The Dream Guy Next Door: A Guys Who Got Away Novel Page 15

  Like this kiss is the answer to all the questions.

  Like everything we’ve ever needed to know can be found in the way our lips fuse together.

  We explore each other’s lips. The feel and the taste of her floods my senses, fills my mind, spreads across my entire body. As the kiss deepens, the need to touch her more—here, there, everywhere—escalates. I slide my hands up her arms, cupping her cheeks. Holding her beautiful face in my hands.

  Everything feels right about this moment.

  We are the picture of wanting, needing, and having.

  My tongue slides into her waiting mouth, and we moan as we connect. We murmur as we explore. My hands slide into her lush hair, and hers climb up my chest, rubbing against my pecs in a way that shows she likes what she feels. So much so it seems like she melts into the kiss. And soon, this becomes a long, slow moment, and we’re both gasping for air as our hands and bodies seek each other.

  We press and touch and grind. Heat radiates between us as we go for another round of kissing, deep and fevered this time, teeth and tongues and fingers in hair, then grappling against clothes.

  I feel wild. And I want to share all that wildness with her. To let her go wild too, since I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how she’ll be in bed.

  I break the kiss.

  “That’s only the beginning of how much I appreciate you,” I say, all rough and gravelly because I can’t speak any other way right now, since she’s fried all my brain cells. She’s frazzled everything inside me, and I want her so much.

  Her eyes are wicked, rimmed with lust. “But then, how else do you appreciate me?”

  This woman. I’m going to show her. I turn her around, admiring the view of her back, the curve of her ass, the shape of those strong legs. “Hands against the door.”

  She lets out a sexy purr, sliding her palms up the wood.

  “Let me show you,” I say, moving her hands up higher so those inked arms stretch above her body, her sparrows soaring to the ceiling.

  She glances back at me. “So this is how we’re doing it?”

  “Yes, this is how we’re going to do it. Because I have a thing for your neck.”

  I move her hair to the side, and I kiss the back of her neck, sliding my lips across her delicious skin. The moan she unleashes is like the gorgeous chorus to a song, and I want to hear it again and again, so I kiss her more and more.

  No. It’s worship.

  She moves like water, almost swaying, bending, curving against me as my lips travel along her flesh to her shoulder, then to her collarbone and back up. This time I don’t simply kiss her. I nibble.

  Her breath catches, a long, needy pant. Another bite, another moan that spurs me on.

  As I push the strap of her dress down her arm, licking and nipping across her skin, her delicious scent goes to my head with every single stroke of my lips.

  I kiss down her back to the top of her dress, tugging it down a little farther, flicking my tongue along her spine. The whole time she wriggles against me, arching, moaning.

  But her dress is in the way.

  I solve that problem by reaching for the hem, lifting it up, then pulling it over her head and tossing it onto the couch that she built earlier today.

  I let out a long, appreciative moan as I regard the gorgeous beauty in front of me. She wears only a cotton bra and knickers. Her long, lovely, luxurious back is on display.

  I run a finger along her spine, and she shivers as I touch her. “Your back is incredible,” I say.

  “Then maybe put your mouth on it.”

  “You love to give directions,” I say.

  “I just know what I want. And I want you touching me. I want you kissing me.”

  “Good thing I want my mouth all over you,” I say, as I savor every single second of tasting her. Moaning, she writhes against me and makes her desire known as I kiss down to the waistband of her knickers, tugging at them, dusting my lips over the top of the gorgeous globes of her ass until she spins around, all wild and needy. She gestures at me, pulling at my T-shirt. “Off. I want your clothes off.”

  “What do you know? I want my clothes off too.” And then I cup her chin, bring her mouth next to mine, and whisper against her, “I fucking love that you know your mind.”

  “I do. And I want you to have me and touch me and kiss me and eat me and fuck me.”

  That sounds like a perfect dinner plan. I lift her up and let her koala me, wrapping her legs around my waist, her arms around my neck. As I walk to my bedroom, her body twined around mine, I tease her, saying, “But what about dinner?”

  Her grin is dirty and flirty. “Eat me first.”

  “You first. Dinner later. Sounds like the perfect recipe.”

  Because there’s really no argument ever in the history of the universe against doing exactly what the woman wants in bed. Especially when it’s exactly what I want too.

  In the bedroom, I lower her to the mattress and strip off her bra, then I delight in those fantastic breasts, savoring each one, lavishing attention on her nipples. I kiss my way down her body as she moves under me, panting and groaning. When I reach the top of the white scrap of fabric, she is the most beautiful sight ever as she twists on my bed, lifting her hips, asking for more. For more touch. For more connection.

  “Off. Take them off.”

  “Why, yes. That’s exactly what I planned to do.” I slide the last shred of clothing off her. Heat bursts inside me, like a fire roaring through my veins, as I gaze at the stunning sight in front of me.

  January, totally aroused, completely naked, glisteningly wet.

  And there’s one more treat too.

  The answer to a question I had when I first noticed the art on her arms. Does she have any under her clothes, out of sight?

  The answer is yes.

  A delicate tulip graces her hip bone. Pink and green, and so very lovely. I breathe out hard, tracing the tiny flower with my index finger. “This is you,” I say reverently.

  She nods, a knowing smile crossing her lips. “Yes. It’s me.”

  “This is the girlie girl in your tomboy. It’s the sexy, sweet, feminine side under all that fix-it, do-it-yourself hotness.”

  “Yes,” she says, that one syllable full of delight, like she loves that I figured this out, discovered this about her.

  I bring my mouth to her hip, press a soft kiss to the tulip, and lick the delicate lines of it. A murmur falls from her lips, and when I raise my face, I ask another question. “When did you get it?”

  “Almost two years ago.” It comes out as a whisper, at a low volume, underscoring the secret she’s sharing. “No one’s seen it.”

  A fresh rush of lust whips through me, but it’s more than desire. It’s stronger, richer already. Since she’s sharing herself with me in a way she hasn’t with anyone else in ages. She is a gift, and she doesn’t give herself easily.

  She deserves to be cherished, so I kiss the tulip once more, like I am cherishing it. I kiss it, murmuring against it, “Beautiful.”

  Then I rise up, meet her gaze, and say, “Thank you for showing me your art.”

  There’s so much more to that statement than the words themselves, and I think she knows it.

  “Thank you for seeing it,” she whispers, and for several heady seconds, it feels like we’re teetering on the edge of a dangerous cliff.

  One that leads to jagged rocks and thorny terrain.

  But before we fall, she catches us with her body. She moves up onto her elbows and looks at me, desire in her eyes. “Why don’t you at least take off your shirt?”

  I do as she asks, peeling it off, tossing it onto the floor, and here we are, back firmly on the physical plane, and that’s fine by me. “Don’t ask me to take anything else off, because I need to have my mouth between your legs right the hell now.”

  She moans and answers with the most wonderful word: “Yes.”

  I set my hands on her knees and spread her open, my pulse spiking. When my lip
s kiss her hot, wet center, my eyes roll back in my head at the first luscious taste of her. At the sweetness of her desire.

  And the sounds she makes.

  Moans, groans, sighs.

  Murmurs, long and plaintive.

  My name too—how it turns into a cry and an arch as she bows her back.

  She’s wildly desperate already.

  I kiss her, flicking my tongue against the delicious rise of her clit, moaning at the decadence of her. My dick throbs harder in my jeans, and lust spins through my veins because she tastes spectacular. She sounds even better, panting, and babbling the most gorgeous noises ever.

  Like a woman who wants everything I’m giving her. Who’s saying my name. Who’s saying, “More.” Who’s pulling me closer.

  She tastes like a woman who wants everything. Who wants me. Who wants to come very, very soon.

  She spreads her legs wider then threads her hands through my hair, yanking me closer as she chants, “Don’t stop. I’m close. I’m almost there.”

  Seconds later, she bucks against my face and lets out a long, keening moan. Her hands slide up into her own hair, and she’s touching herself. It’s the most gorgeous thing in the world as she comes hard on my lips.

  Shouting, crying, and losing her mind, it seems.

  And I am ridiculously happy that I could do that for her. As well as insanely aroused.

  As she comes down, I break the contact, slide my jeans off, find a condom quickly, and sheath myself.

  And then I ask a most important question. “What would it take to get you there a second time?”

  She stares at me. Licks her lips. “Just your cock.”

  “Well, I was hoping you would say that, but what position is best for you?”

  Sitting up, she grabs my dick, tugging me to her.

  I don’t need to give the position a second thought, because she’s issued her declaration.

  I slide into the woman who occupies my thoughts, my body lighting up from the hot, tight grip of her.

  From the noises she makes.

  From the feel of her as I fill her.

  She knows exactly what she wants. Sliding her knees up to her chest, she moves them higher, near her breasts.

  Offering me herself.

  For pleasure.

  For both of us.

  Shamelessly.

  And I fucking love it.

  “Can you give it to me hard, Liam? Make me feel you everywhere,” she whispers.

  My brain short-circuits. Lust fries all the cells in my body. I thrust deeper, push her right knee higher. “Like that? Just like that?”

  Her features twist in some kind of ecstatic agony. “Yes, just like that.” It’s a breathy, needy answer tinged with relief, like she’s been craving this kind of intimacy, this kind of sex.

  Pressing a hand against her knee, I go deeper, so she can feel me both in her and against her, where she needs me. “I happen to be quite good at following directions,” I whisper against her cheek, then laugh lightly. “Well, when it comes to sex and recipes.”

  She laughs too, her back arching, her arms looping around me. “Want the recipe for another orgasm?”

  “I believe that’s what you’re giving me.”

  The smile on her face is warm, vulnerable, then insanely dirty when it shifts into a grin of hungry, carnal bliss. “Here it is—more, more,” she pants, her hands grappling at my back, tugging. They skate down to my ass, squeezing.

  This woman.

  She wants to feel.

  She wants to feel me everywhere.

  She wants a hard, powerful fucking—no teasing, no games. Just to be taken.

  And I want her to have everything she longs for. I fuck her hard.

  Deep.

  Relentlessly.

  Savoring, reveling in the sight of her losing her mind with lust. With desire.

  As she arches against me, she begs for more, like she needs sex with me more than anything in the world, like she needs another orgasm more than oxygen.

  And I don’t want to deprive her.

  I give her everything she wants, taking her over the edge again.

  It is gorgeous and glorious to wring more than one climax from this woman. Under me, she looks spent and sated.

  And I’m almost there too.

  There’s one thing I want.

  But I don’t have to ask for it. Because she pushes up to her elbows, drags soft fingers down my pecs, then reads my thoughts perfectly. “Want me to ride you? Finish you off like that?”

  I groan so loud I bet they can hear me in the town square. A bolt of fresh lust slams into me. “You are indeed an angel. It’s official.”

  In seconds, we switch positions, me flat on my back.

  She straddles me, rises over my cock, then lowers herself back down. The grin on her face is filthy as she takes me in again, slides her palms up my chest, and presses them against me.

  Then gives me the best view in the entire universe.

  Her tits bouncing up and down as she rises up, slams down, then does it over and over, annihilating my senses until white-hot magic pulls me under as I come hard inside my next-door neighbor.

  Who I should not be fucking.

  Not at all.

  But right now, I don’t fucking care.

  19

  Liam

  That cut dinner short.

  And I regret nothing.

  The possibility of sex is why I picked an easy recipe. Why I came home an hour early and made it.

  So it’d be ready.

  Because when you invite a woman over for dinner, you shouldn’t ignore her belly simply because you plan to enjoy her body for an appetizer.

  Plus, I do like the possibility of dessert—her—and I’m hoping we get to have that course before Ethan returns in an hour and a half.

  Ninety minutes.

  I can do this.

  I serve the pasta primavera, and we sit at the kitchen table.

  “Speaking of recipes, did you follow one for this?” January digs her fork into the dish, waggles a piece of bow tie pasta on the tines, then pops it into her mouth, closing her luscious lips around the meal I made for her.

  I smile, waggling my eyebrows. “I’m quite proud of myself for finding this recipe for your vegetarian heart and body. And one that doesn’t have too many vegetables I despise in it.” I take a bite of the pasta too.

  She peers at the food. “So it’s green veggies on your verboten list. But you’re okay with . . . gray veggies?” She roots around on her plate, pointing to some of the mushrooms I picked up from the farmers market over the weekend.

  What can I say? I was hopeful. Hopeful that I’d make dinner for her at some point, so I pregamed at the market.

  “Mushrooms are good in my book.”

  She pokes an artichoke, spears it, then holds it up like she’s captured it. “But artichokes? Aren’t they green?”

  “Ah. That is a most excellent question,” I say, taking a bite, chewing, then answering her when I’m done. “I consider artichokes to be part of the so-called beige family of vegetables.”

  “I had no idea beige was a family of vegetables.”

  “Learn something new every day.”

  “You are a font of knowledge.” She reaches for her glass of white wine and takes a healthy drink. When she sets down the glass, she picks up the fork again, pushes through the pasta, and lands on a slice of carrot. “And clearly orange vegetables are satisfactory, on account of not being green.”

  “Yes, they do seem to pass my general vegetable test.”

  She gestures to the salad she whipped up. The clever, creative salad. “Good thing I didn’t put Granny Smith apples or honeydew melons in there.”

  “Your salad is the height of brilliance.”

  With a naughty eyebrow arch, she blows on her fingernails. “Pretty proud of that one.”

  “As you should be, you temptress.” My eyes shift to the absolutely delicious fruit salad she made. I tap my fork o
n the side of the bowl. “See? This is my idea of a perfect salad. Peaches. Pitted cherries. And raspberries. You are a genius.”

  Just to make my point, I dip my fork in, snag a peach, and savor every juicy bite of it.

  She laughs. “You do like sweet things, Liam.”

  I arch one brow. “You’re just figuring this out now?”

  “I’m simply pointing it out now.”

  I lean in closer to her, my face inches away from hers. “I love sweet things. All sorts of sweet things. I enjoy all the sweetest tastes around.” Because I can’t resist how very sweet she is, I press a kiss to her cheek, sighing happily as I inhale her decadent scent. Maybe it’s peaches—perhaps it’s cherries. Whatever it is, her scent goes to my head.

  She sets down her fork, shuddering the slightest bit. She slides a thumb across my jaw, then says, “How sweet am I?”

  I bring my lips to hers, dusting a soft, barely-there kiss across them, murmuring, “The sweetest. You are absolutely the sweetest, January.”

  “Am I?” It comes out flirty.

  I answer in kind, as I dust my lips along her neck, up to her ear, nipping that earlobe once more. “You taste and smell incredible. Your hair, your skin, your lips, and your absolutely delicious pussy that I would really like to kiss and lick and suck again tonight.”

  She hums in response, a sexy, sensual sound that makes me want to get down on my knees, slide my hands up her skirt, spread her legs, and devour her again.

  Fanning her hand in front of her face, she stares at me, narrowing her pretty blue eyes. “You’re trying to distract me from finishing all this delicious food you made for me. But I need it because I need my energy.”

  I’m all coy and playful as I say, “And what do you need your energy for?”

  Her lips curve in a wicked grin. Her hand grips the hem of my shirt, tugging me a little closer. “I need it because it’s almost eight and I’m going to want a little something for the road.”

  I groan my appreciation for her libido, for her mouth, for her mind. “Do you have any idea how sexy it is that you know exactly what you want?”

  She gives a little shrug, her bare shoulder jutting up. “I want you. It’s really quite simple.”