The Firefighter. Susan LyonsЧитать онлайн книгу.
at the club, his muscles long rather than bunchy. Tanned a rich, uniform brown, he looks like a guy who swims, surfs, spends a lot of time being active outside. The opposite of me, who’s usually in an office, and gets my exercise at a fitness club.
This is definitely not a man who’s bought into the trend to get rid of body hair, and I thoroughly approve. Dark curls spread across his pecs and a trail V’s down to his waist.
I’m happy to stand back and enjoy this striptease. And a tease it definitely is. Who ever said women didn’t get off on looking? I’m here to prove they’re wrong, in the way my nipples bud, my pussy swells and melts.
I’m too turned on, too curious to feel nervous anymore.
He unfastens the button at his waist. My gaze is on his distended fly as he lowers the zipper. He shoves his hands into the sides of his jeans, and begins to pull them down, along with his underwear.
His skin’s a shade or two lighter here, but still tanned. Then his cock springs free. He gives a sigh of relief.
My sigh is admiration. Oh, yes! Now, that’s exactly the way a cock is supposed to look.
He gives it a quick stroke from bottom to top. Like he’s greeting an old friend.
Normally I’m kind of inhibited, especially with a new guy, but that’s not how I feel with Mick. I want to touch him. All of him, but mostly that thick brown shaft with the bulging veins and dark, swollen head. I realize I’ve opened my mouth, am running my tongue around my lips. Tasting innocuous shower water, when what I want is his musky flavor in my mouth.
He has me so hot and bothered, I have to find a way of retaliating. I pick up the bar of clear green soap by the shower and get my hands nice and sudsy, then run them over my breasts in slow, sensual circles, pausing to fondle the beaded nipples.
His cock jerks and he grasps it again, holding it as he watches me.
I let my head fall back, run my tongue around my lips again, as suggestively as I know how. The arch in my back has thrust my breasts out, and I continue to soap round and round, teasing the nipples.
A part of me is saying, who is this woman? Where did I get this self-confidence?
Well, that’s easy. Mick gave it to me, in the hungry way he watches me. As if the woman he sees is utterly sexy. And so he makes me believe it.
He releases his cock and steps into the tub. “I’m glad you came to Oz.”
“Me too.” On the plane, I’d wished myself back in Vancouver. Now I’m Dorothy, in a magical world.
He moves forward, takes my head between both of his strong hands and angles it just the way he wants, then leans down and kisses me. He thrusts both our heads under the center of the shower and I close my eyes against the streaming water.
Delight. In this land, kisses come under waterfalls, in rainbow colors and showers of stars behind my closed eyelids.
But I can’t breathe. Gasping, I tear my lips from his, thrust my head out of the spray and gulp in air. Then I pull him close and this time initiate the kiss.
His body’s hotter than the water cascading over my shoulders. He brands my front from chest to thighs, his rigid cock trapped between our bellies.
My hands roam, exploring his powerful shoulders, moving down his back as it tapers to his waist, dipping into that special spot at the base of his spine. Then down to curve around his muscular ass.
So much sensation, I’m overwhelmed.
His lips soft yet demanding, his tongue flirting its way into my mouth, tasting faintly of coffee and mint. Mint, kind of like the green herbal smell from his soap that permeates the damp air. The flex of his butt muscles under my fingers, the hot water pounding my back and splashing over my shoulders to wet Mick’s chest, slicking the curly black chest hair against his body.
The pouring-rain sound of water almost covering the smaller sounds, the little gasps and moans we both make.
And in the center of it all, that bold thrust of cock.
I wriggle against it, wishing I were taller, wanting that firm pressure between my legs.
He eases his mouth from mine and then he’s bending, touching his lips to my nipple. Sucking and playing with it like he did with my lips. Water slips and slides across my skin, but his mouth centers, focuses, draws all my concentration to my breast.
No, not all my concentration. What he’s doing to my nipple creates an immediate response further down, where I’m already throbbing with need.
I’m tempted to tug on his hair, pull him up, tell him I’m ready. Yes, usually I love foreplay—need it, to be honest, to get me in the mood—but the woman in the shower isn’t the usual Tash. She’s a creature forged by fire, and she’s inflamed and hungry and wants this man inside her. Now.
Mick raises his head and I think, yes, now! but then he begins to suck my other nipple and the sensation is so exquisite I moan, “Oh, yes,” and throw back my head.
My gaze catches the shadow of a movement. Across the room there’s a mirror above the sink. And in it, my own reflection.
Wow. I look like a woman in an erotic movie. The water’s darkened my hair and it clings to my head, otter-smooth, calling attention to my dramatic bone structure.
The mirror reflects the back of Mick’s head against my breast. He tugs my nipple gently with his teeth and I gasp. Watching my own reaction in the mirror, seeing the flush on my cheeks, doubles my arousal.
His head moves and now he’s tracking kisses down the center of my body. I can guess—hope—where he’s going.
When he reaches my navel he does something I can’t even describe, kind of like puffing air into it but better. His lips hover on my skin and they and his tongue vibrate, like he’s humming or playing the harmonica.
Then, in the mirror, his head disappears from sight. Trickles of water run from my shoulders down to small, firm breasts with rosy budded nipples. My rib cage and flat stomach are shiny with water.
Mick kneels. A gentle hand urges my legs further apart. His tongue slides between them, separates the swollen folds. The woman in the mirror arches, eyes widening, mouth open as she lets out a sound that’s half moan, half whimper.
He does that throbbing vibration thing again and my body hums along with him. He licks along me, into me, then there’s a finger beside his tongue, then two, and I stretch for him.
I gaze down. All I can see is the top of his head, the back of his shoulders. Water’s splashing onto him like he’s kneeling under a waterfall. Worshipping the goddess of the waterfall.
I stare back into the mirror. The goddess is me, all flushed and wild and passionate, breasts literally heaving as I suck air in and out through my open mouth. Oh God, his tongue’s on my clit. And now his lips, and he’s doing that humming thing around it and my clit’s dancing to his tune.
I forget about the mirror and focus on what Mick’s doing with his incredible mouth and fingers. Inside me, everything tightens, draws together, my body’s rushing toward orgasm. My muscles clamp down on his fingers and he vibrates air all around my nub, tongues it gently and the waves crash through me. My knees go so weak I have to grab his shoulders or I’ll collapse.
He stays with me, gentling my body through the aftershocks. Then he rises slowly, hands on my hips to hold me steady.
“Incredible,” I murmur, reaching for his head to pull him close for a kiss. Suddenly I realize I’ve had almost no sleep for the last two days, and my body’s just enjoyed the best orgasm of my life. All I want to do is get dry and fall asleep with this man.
His kiss is too quick. Impatient. When I snuggle close, of course he’s still hard. And that quickly, with just the feel of that rigid organ, I’m wide awake.
My body’s never managed multiple orgasms, but