Badd Business Page 15

  “Jesus—fuck, Juneau,” Remington growled.

  I held my arms at my sides and just stood there, enduring his hungry, scrutinizing stare—not enduring, soaking up. Enjoying. I liked his eyes on me. I liked the need I saw painted so indelibly in every line of his body, every twitch of his muscles, every shift of his virulently blue eyes.

  “What, Remington?” I asked, even though I knew.

  “You.” He took a step toward me, hands reaching. “So—fucking—perfect.”

  I caught his wrists. “Ah-ah-ah. Not yet. It’s still my turn.”

  He snarled in raw frustrated need. “I need to touch you, Juneau. I have to. Right the fuck now.”

  I ran my hands up my belly, over my tattoos, and then slowly, sensually cupped my breasts, lifted them, and then let them fall. “You want to touch these?”

  “Touch ’em?” he snarled. “I’m gonna devour them. I’d fuck ’em if you’d let me.”

  I felt myself blush even as my core tightened to drumhead tightness, weeping my need. “You never know what I might allow, Remington.” I pushed his hands down to his sides. “I have desires of my own, though.”

  He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans, a slow, feral, cocky grin curling his lips. “That so, darlin’?”

  I laughed at the unexpected twang in his voice. “Your country boy is showing.”

  “Well, you know what they say—you can take the boy outta the country, but you can’t take the country outta the boy.” He jutted his chin at me. “And, Juneau, honey, you turn my mind into mush. I can’t think about a goddamn thing except getting my hands and mouth on those perfect tits of yours.”

  “Just my tits?” I asked, shuffling closer to him, until inches separated us and the rigid tips of my breasts brushed his hard, muscular chest.

  “Don’t be stupid, babe. I plan on putting my mouth on every…single…inch of your sexy body.” His eyes blazed, his abs rippled and flexed as his breathing came rapid and shallow, and his hands were knotted into fists at his sides. “You were saying you have desires of your own, though. What is it you want?”

  I shrugged, and enjoyed the way the small, simple movement drew his attention. “Just…you.”

  He grinned. “Well, you got me, darlin’.” He rolled a heavy shoulder, hands still in his back pockets. “I’m here for the taking.”

  I bit my lower lip, letting my eyes slip from his downward—taking in the hypermasculine musculature of his physique, his massive shoulders and thick chest and bulging arms and furrowed abs…and the sleek grooves of the V leading under the waist of his jeans. His zipper was straining to bursting, and I felt my fingers twitching, burning, aching to alleviate the pressure I could see him visibly struggling to be nonchalant about.

  “See somethin’ you like, Juneau?” Remington drawled, a cocky, arrogant grin heating his sexy, rugged face.

  “You know I do.”

  “Then what’s holding you back?” he asked. “I won’t bite.” Another grin, this one even more ravenous and primal. “Unless you want me to.”

  What was holding me back? Worry for what will happen when it’s all over?

  “Promise me one thing, Remington,” I said, tangling my fingers together to keep them from wandering prematurely.

  He frowned. “I don’t like promising things, ’cause I don’t make promises I can’t keep.”

  I sighed. “That’s exactly it—please, whatever happens between us, just…please don’t lead me on. Don’t make promises you don’t intend to honor just to get something from me. Be honest, be open, and be real. That’s all I ask.”

  His smile was…well—honestly reassuring. “Juneau, baby—I give you my word that I will not ever lead you on, I’ll never blow smoke up your ass just to get you to do something, and if things aren’t working out, I’m not gonna drag it out or be a dick about it.”

  “Your word of honor.”

  He nodded. “Absolutely. My word of honor.”

  I let my hands follow the wandering journey of my gaze, then. Across his shoulders, down his chest, over the ridged plane of his stomach. Tracing the lines and valleys and ridges and curves of his muscles. My hands explored around the waistband of his jeans. I paused at the center, just beneath his navel. I met his gaze, and saw patience warring with need.

  Lip caught in my teeth yet again, I felt an eager grin curving my lips, felt my eyes sparking and dancing as my fingers worked the button free of the loop, and then I dragged his zipper down. Immediately, his erection sprang hard against the black cotton of his underwear, pushing through the opening of his fly. And god—the bulge was massive.

  He was probably right about my sketch’s underestimation of his endowment.

  Which made me tingle all over.

  I hooked my fingers in his hip pockets and tugged down, and Remington shimmied his hips, stepping on the ends of his pant legs to jerk his legs free, toeing the jeans aside. He stood before me in just a pair of tight black briefs, the front tented with the bulging curve of his erection, which was bent almost double inside his underwear, the tip straining and nearly poking over the top of the elastic.

  I reached for him again, but this time he caught my wrists. “Nope. My turn now.”

  Remington captured both of my wrists in his hands, pressed his body against mine, flattening my breasts against his chest, and nudged me backward a few steps, until I bumped up against his closed and locked bedroom door. And then he lifted my arms over my head, pinning my wrists against the door—my breasts were lifted, suspended, and my ragged breathing had them jiggling and swaying. I met his eyes, seeing the hunger, and felt lightning sizzling and searing through me even before he touched me.

  “Keep ’em up there, Juneau,” Remington growled, releasing my hands.

  I layered my hands one behind the other and rested my head against them, keeping my elbows up.

  “Atta girl,” he murmured, his eyes dancing and fiery with need. “Just like that. Don’t move.”

  And then he knelt in front of me, and his palms raked down my chest, capturing my breasts in his hands, the mounded flesh spilling out of his grip, and then his fingers traced furrows down my belly and snagged into the front of my skirt, hooking around the waistband of both skirt and thong.

  I had barely enough time to catch my breath before he dragged them down together in one smooth motion. Automatically, I stepped out, and he tossed the last of my clothing aside, leaving me utterly and totally naked, clad only in ink and goosebumps.

  “Holy fuck,” he growled. “So gorgeous.”

  He rocked backward, his hands on my hips, and let his eyes roam from head to toe, up and down, several times, pausing at my breasts and then my core each time.

  And then, as if unable to help himself, he nuzzled his nose and lips against my left breast, tongue flicking, lips hunting. I gasped. He smirked. And then he was cupping my right breast in his big rough hand and his lips were capturing my left nipple, and I was fighting for breath, and he was trading hands for lips, cupping and kissing. Licking and nipping, kneading and flicking. Nipples, inside, underside, the entire heavy globe—Remington paid attention to every part of my breasts, both of them, until I was breathing hard and my core was soaked and if he flicked his tongue over my nipple one more damn time I was sure need would leak liquid down my thighs.

  “Remington…” I breathed.

  “Yeah, sweetheart?” he asked, staring up at me between my breasts, cupping them both in his hands.

  “I…”

  “Say it.”

  “I need—” I bit down on the phrase lodged just behind my teeth.

  He nuzzled between my boobs again, keeping them in his hands and running his lips and nose and tongue all over them. “What do you need, Juneau? Tell me.”

  I felt my hips flex, rock. “More.”

  He just chuckled. “More, huh? What kinda more? Just…more? Or something specific?”

  I glared down at him. “Don’t play games with me, Remington. You know exactly wha
t I want.”

  “Yes, I do.” He ran his hands down the outside of my thighs, and then up the fronts, his palms flat against my hip bones, his thumbs grazing over the valleys to either side of my core.

  At even the teasing promise of his touch, my hips flexed forward. “Touch me, Remington,” I breathed.

  “Oh, I am, babe. I’m just taking my time.” He grinned up at me. “Can’t rush perfection.”

  “Perfection, huh?” I asked, smirking down at him. “Awful confident in yourself, aren’t you, Mr. Badd?”

  He grazed his thumbs over the top of my pussy, down the lips, and then back up over the seam. “Absolutely.” He pressed his lips against my belly, planting a line of quick kisses following the chevron of my tattoos, licking the montage of images on my stomach and hips, and then flicking his tongue in the hollows between my hips and my sex. “I am absolutely confident in the fact that you’re about to have the best orgasm of your entire goddamn life, and when I’m finally done making you come, Juneau, you’re gonna be desperate for more.”

  “I already am and you haven’t done anything yet.”

  He just laughed. “Question for you, honey: are you a screamer?”

  I shook my head, sucking in a sharp breath as he slid an index finger up and down my seam. “Not…not usually. But then, you have a way of bringing things out of me I didn’t know I had, so anything’s possible.”

  I couldn’t resist the allure of his taut skin and hard muscle—my hands settled on his broad shoulders and trailed up his neck, back down, over his shoulders, caressing anywhere I could reach while his lips danced here and there—hip to thigh, then nuzzling in between thigh and seam…everywhere except where I wanted it.

  He pressed his thumbs to my nether lips, spreading me open. “You’ve had this before, haven’t you? You’ve had this done to you, right?”

  I nodded, breathless, speechless. “Y-yeah, of course. But not…” I lost my train of thought as he ran his tongue up the outside of my sex, the tip of his tongue sliding wetly along the outside of my nether lips. “Not like this…not the way you’re doing it.”

  “Good.” He grinned up at me. “Feel free to scream, sweetheart.”

  “I can’t breathe right or I probably would,” I gasped. “God—please, stop teasing me.”

  “Don’t you know teasing’s half the fun?”

  “Fun for whom?” I growled.

  He just laughed. “Me. And by the time I give you what you want, you’ll be such a mess you’ll fall apart for me so hard you won’t know which way is up.”

  “Up?” I asked, only partially kidding. “What’s that?”

  He chuckled, but then his mouth was otherwise occupied, his thumbs caressing my seam, spreading me open, letting go, dragging his finger through my damp, slick, swollen lips, and then, finally, finally, he dragged his tongue along me where his thumbs had been. My knees buckled, and I had to grip his shoulders for balance.

  “Oh…oh god.” This was a whispered squeak, breathless and shrill.

  His tongue drove suddenly against my clit, and my knees buckled again, and my grip on his shoulders went white-knuckled. His eyes met mine. “Hold on tight, now, Juneau.”

  “I am—” I started, and then he slid a long, thick middle finger inside me and curled it, and his tongue slathered against my clit, and I lost my voice and my breath all at once, and my knees gave out completely. “Remington!” I cried out.

  I had to stiffen my knees and claw at his shoulders as my hips tilted, flexing spasmodically, driving my clit against his tongue, which was flicking and licking and circling maddeningly slowly. He knew I wanted it faster but was denying me. I gulped air as my lungs clenched, heat searing through me, pressure building and ballooning to crushing intensity as his thumbs pried me open and his tongue slid into my channel and lapped at my dripping sex and flicked in wicked circles around my hard, aching clitoris. My fingers clawed into his shoulders, my knees buckling in rhythm to the flicking of his devilishly unpredictable tongue. He lapped and lapped and lapped in slow time, and my hips flexed and flexed and flexed to meet him; and then he’d change his pace and his tongue would stiffen and drive in quick circles and my hips would try to keep up and as I grew more and more unable to keep up with his driving pace, I’d gasp and whimper and huff, and then, right as I was moments from falling over the edge into a molten pool of white-hot orgasm, he’d slow back down and I’d snarl and mewl like a feral kitten.

  “Rem—” I gasped, unable to even articulate his full name. “P-p-please…”

  I was a writhing, seething mess, my pussy drenched with my own need and his smeared saliva, my belly taut and clenching as waves of pre-orgasm intensity racked me, my hands clutching at his shoulders and his head, pawing and gripping and clawing for purchase, trying to grind him harder, closer, force him faster. I was a wanton mess of sexual need, is what I was, and Remington had me exactly where he wanted me.

  I would do absolutely anything he asked of me in that moment, if only he would let me come.

  “Oh—oh god—” I gasped, feeling myself hitting the edge, reaching the peak, my climax coming to a full boil inside me. “Rem—please. Please don’t stop me, this time. Fuck!”

  “I love it when you curse like that.”

  “You like making me desperate? You like making me beg?” I wrenched my eyes open and fixed them on his—his mouth and upper lip and chin were smeared and glistening.

  He grinned. “It is fucking hot as hell, knowing I can make you beg.” He licked at me, keeping me teetering on the edge. “You’re right there, aren’t you?”

  I nodded, gasping. “Yeah—so close.”

  “You’d agree to do pretty much anything I asked as long as I let you come right now, wouldn’t you?”

  I nodded, biting my lip. “Yes, Remington. You know I would.”

  He smirked, and then buried his face between my thighs and drove his tongue against my clit and devoured me, pushing me to the edge, making me gasp and whimper and writhe…

  “If I make you come, as soon as you could function again, you’d drop to your knees and suck my cock, wouldn’t you?”

  “Is that what you want, Rem?” I snarled at him. “You want me to suck you off?”

  “Maybe, maybe not. I just want to know how desperate you are.” He glanced up at me. “I need you to do something for me, Juneau,” Remington murmured, in between lapping at me with his fiendish tongue.

  “What?” I rasped. “Tell me.”

  He slid two long thick fingers inside my tight, spasming channel, curling them, dragging them out and drilling them back in, curling as they entered me. Then, he suctioned his mouth around my clit as he finished issuing his order, sucking hard on my clit and flicking his tongue against it in quick, ravaging circles.

  “I need you to come for me,” he murmured, and then—oh god, and then…

  He didn’t stop. He buried his mouth against my pussy and ate me to completion, devouring my clit, two thick fingers slicking in and out of me, driving me to the edge and past it, to the peak and over it. I screamed, a quiet breathless shriek that was all I could manage as I was racked by an orgasm so potent my knees gave out completely and even my grip on his shoulders couldn’t keep me upright; Rem was there, though, holding me up, draping my thighs over his shoulders and powering upright with me sitting on his chest and shoulders, his tongue lapping at me. My spine slid up the cold wood of the door; I reached up and braced my hands against the low ceiling just overhead, shrieking and writhing as he drove his tongue against me side to side so fast and hard it shook my whole body, but maybe that was the climax shattering me. Remington continued to devour me until the orgasm punched the last of my breath from my lungs and left me limp, and still his tongue circled and lapped and swiped and darted, making me curl in and clutch at his hair, knotting my fingers in the fine thick blond locks.

  “Rem—Rem—god, fuck, oh god…”

  “Such a dirty mouth for such a good girl,” he muttered, his voice muffled agai
nst my pussy.

  “I’m—I’m still coming.”

  He just laughed, walking with me across the room, carrying me easily and letting me fall backward onto his bed. I curled up in a ball, racked by waves of violent spasms. He hovered over me, grinning arrogantly down at me. “Are you done yet?”

  I forced my eyes open, forced myself to uncurl and lay gazing up at him, trembling with aftershocks—I couldn’t help laughing as I saw how wet and smeared his mouth was; I reached up and wiped his face clean, but then he caught at my wrists. He guided my right hand down to my sex, pressed his middle and index finger to mine and curled our joined fingers against my seam, dipping my fingers into myself, gathering my essence, and then, his eyes locked on mine, he slid my fingers into his mouth. Licked them clean.

  My mouth fell open, and I groaned. My turn: I drove his same two fingers against me, and he played along, sliding and curling his thick digits inside me, then he pulled them out. His fingers were slick and sticky with my juices, and I brought them to my mouth.

  I wrapped my lips around his fingers and licked between them, drawing them out. I slid my mouth down around them, bobbing on them—simulating the act of going down on him.

  I tasted myself, and wished it was him.

  And then, abruptly, he stood up. Backed away, an opaque expression on his face.

  I frowned. “Rem? Where are you going?”

  His grin was positively wicked. “Checking on your sweater.”

  “Screw the sweater,” I said, sitting up to prop myself on my elbows. “Come here. I want you.”

  He shook his head slowly. He bent over and snagged his jeans, and stepped into them, his eyes on me. “Nope.”

  I blinked. “What? Why not?” I licked my lips, sensually, the gesture full of erotic promise. “I thought you wanted me to drop to my knees and suck your big hard cock?” God, was that me saying that, talking like that?

  He growled, struggling to stuff his erection into his jeans. “More than you could possibly imagine.”

  “Then why are you stopping? Where are you going?”