CHAPTER THIRTY
Leanne
Igrip Bryce with my thighs and attempt to strip off my sweatshirt, but it’s no use. He won’t remove his lips from mine for long enough to do so and my pregnant belly is trapping it between us.
He sets me on my feet at the foot of my bed a moment later and just watches me. There’s a predatory look in his eye that has heat blooming under my skin. I grip the hem of my sweater and pull it over my head, throwing it to the floor.
His beard quirks up on one side before he drops to his knees in front of me, his hands finding the waistband of my jeans.
He slips a finger into the hair tie I have looped through my buttonhole and latched over the button on the other side.
A fun little trick I learned from a pregnancy blog to avoid buying maternity jeans.
It won’t last forever, but so far, it’s working well enough.
“Ingenious,” he says, unhooking it and sliding my zipper down much too slowly. I don’t want slow. I want fast so I can’t second-guess or ask myself if this is a terrible idea.
But he’s determined to take his time, tugging my jeans down my legs, letting his fingers glide against my flesh in lazy strokes, leaving goosebumps in their wake all the way down to my ankles. I step out and stand before him in nothing but a pair of red lace panties and a matching bra.
I’ve always been one of those women who loves coordinating lacy underthings, and I’ve refused to let go of that even while pregnant.
My breasts are larger now, filling the cups in a way I’m not used to, and of course with my new rounded belly, I expect to be more self-conscious, but with the desire in Bryce’s gaze, there’s no room for that.
His inhale is ragged when he reaches for my panties, his thumb slipping underneath. He leans forward, face coming awfully close to the apex of my thighs—close enough to feel the warmth of his breath through the flimsy material.
The carpet compresses under my feet as I step out of reach and shake my head. “My turn.”
He grumbles but stands with a smile and a quirk of his eyebrows, arms out in invitation.
I bite my bottom lip and draw my hands up his chest, over his pecs, enjoying the solid feel of him beneath my palms. Heat rolls off his muscular frame, like he’s his own furnace and I’m a moth drawn to his flame.
I wish I could take his shirt off, button by button, like he did in my parents’ kitchen.
Instead, I settle for positioning my fingers along his waistband and nudging the T-shirt free of his pants underneath his sweatshirt.
Pulling both over his head with a flourish, I toss them to the floor where they land beside my own.
I sink to my knees in front of him, my hands exploring his chest and abdomen, until his head drops back with a groan.
The hair smattered across his chest is dark and soft, trailing down and thinning out as it reaches the vee of his waist. His body is fit, but not in a body-builder kind of way.
It’s strong from a life on the ranch, but the lines aren’t cut into his skin.
There’s a softness that makes him even more appealing because he’s wholly masculine but not overdone.
I want to lave my tongue over every inch of his skin.
When I do just that above his waistband, his hand threads in my hair and gently tugs so I look up at him. “Blondie,” he says on a ragged breath. “I don’t know if I can take much more of this.”
I reach for his pants and with a mischievous grin begin to work them down just as slowly as he did mine. My prize isn’t hidden behind a second layer of fabric. No, this man isn’t wearing underwear—again—and I’m feral at the sight of his cock only inches from my face.
When I take him in my hand, he growls—literally growls—and jerks his hips. We didn’t make time for this that night in the tent, and I’ve lost myself in the thought of having the taste of him, the weight of him, on my tongue these past few months.
I’m probably the odd woman out with how much I love to give head, but it makes me feel powerful knowing I can bring a man to heel with only my mouth. Bryce’s whole body is tight with anticipation. His eyes are blown wide, the pupils dark and overtaking his irises as he looks down at me.
I flick my tongue out to taste him, catching the drop of pre-cum beading on the tip, and he shudders. I gather my confidence to go further and take him in my mouth inch by inch until he bumps the back of my throat and I pull back, coming off with a pop.
“Shit, Leanne, you’re going to kill me.”
I smile and continue my ministrations, bobbing my head on his cock and using my tongue to press into the thick vein that runs up the underside until I feel his thighs shake.
I keep my gaze locked on his, loving the hazy, lust-filled expression taking over his features.
I add suction as I reach the head and he calls out, catching his hand on the bed post next to him as his eyes squeeze shut.
“I’m—fuck—going to come. Jesus, Leanne… Blondie. I—”
I feel a triumphant wave of satisfaction as I swallow him down, again and again, feeling his legs quake beneath my hands where they’re planted on his quads.
I lick my lips and sit back on the balls of my feet, looking up at a man who’s completely undone, his hair wrecked from running his hands through it while I blew his mind. I did that.
He reaches down and brushes his thumb along my lips.
They feel swollen and used in the best way.
Then he’s lifting me to my feet and slamming his mouth down on mine.
His tongue swipes between my lips and I know he must taste himself there.
The thought makes a wet heat course through my body.
He presses forward and I take a step back, and then another, until my knees hit the end of my bed.
With the softest push of his hands on my shoulders, I fall back onto it.
His eyes rove over my body, taking in every inch. They blaze with want, and it sets off a wildfire on my skin.
“I’ve imagined you like this more times than I can count, your hair splayed on my pillow, but it never came close to this reality.
” He lowers a hand to his shaft, and with a single tug it’s closer to fully erect than I’d expect was possible after the orgasm he just had.
“Tell me I can have you like this? Tell me you want this as much as I do.”
I’m breathless when I murmur, “I want this. I want you. Please.”
“Last time, you told me you didn’t like me.” He climbs between my legs, fingers tracing the lines of my panties, so close but not where I want them. “Do you like me now, blondie?” His voice is hoarse, husky after his climax.
“I like you, Bryce,” I say, and feel both a rush of excitement with that truth and thrill of fear knowing it’s more than just liking him now. It’s so much more, but I’m not sure what that means.
“Good, because I’m about to make you scream my name and I want to make sure you like it,” he says as he grips the panties in his hands and tears them down my legs before pressing my knees wide and falling between my thighs.
His tongue hits my clit before I can even think to protest, but by the second swirl around the tiny bud, I have zero objections.
This has never been my favorite form of foreplay, but I’m realizing after only a minute of Bryce’s tongue sliding over me that it wasn’t the act itself I didn’t like; it was the men doing it.
Because this is… Holy fucking shit, this is amazing.
My hands fly to Bryce’s head and I wind my fingers into his hair as my body lights up from the inside out. He growls against me when my nails find his scalp and the vibration against my sex makes my hips jerk and buck against him.
“Fuck yes, baby.” He punctuates his statement with a wide lick from my opening all the way to my clit and I tremble.
“Jesus, Bryce. Please. I need…”
“What do you need?” The air from his question puffs out against my sensitive skin and his beard rasps against my inner thighs.
“More. I need more.”
And more is what he gives. He dips one finger into me, then a second, and the fullness is incredible. He continues to torture me with his tongue and my body begins to shake beneath him in a way I’ve only experienced with a toy or on our first night together, our hands joined while I touched myself.
Like he knows I’m close, his fingers begin a rhythm of strokes against the front wall of my pussy that pushes me over the edge. With one final suck on my clit, I detonate and I do indeed scream his name as my back bows off the bed.
He works me through the orgasm, only slowing when my body settles. He presses a single, soft kiss to my inner thigh and the brush of his beard, wet from my release, has me flushing to the tips of my ears.
He climbs over me, keeping his weight in his hands, and stops with his mouth an inch from mine.
He searches my eyes while my chest lifts and falls, brushing against his with every inhale.
He doesn’t want to kiss me if I don’t want to taste myself, and I normally wouldn’t, but I’m bolstered after watching him kiss me so hungrily after I went down on him.
I curl my hand around the nape of his neck and pull him to me, taking his kiss and his body and luxuriating in the taste of us, of him, of me. I didn’t think it would be so hot to experience something like this with someone.
And now, I want more.