He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood there, feeling like a big, lovesick dope.
Clarissa hurried forward, the click-click-click of her heels echoing on the wood floor. The tumble of the deadbolt sounded, and she pulled open the door. “Oh, sweet goddess. I totally forgot about—”
The remainder of her words falling victim to his mouth, he tugged her against him, his hands burrowing in her hair. He kissed her with all the pent-up frustration and lust combusting inside him. She gasped, his shirt wadding beneath her fingers as she clutched his waist. Without breaking the kiss, he walked her backwards, clearing the threshold of the entry. Blindly reaching behind him with one arm, he reset the door lock.
His fingers stroking the nape of her neck, he lifted his head. He pulled his focus from her kiss-swollen lips, and their gazes crashed into each together. “Unless you want to give passersby one hell of a window-shopping experience, kill the lights.”
Her eyes widened, but he didn’t fail to notice the telltale rapid rise and fall of her chest. Seemed his Rissa might be a closet exhibitionist. Tucking that interesting tidbit away for later exploration, he stripped out of the flannel shirt and popped the tab on his fly. Clarissa licked her lips, her scrutiny like a visual caress along his chest and abdomen. His cock surged against the placket of his jeans, impatient.
“The lights,” he prompted, his voice rougher than sandpaper. If she hesitated again, he’d take that as an open invitation to rip her clothes off and fuck her against the windows for the entire world to see, making it damn clear to one and all that she was his woman.
Just as the anticipation of doing precisely that crested to a hot peak within him, she spun and trotted to the opposite wall. The track lighting dimmed before extinguishing completely. Enough light still came in from the streetlamps to give the interior of the shop an otherworldly glow. Clarissa halted next to a small table draped in dark blue velvet and plucked an item from the display. She walked toward him, and he recognized the bottle of massage oil. His inner wolf howled in resounding approval.
Tapping a finger against her lip, she surveyed their surroundings. “This would be a lot more comfortable with a bed available, but it’ll take me at least ten minutes to conjure one. All that wood and such.”
“Shug, at this point I’d settle for a damn air mattress and a sleeping bag.”
“Now that I can do instantly.” Chanting one of her materialization spells, she held out her hand. A swirling ball of lavender light began forming in the middle of her palm. When the orb was roughly the size of a baseball, she hurtled it toward the ground at her feet. It collided with the floor and bounced before morphing into the aforementioned air mattress. A black satin spread covered its surface.
“What, no sleeping bag?” he teased.
“Please. I do have standards.” She curled a finger in his belt loop and towed him closer. He reached for the bottle in her hand, but she tossed it on the mattress and unzipped his pants, peeling the denim down around his hips. Her fingertips grazed along his happy trail before skating lower and encircling his cock. He jerked in her grip, the air jamming in his lungs. She met his stare, her eyes shining with a purposeful gleam. “Do you know what the best thing about our massage oil is?”
He couldn’t remember how to formulate a coherent word.
Thankfully, she took pity on him. “It’s edible.”
Fuck. With her fingers wrapped around his cock, it didn’t take much effort for his gutter mind to decide exactly where she should drizzle the first drop.
Her nails lightly grazing the rigid length of his shaft, she traced the curve of his breastbone with her free hand. She bit her lip, her expression of vulnerability in sharp contrast to the wicked activity she was engaged in south of his waistline. “Am I…is this right? I don’t have a lot of experience in this particular department. I always worry I’m somehow doing it wrong.”
He brushed his knuckles over her cheek. “Any way you want to touch me is right.”
Both of her hands slid free of his body. At first he worried she hadn’t believed his reassurance, but she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of his jeans and briefs and rucked both down his legs. That’s when he realized she was dead serious about getting him nekkid and slathered in massage oil. He had no idea how he’d survive it. Shit, just the thought of her hands slicking all over him had him on the verge of blowing. But there was no way he’d deny her this. Particularly not after she’d revealed her insecurity over whether or not she was giving him a proper hand job. Hell, as if there were the remotest chance he wouldn’t love every minute of it, whatever she did.
At her urging, he sat on the mattress and wrestled his shoes and clothing the rest of the way off. She dropped onto her knees beside him, and he reached for the hem of her top. “It’s better if you’re naked too,” he assured her, inching the fabric upward.
“Is that in a massage rulebook somewhere?”
“Yep. Mine.” He whisked her shirt over her head and tossed it behind them. The rest of her garb quickly followed suit. He stared at her nipples, his mouth watering. Apparently reading the direction of his thoughts, she shoved him flat on the mattress and reached for the massage oil. The click of that cap opening was one of the most erotic sounds he’d ever heard. Groaning, he stretched his arms behind his head, his wrists cradling the back of his skull.
She squeezed out a generous amount of the oil and warmed it between her palms. He began mentally reciting the alphabet. Backwards. When her palms smoothed over his rib cage, he moved on to baseball stats. The second her fingers dipped toward his bellybutton, he knew even envisioning Tully naked wouldn’t help him last much longer. “Rissa—”
Her motions jerked to a halt, and he noticed the worry in her eyes. Ah, hell. Biting the inside of his cheek to give himself something to concentrate on other than the throbbing in his cock, he relaxed his shoulders. “You’re doin’ awesome.”
A beautiful smile lit her face, more than making up for the innocent torture she was inflicting on him. Her hands ghosted upward, sweeping in small circles over his pectorals. The tips of her nails raked his nipples, making him suck in a hissing breath and his cock bob against his abdomen. Clarissa noticed both actions. Her irises darkening with that determined glint again, she abandoned one nipple and glided down his torso to stroke his straining cock. He bucked within her grip, his eyes crossing. Aw shit. He was staring down the barrel of the gun here.
“Baby, why don’t you come straddle my face while you’re doin’ that?” he suggested desperately, his voice hoarse.
“No, I have something else in mind.”
That “something else” involved her crawling between his legs and engulfing him within the scalding heat of her mouth. Her tongue traced the main vein in his cock before curving around the head. With one smooth, descending stroke, she sucked him down her throat. His eyes rolled back. “Sweet Jesus.”
She hummed, the vibrations tripping him over the edge.
“Rissa, I’m gonna come,” he warned frantically, giving her a chance to disengage in case she wasn’t one who cared to swallow.
But apparently she was. Cheeks hollowing and her suction intensifying, she massaged his balls. His legs shaking from the freight-train force of his oncoming climax, he gripped the sides of the mattress.
And came like there was no tomorrow.
Once the last quake rocking his body dissipated, he slumped into the bedding and held out his arms to Clarissa. She snuggled into him, her lips sliding along his jaw. “I liked that.”