Appealed (18 page)

She steps forward straight into my arms. I lift her right off her feet, holding her against me. Her hands bury in my hair, tugging a bit, then holding on tight.

And we kiss like it's the end of the world.

The air goes thick around us and time stops as our mouths slant, our tongues fuck, our throats moan and hum with a desperate urgency. Kennedy arches in my arms, her head tilting toward the ceiling when my lips traverse the pristine expanse of her throat.

“Brent . . .” She gasps, fingers running through my hair. “This is real. Tell me this is real.”

My eyes jerk up to hers and I cup her jaw in one hand. “It's real. This is so real I can't stop shaking.”

She searches my face . . . and then she smiles. Because she believes me.

And the emotions that swell in my chest, my feelings for her—they're indescribable. It's like . . . piss off Jack Dawson . . . I'm the king of the world now.

I slip one strap of Kennedy's top down her arm, far enough to expose one pale, flawless breast. I bend my knees, pepper the soft mound with kisses, and close my lips over the hard, tight bud of her nipple. Her moan is deep and long with approval as I suck on that hard point. Worshiping it with my tongue, tracing, caressing, and flicking.

Without breaking contact, I wrap my arms around her hips and lift, carrying her to the bed. I lay her down, sucking and laving her with my mouth. She grips the back of my shirt and I release her nipple with a pop, lifting my arms so she can pull my shirt off. Her hands scorch their way across my torso, fingernails digging. One strap of her shirt gives way as I yank it down her body in a fast tug, leaving her bare from the waist up. My eyes roam and consume—so much pale, perfect flesh.

I kiss her stomach, licking and grazing with my teeth—working my way up. Kennedy arches and moans, her hands driving into my hair. The heat of our skin, our bare chests rubbing—it's almost too much—and yet not even close to enough. Back at her mouth, I nip her plump bottom lip with my teeth, then cover both her lips with my own. Relishing the taste of her wet, sweet mouth, her soft, slick tongue . . . her whimpers and moans. Feeling my way blindly, the button on her jeans is released and with her help, I strip them off her legs—panties and all—leaving her bare.

The desperate need to look at her gives me the strength to rise up on my knees beside her on the bed, but my fingers never lose contact with her flesh. They trail up her rib cage, cupping her breasts, teasing those beautiful nipples, tracing her collarbone, skimming down her arms. My eyes are everywhere, memorizing each detail—the pink flush of flawless skin, the hint of rib bone, the soft indent of her pelvis, the smooth, immaculate canvas below—and best of all, the bare, plump lips of her glistening pussy.

My eyes threaten to close with a groan as the image is scored into my brain, but I force them open. I grasp Kennedy's ankles and pull her around, spreading her legs for a better view. I groan again—long and low and guttural—as my hands rub, and my fingers dip inside her, making way for my mouth. I lie down on my stomach, my breath against her skin, my fingers opening the pink flesh.

“Christ, Kennedy, your pussy is so fucking pretty.”

She moans at my words.

“This is made to be kissed and licked and fucked all damn day—and night.”

I press my open mouth against her skin and she screams. My tongue searches, pierces—and now my eyes do roll closed. Because her taste is sweet and wet and hot. I could lose myself in her cunt. This could ruin me—because I don't know how I'm going to function without thinking about these ripe, smooth lips. So soft, so fucking delicious. My mouth moves rough over her—inside her. My beard is scratching the tender skin on her thighs, probably leaving bright pink abrasions, and the thought turns me on even more.

My nose rubs her clit as I suck and flick my tongue in the paradise between her legs. And when I move up, when my tongue rubs against that swollen nub, Kennedy's hips jerk, and she comes against my mouth—legs trembling—crying my name.

I barely pause to let her recover. I turn my head and suck on the skin of her thighs—definitely leaving a mark this time. I lick my way to the sensitive indentation just below her pelvic bone. She takes big, gulping breaths and pulls at my shoulders.

“Come up here.” She pants. “Kiss me, Brent.”

And I happily oblige.

Her hands caress my face with tender, loving touches. Then she pushes on my chest with surprising strength until I'm up on my knees. When I'm where she wants me, she yanks frantically at the button on my jeans. A frustrated grunt escapes her, making me grin.

But when she gets them open, my grin turns into an openmouthed groan. Because she doesn't mess around—she pulls my pants down just low enough to free my hard, straining dick, and then she's all over it. She lathers the shaft with her tongue and lips, wetting the delicate skin, sliding up to the tip and slipping the fucker all the way into her hot, wet mouth.

My hips jerk, and I have to brace my hand on her back to keep from falling over.

“Shit . . . fuuuuck . . .”

The curses fall from me as Kennedy goes to town on my cock. Swirling her tongue fantastically around the tip, bobbing her head, sucking on me so hard it may bring on cardiac arrest.

Wouldn't that be the fucking way to go?

The back of her hand scrapes against the open zipper of my jeans when she cups my balls, massaging them, then adding a playful tug that sends electric pleasure shooting up my spine. She's really good at this—too good. Because when my hand burrows into her soft hair to do some nice tugging of my own, she hums around my cock—and the vibrations bring me right to the edge.

And as glorious as it feels, as much as I want to go through life with her mouth permanently wrapped around my dick . . . no . . .
no
 . . . I'm not going to come in her mouth.

Not the first time.

If Kennedy and I had actually “done it” all those years ago in my father's Ferrari, it would've been the slow, gentle, sweet kind of lovemaking they write about in books.

There's nothing slow or gentle about us now.

We're devouring each other—kind of crazed—beautifully fucking wild.

But there's still a tenderness, because we want to be closer, kiss deeper, make each other feel so much better than good. My fist tightens in her hair, pulling her off my cock, until we're chest to chest, face-to-face.

And she practically growls at me.

I kiss the hell out of her and laugh against her lips. “Hoover seems like a pretty fitting nickname at the moment.”

Kennedy gazes into my eyes and laughs back, and, Christ, she's so beautiful it hurts.

Then she lies back with the delicate grace of a butterfly landing on a leaf, leaning up on her elbows. Her eyes rake me up and down and her voice goes husky. “Take your pants off. And come here.”

That would be the command dreams are made of.

“Yes, ma'am.”

I turn my back to her, sit on the edge of the bed, and pull my pants off. I take the three condoms out of my wallet. Then I pop the pin on my leg and slip it and the liner off, because it's easier to move around the bed without it catching on the sheets. And I plan on moving a whole lot.

Kennedy's impatient, because instead of lying back and waiting for me to come worship her, she peppers a hot trail of kisses up my spine. She moves to my neck and her breasts press against my back, making me groan. I turn and slide my hand behind her neck, holding her still as I plunder her warm, eager mouth. My other arm slips around her waist, hoisting her against me as I rise to my knees.

Needy little moans and whimpers echo from her mouth to mine. Then she surprises me—pushing on my shoulders and taking us down to the bed so she lands on my hard chest with a soft
oomph
. She plants a kiss on one pec, then grins sexily as she rises up.

“I want to look at you.”

And look she does—with hungry eyes and exploring hands.

But then—something fucking weird happens. I swallow hard, and it tastes like self-consciousness. Vulnerability. I imagine this is what women must feel like—if they have stretch marks or cellulite or a spare tire around the midsection. Something about their body they would change if they could.

Here's the thing—I got past any issues with my leg and women a long time ago. It doesn't bother me, and the girls I've been with have been more interested in my long, thick third leg, if you know what I mean.

But—if I'm being honest—my lack of a lower limb is . . . odd. It's . . . missing. Your brain tells you there's supposed to be more. You naturally expect to see two full legs, but the one just . . . ends.

My chest rises and falls rapidly under Kennedy's roaming gaze. And I don't know if it's the expression on my face, or some small unconscious movement—but she reads my fucking mind.

“Do you know what I think of when I look at you, Brent?”

My response comes out scratchy—rough. “What?”

She caresses my abs, my arms, up both legs. “I don't think, ‘Oh, Brent is so strong,' even though you are. I don't think, ‘He's survived so much,' even though you have.” She looks into my eyes. “I just think—
perfect
. You're . . . perfect.”

And I didn't realize how badly I wanted to hear those words from her—until she gave them to me. I grab her arms and pull her down, putting every wild, sweet, insane emotion I have for her into a kiss.

Enough talking. No more gazing or caressing. We need to fuck—now.

I roll her over so I'm above her—pressing and grinding her into the mattress. Kennedy's movements are as unbridled as my own—fingers scratching and pulling, hips gyrating, legs wrapping, thighs squeezing so hard I can barely breathe. I reach for a condom wrapper on the bed, tear it with my teeth, and expertly roll it on one-handed. Bracing on my elbow, I slide my cock through her bare nether lips, groaning at the wet heat I can feel even through the latex. Kennedy's hips cradle me, her legs spread wider, beckoning me—and then I slide smoothly into her.

For a long moment, I don't move. I'm inside
Kennedy
. She's so beautifully fucking snug. I let her body stretch around me, get accustomed to my size while I relish the tight clench of her muscles—the feel of her slick cunt wrapped around my full length.

Then I look down into her heartbreakingly beautiful brown eyes—and I move. Withdrawing and pumping, flexing my hips in a slow, steady rhythm. Her lips are parted, sweet breath escaping with every thrust. Our noses rub, and then I give into the pure sensation—closing my eyes, capturing her mouth—riding her faster.

Kennedy's tongue dances against mine and she moans against my lips.

“I knew . . . I knew it'd be like this. Yes . . . oh yes, Brent.”

Her hands grip my ass, pushing me deeper. My mouth scours her neck and my hips quicken—driving harder—circling between her thighs each time I'm buried fully. I'd be embarrassed by how fast I feel the surging blissful pleasure of my orgasm coming on if I didn't know she was right there with me. Because it's so fucking good.

Perfect—like she said.

Kennedy's pussy clenches around me with her own building pleasure. I circle my hips harder, faster, rubbing my pelvis against her clit. And then thought becomes impossible. With a high-pitched moan, she contracts so hard around me it's almost painful. I push in deep with one final thrust, coming so hard that the blood rushing through my ears drowns out the sound of my groans.

Slowly, my ability to hear returns. Kennedy's hands slide up my back, soft and almost . . . grateful. I lift my face from her neck and open my eyes. She blinks up at me.

I feel like I should say something, something meaningful and profound. But she's screwed me stupid—robbed me of words. So I kiss her lips—softer now, reverently. And I feel her joy as she holds me close against her and doesn't let go.

W
e don't sleep.

We start to, but then light kisses turn deeper, gentle touches morph into greedy grasps, and despite the exhaustion that pulls at us both, we fuck all through the night.

Kennedy spends a lot of time on her stomach in the prelude to round two, because I've become obsessed with her ass. The round firm feel beneath my hands, the smooth, supple sensation as I trace the globes with my tongue, the gorgeous way it jiggles as I pound into her from behind. I dig my fingers into it, leaving a dusting of light bruises on the heart-shaped flesh. I scrape and nip it with my teeth, I kiss and worship it with my lips. If Kennedy's ass were bronzed, I would prostrate myself before it and pray.

During our third trip around the bases, she rides me. She took a few equestrian lessons back in the day, and boy, were they worth their weight in gold. She gets herself off and I find the view of that position particularly delightful. The way her breasts bounce when she drives down onto my cock, the way her elegant back arches as her hips swivel, and the sublime, stunning look that sweeps over her face when my orgasm triggers hers, and she comes for the second time with my name on her lips.
Gorgeous
.

Kennedy doesn't stock condoms, so after round three we're all out. But that doesn't stop us from going for it one last time. Though it takes a little persuasion at first, she straddles my face and I make her come with my tongue buried deep inside. Then she lies back, totally spent, as I slide my cock between her breasts and fuck them slowly. She garners just enough energy to lift her head and suck on the tip, and she moans when I come hard all over her.

I can't recall much after that—but I'm fairly sure I collapsed on top of her, and we both passed the hell out.

•  •  •

I'm pulled from well-earned slumber by the feel of a wet, rough tongue lapping just behind my ear. It tickles, and there's a smile on my face before I even open my eyes. I roll to my back, expecting to find warm brown eyes gazing adoringly at me—and see almond-shaped, midnight-black eyes staring back at me from a long-whiskered, fluffy white face.