Page 58 of The Virgin Rule Book (Rules of Love 1)
“Right.” Her sex-drunk frown is adorable. “And rule number four says . . .”
“Rule number four,” I say, “says that I get to make you come.” I pause. “A lot.”
I push back onto my knees, then offer her a hand. She takes it, and I tug her up. “And now I’m going to take you to your bed, where I’m going to fuck you and make love to you,” I tell her.
She lets out a satisfied sigh, her lips twitching in a grin. “Thank God for the lucky corgi butts.”
In her bedroom, Nadia tugs on the hem of my shirt, her heated gaze drifting downward, checking out my clothes.
I’m still dressed. She’s half naked, which mostly works for me. That blouse needs to go. The bra too.
Stat.
“Do I get to undress you now?” she asks, playing with the fabric of my Henley, lifting it a few inches so her fingertips trail over my abs.
Her touch ignites goose bumps across my flesh. I want to feel those hands all over me, turning me on, making me crazy.
“Take it off. Take it all off.” I want everything off. Her clothes. Mine. I want to get naked and roll around with her all night long, arms and legs wrapped around each other. I want to feel her bare skin. Explore every inch, discover every reflex.
Laughing, she pulls the fabric over my head. “Don’t you want to admire my candlelit seduction, roses, and soft music?” She gestures to her bedroom as she tosses my shirt on the floor.
With a quick glance, I appraise her decor—no candles, no flowers, no tunes. Her bedroom is simple—a cranberry-red cover on her king-size bed and gobs and gobs of pillows.
“Woman, where is the seduction? How do you expect me to get turned on without rose petals all over the place?”
She spreads her palms over my chest, and I draw in a sharp, hot breath as sparks shoot through me.
Her touch is electric, and it short-circuits my brain.
“I don’t know. Are you turned on, Crosby?”
My eyes narrow as I rope a hand around her bare waist, jerking her against the ridge of my cock. “You tell me.”
She murmurs, “Seems so.” Then her busy hands continue their journey, traveling over the planes of my stomach on a path for the button of my jeans.
Working the snap open, she heads for the zipper next.
I waste no time either, fiddling with the rest of the buttons on her pink shirt, spreading it open, revealing the tops of those luscious tits I’ve only sneaked a peek at.
Tonight I get to gawk. I get to indulge in them.
She lets go of my jeans to shrug out of her shirt. I help the nudity cause by unhooking her bra, letting the white lace fall to where-the-fuck-ever.
“Fuck me,” I groan as I free her tits—gorgeous, perky breasts with dusky rose nipples that stand at attention. I cup one in each hand, and she lets out a throaty gasp, arching her back, pushing into my touch as I knead these beauties.
“I like that,” she purrs.
My dick tries to wrestle its way out of my jeans, jerking against my clothes, doing a skyscraper impression to get some attention.
But fuck my dick.
Because . . . these breasts.
I drop my face between them, nuzzling, licking, sucking.
Groaning too. I could spend all day here. I could get lost in the valley of her breasts. Don’t bother with a search and rescue crew; I’m not leaving.
Doesn’t seem she wants me to either. Nadia grips my hair, tugs me closer, urges me to lavish attention on her gorgeous globes.
“Yes, Crosby. God, yes,” she says, but then a few seconds later, her hands still, and she whispers, “Hey.”
At the sound of her alarm, I instantly look up, searching her face.
“I love second base,” she whispers, not actually alarmed at all, but encouraging, it turns out, as she says, “but I kinda wanna get to home plate.”
I grin, then laugh, shaking my head. “What’s wrong with me? Getting all stalled out on second, when it’s clearly time to score.” I clear my throat and lecture sternly, “For the record, though, the rule book dictates that I get to return to second base and spend all night here. There’s so much I want to do to these beautiful tits.”
“And so much I want you to do with your . . . baseball bat?” she asks as she cups my hard-on.
“Dick, shaft, cock.” I cover her hand with mine, pressing hers more firmly against my erection.
Ah, yes. Fucking yes. That feels so good.
With a mischievous grin, she mutters, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
I sigh happily, at her words, her deeds, her palm stroking my dick through my jeans. She’s where I want her to be.
Well, I do want to move us horizontal.
Gently removing her hand, I bend to take off my socks, because no woman should see a man in only his lucky socks—that’s how they become unlucky.
