kiss as I can manage.
My veins light fire with the perfect pressure of his full lips as they claim mine with a hunger bordering on starvation.
Returning his kiss just as feverishly, I release a moan that matches his own noise as he pins me with his powerful frame before parting my lips with his tongue.
Without hesitation, I open for him, fully, my hands gripping his muscular shoulders as a whimper leaves me.
Within a few thrusts of his thick tongue, I forget myself and my purpose for being here.
Cupping my breast, he weighs it before sliding his finger over my nipple.
Eager for more, I lean into his touch, clutching him to me.
Closing our kiss, his eyes flutter to the taut skin he manipulated, freeing it through a convenient hole in the lace before he dips and feeds, sucking my nipple into his warm, wet mouth.
“Ahh,” I cry at the feel of the perfect suction, a mix of pleasure and pain, which makes my jealous clit pulse.
His gaze shifts up before he releases my nipple, his darkening, hooded eyes drilling into mine, the lust there sweeping me into a frenzy as he beckons without words, and my body obeys the same way, ready to submit to the commands stacking up in his inferno-filled eyes.
He leans in and pulls my lower lip into his mouth, running his flat palm down my torso and over my stomach before reaching the barely there scrap of fabric between my thighs.
“So very convincing,” he whispers, repeating his security’s remark about me, the comment seemingly for himself.
Pinned and pliant, he runs a finger over the material as I grip his shoulders, going boneless against his front door.
Ignoring every voice of reason telling me to stop this, he licks along my bottom lip with the tip of his tongue as he pushes the material aside and thrusts a finger into me.
“Fucking soaked,” he relays, his voice filled with lust. I sink against the door as he runs the calloused pad of his finger up and down my aching slit, whispering it over my needy clit.
I cry out to him, arching my back and tilting my hips for more friction.
In an instant, he secures my jaw to fit into the curve of his hand, intently watching my reaction to his touch.
It’s as if he’s getting off on the pleasure he’s giving me as much as I am.
He’s a skilled lover and obviously a generous one.
Of that, I have zero doubt as I flirt with the possibility of allowing everything his sexual imagination is drumming up to play out.
As far as I know, a rogue orgasm has never hurt anybody.
Thoroughly seduced—especially with my ridiculous line of thought—body raging, begging for me to demand more, I try to remember one word of the rehearsed script I came with and can think of nothing but requests as my thighs begin to shake.
With a thick tongue, he licks against my lips as he continually teases me with his finger.
I can’t help but want exactly what he’s previewing, especially when he runs an impressive bulge along my midsection.
“I’ll be honest … I’ve never taken this route, sweetheart. I’ve been a good boy for a lot longer than I meant to be,” he relays heatedly, “and with you, I can easily rectify that right fucking now.”
“Ah,” I exhale roughly, which sounds nothing like the ‘stop’ or the ‘wait’ it was supposed to be as he makes another pass along my clit. A wave of unchecked lust rolls through me, doing absolutely nothing to pull me back from the absence of gravity I’m starting to feel.
Every limb I have begins to shake as he bites into my shoulder, making another pass along my clit. I cry out as a tremor runs through me. It’s so intense, the way he’s watching me, keeping me completely vulnerable with his grip on my face and neck, that my lower half starts shaking uncontrollably.
“Fuck, I need to make you come,” he whispers roughly and so low I strain to hear his plans. “Fingers, tongue, and cock. Kitchen table, patio, and once we’re in my bed, it’ll be dealer’s choice.” Another flash of his devilish grin and contrasting dimple. “I’ll be dealing.”
Unable to fully process his words, he continues to draw me into a needy, pulsing puddle against the back of his door.
Disappointment has me protesting with a mewl at the withdrawal of his finger, but it’s quickly replaced by the sight of him sucking my glistening wetness off the tip, especially when his eyes flutter and close.
The suction around his finger and accompanying groan have me losing the ability to speak altogether.
When he opens his heavily lashed eyes, he allows me to see his intentions before dipping to rake my body once more.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to thank the smug French bastard for this.
” His voice grows hoarse as he grips the sides of my waist, strumming strong thumbs along the curves before pulling back slightly, his raspy voice mystified as he gives his head a slight shake.
“Jesus, baby, you don’t even look fucking real. ”
That delivered whisper mutes every objection I could and should have voiced. He thinks I’m a gift. One he’s talking himself into accepting.
Instead, I again arch into his touch, ravenous as he makes another pass along my nipples, sucking each into his mouth.
My reaction seems to set him off, as he again crushes my mouth with his.
A torrent of heat sweeps me as I take his kiss, his tongue languidly stroking mine in an intoxicating sweep, and I allow it for as long as I can.
Jesus, to be looked at this way, touched this way, desired this way.
It’s when he begins to pull at the shoulders of the negligee to start to undress me that I force myself to break his spell.
“Tyler … I’m—ah!” I cry as he bites into my newly bared shoulder before his lips soothe the burn. “I’m … I’m not a call girl.”
His touch draws to a slow stop when my words finally register, and he immediately unhands me and stiffens. When he pulls farther back to gauge my expression, I finally realize his eyes are glossy, and the truth of that sets in.
“Are you drunk?” I pointlessly ask, knowing the answer.
His eyes dip again to my body, his brows furrowing before his confusion starts to lift. “What did you just say?”
“I’m not a gift from your French friend. I’m not here for that.”
“The fuck?” He jerks back slightly. “You weren’t sent by … anyone?”
“No.”
His eyes darken for an entirely different reason. “Then … why, why the fuck did you kiss me back?”
I shrug. “It felt good.”
“What the—” His jaw hardens, as does his demeanor, his entire body tensing as I sense he’s trying to sober up. All animation leaves him as he takes another step back from me. “Who in the fuck are you?”
“I was going to introduce myself before you … you know.”
He slaps his palm against the door next to me. “Before I what? Put my fucking tongue in your mouth? Fingered and tasted your pussy? That lasted far longer than a few confusing seconds, sweetheart. Your objection went way past delayed, don’t you think?”
“Don’t call me sweetheart,” I warn. “I’m not the woman to call sweetheart.”
His agitation only ramps up further as he presses in. “I’m going to ask you one more time: Who in the fuck are you, and how did you get on my floor?”