Page 26 of Wicked Design
Chapter Seven
Van Gogh guzzled his beer.
Clover sipped hers. Too much booze and she might never shut up. Talk about offering too much information and another outrageous invite. Without even trying, she’d fallen into the same trap, leaving him speechless and possibly afraid. Unlike the parlor, she had nowhere to run and hide in this place unless she locked herself in her john. Since Van Gogh wasn’t on the clock here, he could easily get dressed and flee.
When would she learn to take it slow and easy? Guys needed time to consider stuff and conclude a decision had been their idea from the get go. A trick most females had discovered in childhood, learned as they wrapped their daddies around their little fingers. With that accomplished, they honed their skills on other males until they became experts at playing the opposite sex. Damn her for having grown up in a family that prided itself on being straightforward, no BS, which made her hopelessly blunt. “These look great.”
She popped a bocadito into her mouth. At any other time, the creamy cheese and flaky pastry would have pulled a delighted moan from her. Right now, the food stuck in her throat. She forced the lump down and grabbed a wedge with ham peeking out. “These are awesome. Here, you have to try one.”
He came up for air, his lips damp from the brew, his mouth trembling slightly.
She put their beers on the nightstand. Her hands shook. Hopefully, she and Van Gogh would get better at this game or become totally honest with each other and make their relationship simple and relaxed.
She ran the appetizer across his lips. “Open up.”
He snaked out his tongue and licked her finger.
Could be he’d miscalculated and missed the food, or he’d hit his target the first time.
Their gazes locked. Breathing came hard. His face turned as red as hers felt, though not from embarrassment. Passion thickened the air. He curled his fingers around her wrist and directed the treat into his mouth.
Her pulse pounded. “More?”
He chewed and nodded.
She pulled over the container with the jellyroll. Her maternal grandmother always served one when Clover and her parents visited. Given the orange filling in this baby, it had to be the mango thing Lauren had mentioned. Clover scooped marmalade on her finger and smeared it over Van Gogh’s rod. His cock went from flaccid to semi-erect in two seconds. Faster than an adult film star’s.
She slathered the fruit spread on his plump crown. “This is where you wish me bon appétit.”
He nodded so quickly his hair jumped.
Precisely the encouragement a woman in lust needed. She licked him.
He fell against the pillows and spread his legs.
Settled between them, she got down to business, one hand supporting his lightly furred balls, the other guiding his cock into her mouth. He groaned wantonly and squirmed. She followed, giving him no chance at escape. The marmalade was good, a sweet-tart combination, but couldn’t match his natural flavor. Slightly salty with a unique taste no other man owned.
Enthralled, she slipped him deeper and opened her throat, her tongue sweeping his length.
He shuddered. “Fuck.”
They would in time. That was a given. First this. Gently, she massaged his balls and dipped her mouth lower, stopping only when her nose touched his thick curls and she had nearly every blessed inch of his cock inside.
A strangled sound tore from him. He pushed closer.
Clover accommodated his desire, taking more of his length within her mouth.
She stroked his sac and worked his shaft between her lips, her licks and suckling adding a dimension to the act her pussy never could.
He moaned loudly and panted. “This is too good.”
Only for a masochist who preferred pain, not her guy. Wanting him to be hers, she gave her all, increasing her pace then slowing, doing to him what he’d done to her. Making him want. Demanding he wait for relief.
He swore. “You’re driving me fucking nuts. Give me a minute.”
Not even half a sec. She explored the furrow between his cheeks and circled his anus.
He pummeled the mattress.
