Operation G-spot. Jodi Lynn CopelandЧитать онлайн книгу.
silently begging to be sucked. As if he could hear that begging, his lips closed over the overly sensitized pearl and tugged. Erotic sensation crashed through her in a tumultuous wave. She swallowed her desperate moan for more.
Dusty’s lips lifted. In the next instant, his tongue pushed deeply inside her, and she knew she couldn’t silence further moans. And why should she? The pulsing in her pussy said that this was it.
The night. The time. The end of her orgasm virginity. Amen.
Liz hadn’t wanted to share this momentous occasion with Dusty, but she’d already come to terms with karma’s warped sense of humor. She might as well come to terms with the fact that he could tell how eager she was to do him and voice the need cruising through her body.
“You owe me an orgasm.” She spoke matter-of-factly, as if her entire body and the majority of her sanity didn’t hinge on the words. “Give it to me now. Fuck me.”
He pulled from her body and laughed. “Only ’cause you asked so nicely.”
“What can I say, I’m a regular Ms. Manners,” she bit out, and then dove her fingers into his hair, clinging, gripping, pushing his face back between her thighs.
His tongue plunged into her juicy center. Deep. Deeper. In. Out. Back in. His goatee scraped over her clit with each stab of his tongue. Warmth spread over her like wildfire, coiling in her belly, licking at her pussy, blistering from head to toe. Tremors sliced through her, slowly at first, then growing in speed, spreading tension from limb to limb, sending her heart into a chaotic thundering tempo.
Oh yes! Oh yes! She wanted to laugh, cry, scream. Thank the orgasm gods for gifting her with this moment. Closing her eyes, she went with the latter.
Dusty had found it. He had to have found her missing G-spot because she was so close…so damned close…climax. The big O. Finally.
Fiona and Kristi were going to be sooo jealous come the next chat session. Sure they had orgasms, but never with a man. Not even Simon, Fi’s king-sized vibrator of a lover, could possibly top this all-consuming feeling of needing to go off like a bottle rocket on the Fourth of July. But enough about Fiona and Kristi. Coming was all that should be on her mind. Nothing else. Not her vow to never sleep with Dusty again. Not feeling like a slut because—
“Yo, Dusty. Everything’s cleaned up in the back. Can I take—oh, shit. Sorry, man. I didn’t realize you weren’t alone.”
The masculine voice washed over Liz’s heated body like ice water on a sultry summer night. Time and place returned to her in a heartbeat. She snapped her eyes open. Heat burned her cheeks, and disgust roiled through her belly at the sight of Dusty pulling his blond head from between her naked thighs; his head that she held on to so firmly it was as if she planned to keep him nestled there forever.
With shaking hands, she let free his hair and digested the last several minutes.
Jesus H. Christ! What the hell had she been thinking?
She was half-naked on a pool table, being eaten out where anyone could see her, and why, but for pleasure’s sake. For the lone reason of going off like a cream-filled atomic bomb, she’d lowered herself to her mother’s standards, forgotten every one of her ethics and acted like a sex-driven whore with a man she couldn’t stand.
Dusty stood and looked over his shoulder. “No problem. Go ahead and take off.”
“Have a good one,” the guy said, amusement in his voice.
“I’ll do my best.”
The kitchen door banged shut, announcing the man’s departure. Dusty hesitated a few seconds, then turned to her. Lust blazed over his face, consuming his features as he lowered back between her thighs.
Liz’s repulsion over their behavior shifted from herself to him. He was every bit as into the moment as he’d been before they’d been interrupted, and that just proved he didn’t have a single moral in his body. Knowing his track record, he’d probably forgotten who he was with long ago. More likely, he’d never cared in the first place.
Admittedly, for a short while there, she hadn’t cared either, but she for damned sure should have. She sure as shit cared now, when she’d reclaimed enough sense to remember she was as close to an atomic orgasm bomb as he was to a saint.
Grabbing a handful of his hair, she yanked. “Unless you want a pool stick shoved up your ass, get the hell off me.”
His attention shifted from her crotch to her face. His eyebrows came together, and his hot look faded to disbelief. “You’re fucking with me. You don’t want me to stop.”
She leaned to the side and grabbed the pool stick resting against the end of the table. She waved it at him. “Touch me again and you’ll see how much I’m fucking with you. You had your chance, Marr. You blew it.”
Dusty straightened and took a step back. “I didn’t blow a damned thing. You were about to come before Matt came out of the back.” He glanced back at her crotch and smirked. “Way you’re dripping, it’s clear you still want to.”
With a raucous laugh, she snapped her thighs together and pushed off the table, smoothing the dress down unsteady legs. “Get over yourself. The only reason I’m wet is because I have a real man waiting for me outside. One who knows how to get the job done.”
He stared at her a moment, then said, “You honestly have a guy outside while you’re in here letting me go down on you?” She nodded, and he shook his head. “You’re an even bigger nutcase than I thought.”
Self-loathing slid through Liz. She hated the way he was looking at her—as if she was deplorable for getting with two men in one night. She held little doubt he’d done the same with women many times. For the sake of her reputation, bogus though it might be, she cast aside her unease. “Maybe so, but at least I won’t be relying on my own hand to get me off tonight.”
3
Fiona: Hell-o, ladies. Guess who just had one of the best orgasms of her life? God bless you, Kristi. I don’t know what I’d do if you hadn’t hooked me up with Simon.
Kristi: Singing King Simon’s praises again. I take it that means Saturday night’s blind date was a bomb?
Fiona: You could say that. The guy was three inches shorter than me (you know about my height hang-up) and had a serious foot fetish. He spent the whole night staring at my feet, talking about licking my toes. Halfway through dinner I couldn’t handle it anymore and told him I had an oozing blister. Worked like a charm.
Liz: Lovely imagery.
Fiona: Hey, woman. Long time, no talk. So, did you take my advice and give the sure thing another go? Please tell me you did. Kristi isn’t putting any effort into finding Mr. G, and frankly it’s making me feel alone in the quest.
Kristi: Like you have room to talk, Ms. I Love My Dildo Better Than Any Man.
Liz: She’s got you there, Fi. For the record, I’m glad to hear Simon’s still doing the job. Ah, fuck it, I am not glad. I’m jealous as hell.
Fiona: Is it just me, or did you notice Liz ignored my question, Kristi? You aren’t holding out on us, are you, Liz? You know I have Old World connections, ways of making people talk. Spill, or swim with the fishes.
Liz: You have me shaking here. Probably wet myself from the fear.
Kristi: C’mon, Liz. Stop being gross and tell. Did you hook up with Dusty again?
Liz: It wasn’t exactly a hookup, and it also wasn’t worth it. No O…the story of my life.
Kristi: Oh, honey, that blows. Did he at least get you wet again?
Liz: No. Yes. A little. Okay, so a lot. But he couldn’t finish the job.
Fiona: Why? The lawyer in me detects there’s more to it.
Liz: The lawyer in you can stick it up your