Page 69 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series

Dylan hummed his appreciation. “I love the way you laugh,” he said, his voice deep and husky. As if to show her how much, he dipped his tongue into her navel again, holding her firm as she squirmed beneath him. She didn’t just giggle this time, she laughed outright, arching her back as the most surreal waves of bliss rolled through her. Bliss forged not just by Dylan’s hands and mouth on her body, but by his humor and personality. She’d never had a lover want to make her laugh during sex before and she reveled in the uninhibited, unabashed joy of it, even as her clit throbbed for attention and her stomach knotted in anticipation.

“I love the way youmake melaugh,” she panted back, fisting her hands in his hair. She thrust her hips upward, wanting his lips on her flesh.

“What if I do this?” he asked, a second before he tugged her track pants over her hips and off her legs—and lapped at her pussy with his tongue. From her perineum to her clit. “Do you love that?”

She wanted to answer him. She really did. She wanted to say,Oh yes, I definitely love that. But she couldn’t. All she seemed capable of was making some sort of whimpering, hiccupping moan of acquiescence. Especially when, without waiting for her answer, he did it again.

Monet rolled her head from side to side and held on tightly to the sofa. She needed an anchor, a fix point, something to keep her from washing away in the pleasure rolling through her.

He circled her clit, flicked it with the tip of his tongue and then circled it again. All the while, his hands pressed with gentle force on her inner thighs, spreading her wider. She lay naked before him, a man she’d known less than twenty-four hours, and couldn’t stop her smile of rapture. Couldn’t stop her hips rising up to his masterful mouth. Offering herself to him completely.

“Don’t stop.” She heard the rising urgency in her voice. “Please, don’t stop.”

His tongue swiped over her clit again before dipping into her sex. She whimpered, the invasion too sweet for words.

“Fuck,you taste good, Monet.” His groan vibrated against her pussy. “I could stay here forever and just eat you out. Fuck you with my tongue,” he murmured, said tongue delving in and out of her sex with wriggling, stroking thrusts. “Paint my lips and chin with your come.”

His words caressed her senses, building the squirming tension deep in the pit of her belly.

“Make you come over and over again on my face,” he continued on a hot breath before nipping her clit then sucking it. “Make you scream my name.”

He thrust his tongue back inside her, his hunger evident in the fierce groan she felt rumbling in his throat. In the way his fingers gripped her inner thighs.

“Dylan! Oh Dylan, I’m going to…” She pushed her hips higher, pushing her pussy closer to his mouth. Her head swam, the soles of her feet tingled. “To…come! I’m going to…”

He laved his tongue over her clit again and again and then, just as she couldn’t hold on to her orgasm any longer, as the words “going to oh god going to oh oh oh” tumbled out of her mouth in gasping pants, as the pleasure swelling through her turned to a tsunami, he thrust his tongue back into her sex.

She came. Her release gushed from her. She bucked her hips upward, her nails scraping at the sofa, her toes curling.

She came and Dylan continued to fuck her with his tongue.

Until she came again.

And again.

Chapter6

His luggage was still AWOL. That, of course, made flying back to Australia a bit tricky. Add to that fact Thanksgiving was in two days and Hunter hadn’t bothered to call him back, and Dylan was a tiny bit frustrated. If nothing else, he would have expected Annie to call.

Dylan pulled at the collar of the shirt he was wearing, staring at his reflection in the full-length mirror before him. He should be angry. The troubling thing was, he wasn’t.

Not at all.

After their night of…discovery, they’d curled on the sofa together and watched the sun rise over the New York skyline.

The silence had drawn out between them, each lost to their thoughts. Dylan could tell Monet wanted him to make love to her. She didn’t have to ask; he could see it in her eyes, feel it in her body, in the way she touched him, moved beneath him. He wanted that too, so bloody much, but both held back, an unspoken name between them.

Annie.

Until he spoke to Annie, he couldn’t make love to Monet. Not the way he wanted to. Couldn’t completely take possession of her body. When the sun finally flooded Monet’s apartment, he’d known they had to leave, get out in public. If they hadn’t, whether he’d spoken to Annie or not, he wouldn’t have been able to maintain control any longer.

He wasn’t a man used to denying himself what he wanted, and he wanted Monet. But nor was he a cheating wanker. He and Annie had never told each other they were committed, they weren’t a couple, but he still couldn’t shake the fact he was being a bastard.

The second Monet had emerged from her morning shower, he’d told her he needed to buy some clothes. She’d cocked an eyebrow and said, “I was thinking the same thing. Otherwise you’ll have to wear my robe while we wash your jeans, and as appealing as that is, I don’t think red silk is your thing.”

Eight hours later, they’d explored the Museum of Modern Art and the Guggenheim, eaten street vendor hotdogs and laughed so much their faces ached. Now, however, Dylan wondered how a bloke from the Outback could end up where he currently stood—a changing room inside a Hugo Boss store being fitted for a dinner suit.

He bit back a sigh, shaking his head at his reflection in the mirror.