Operation G-spot. Jodi Lynn CopelandЧитать онлайн книгу.

      “What do you say I rub your balls for luck?”

      Dusty Marr halted the slide of his pool stick middraw to quirk an appreciative eyebrow at the leggy blonde reclining against the pool table. Decked out in a snug black catsuit with a daring scoop-necked bodice and matching stilettos, the carnal tilt of her smile and the heat in her emerald eyes told him exactly which balls she had in mind. Not the ones on the table, but those stirring to life along with his dick.

      He hadn’t had sex in weeks, since the night Liz Hart, his best friend’s younger sister, had shocked the hell out of him by challenging him to a game of pool where oral sex was the stake. A decade his junior, he’d first met her as a loudmouthed sixteen-year-old. Jailbait personified, she’d already been endowed with all the right assets to have his testosterone spiking, as well as an overt loathing of him that said he would never get his hands on her. Despite the fact that her dislike of him remained intact, eight years later he’d gotten his hands, and his mouth, on her. Her moans of pleasure said she’d loved every minute of it, too. That is, right up until the moment she’d started trembling with the first signs of climax, only to stop short, tell him he sucked in the sack, and order him out of her brother’s house.

      Despite the recent hiatus, Dusty was no stranger to sex. He loved every aspect of it—from the feel of a woman’s soft curves and the breathy gasps and sighs of her coming undone to the knowledge it was the one thing in life he was truly good at. No one he’d ever slept with could believe otherwise.

      No one but Liz.

      He wasn’t about to let his ego or his dick suffer from the accusations of one questionably sane woman.

      Dusty signaled to his pool opponent to continue without him. With a wicked smile, he turned to the blonde. He opened his mouth to tell her she was welcome to rub far more than his balls; however, the slender woman with olive skin and closely cropped ebony hair sitting at the bar fifty feet away stopped him from saying a word.

      The place was fairly dark and equally smoky. Still, there was no mistaking her identity. Liz. Shit.

      What was she doing here?

      Outside of that night several weeks ago, she never came to his bar. Not only was Dusty’s Backroom located in a small town nearly a half hour from her Atlanta home, but it was also a country bar. Liz was as rock and roll as a person could get.

      Stranger than her presence was her attire. She was a jeans and T-shirt kind of gal, a woman who didn’t bother with makeup and who didn’t need to. Only, tonight she had bothered with makeup, and the jeans and T-shirt were nowhere to be found. A dress the same shade of electric blue as her eyes molded to her curves, managing to cover her from throat to elbow to knee and somehow still look sinful as hell—maybe because he remembered exactly how she looked out of that dress. Tall, toned, and slippery when wet.

      His cock hardened further, pressing against the fly of his jeans. She hadn’t climaxed for him, but that she’d been dripping wet right up until she’d ended things was no exaggeration.

      “Dusty?” a husky feminine voice questioned.

      He turned back, realizing it was the blonde who’d spoken. Had they slept together? How did she know his name?

      Movement from the corner of his eye had him looking back at Liz. His gut tightened. She had company. Dusty knew those who frequented his bar. Between his gauzy pink shirt and painted nails, which lent serious question to his sexuality, and spiked black with blond-streaked hair, the guy didn’t look like a local or someone Liz’s brother would approve of. For Colin’s sake, he would get rid of the jerk.

      “Give me a few minutes,” he told the blonde. “I need to take care of something.” For an instant she looked agitated, but then her smile returned. Leaning in so that her plentiful tits couldn’t help but press against him, she rubbed her knuckles along his whiskered cheek. “As I recall, you’re well worth the wait.”

      Obviously they had slept together, Dusty thought as he started toward the bar. That the blonde was not only back for more, but was also willing to wait for him without asking why proved how inaccurate Liz was in calling him a bad lover. If there was a bad lover between them, it was her…. And so it seemed her frilly new friend was trying to find out firsthand.

      In a move as old as dirt, the guy slid his arm around her shoulders, then coasted his hand down her side to caress the outer swell of a breast. The hand continued to rub, inching slowly inward. Disgust swept through Dusty, mirroring the look in Liz’s eyes. He expected her temper to take flight and for her to punch the unsuspecting schmuck. She didn’t move a muscle, but plastered on a smile any idiot could tell was fake.

      She might be okay with getting felt up by a creep in front of dozens of prying eyes, but Colin sure as hell wouldn’t approve. For her brother, Dusty would save her ass.

      Reaching her, he took her free hand and tugged her from the bar stool, dislodging the other man’s arm. She was a tall woman, inches beneath his six-foot-one frame. In three-inch spiked heels, her mouth was nearly even with his. She must have done some thickening trick with her ruby-red lipstick because, as he pulled her into his side, he noticed her lips were plumper than ever. Plump and glistening, they brought to mind the way her mouth had looked wrapped around his dick.

      The woman might be a nutcase, to kick him out the way she had, but he remembered now that she wasn’t bad at sex. At least the oral variety. Those full, gifted lips gave head like no other before her.

      He rubbed his thumb in the valley of her palm. “Elizabeth.” Dressed the way she was, her full, more feminine name sounded appropriate. “I was wondering when you’d get here.”

      The feigned smile left her lips and icy blue eyes bored into his. She yanked at her hand. “What the fuck do you want, Marr?”

      Dusty smirked. Now there was the Liz he knew. He freed her hand to give her ass a gentle swat. “Such a bitchy tease. You know what that does to me, babe.”

      “No, babe,” she retorted, drawing out the bogus endearment. “I’m afraid I don’t.”

      “That’s my Elizabeth, always fishing for a reminder.”

      Kissing her was bound to lose him a night of carnal bliss with the blonde. Dusty glanced back to the pool table where the woman waited in all her leggy glory. She looked like the type who could get her legs behind her ears without any trouble at all. Liz would owe him for the loss, big time.

      He looked back at Liz. His attention returned to her lush mouth, and his cock jerked. Though he hadn’t planned on getting naked with her again, several excellent ways she might repay him—each of which had to do with leaving a ruby-red ring around his shaft—popped into his head.

      “Open up,” he ordered, giving her ass another swat.

      Her mouth opened, likely to tell him off. Before she could speak, he pulled her snug to him and sank his tongue past her lips. Her gasp pushed into his mouth as a blast of hot air, a sultry puff at odds with the biting pinch of her short nails into his arms.

      Call him a masochist, but he loved that bite and the way she brought her knee up, attempting to leave a permanent mark on the family jewels. Loved even more the way she couldn’t stop her hot little sigh as he sucked at the softness of her inner cheeks. He brought his tongue over her teeth, across her gums, and