Page 87 of Crossed Wires: The Complete Series

He frowned at the paper in his hands. “And people really get out of bed to go shopping at four in the morning?”

Monet grinned. “They do.”

Dylan shook his head. “Bloody idiots.”

“And what do you do at four in the morning, Mr. Oh-So-Mighty Sullivan?”

He closed the paper, folded it carefully and then tossed it over his shoulder as he rolled onto his side to face her. “Sleep.” He pulled a face. “Or muster a herd if it’s summer or sale day. Or find a snake to put in Hunter’s boots if he’s been out on the town the night before.” His grin returned. “But my favorite thing is sleep. Definitely not going to the bloody shops, I can tell you that.”

“What if the most perfect prize bull was only going to be on sale at four thirty and every other cowboy—I mean stockman,” she corrected when he cocked an eyebrow at her, “was going to be there to try to buy it. Would you get out of bed to go to the ‘bloody shops’ then?”

Dylan laughed, placing his hand on the curve of her bare hip and smoothing his hand over the gentle dip of her waist. “Oh well, that’s different. If it’s something important like Angus.”

Monet rolled her eyes. “You are such acowboy,” she said, emphasizing the cow. She was doing her damndest to appear indifferent to the wicked sensations his hand was creating simply by brushing over her waist. It was hard. Especially when her heart tripped into a hiccuppy little pace and her pussy contracted the second his thumb traced the curve of her rib cage. And then higher. “You’d get up at four to buy a bull or give your brother trouble but not for anything else?”

His fingers feathered over the pointed tip of her nipple. “I’d beupat four a.m. for you every day of the week.” He skimmed his hand down her arm, wrapped his fingers around her wrist and guided her hand under his boxers to his cock. His very erect, very thick cock. “Just like this.”

Monet couldn’t stop her low moan. Nor could she stop her fingers circling his impressive girth and squeezing. She didn’t want to stop. His flesh was like velvet steel against her palm. It made her pussy throb with urgent want.

“Have I told you how much I love the feel of your hand on my dick?”

Dylan’s hoarse question rasped against her senses. She shivered, the raw hunger in his voice potent. She slid her fingers down his length until she cupped his scrotum, giving its heavy weight a gentle tug. “What about the feel of my hand on your balls? Do you love that as well?”

His eyes closed, his breath growing ragged. “Oh yeah.”

She kneaded them, watching his nostrils flare. Reveling in the way his jaw bunched and his Adam’s apple jumped up and down in his throat. “So, you’d get up for me every morning at four?”

“Every day,” he answered, although the words were a barely audible groan. Probably because she’d shucked his boxers down over his hips and had returned her hand to his cock, pumping it with slow, firm pressure. “Especially if you’re going to do that.”

Monet smiled. “What if I did this?” She shifted on the bed, pushed him flat onto his back and, without hesitation, straddled his face and took his cock in her mouth.

“Fuck!”

The curse burst from Dylan a second before he gripped her hips and plunged his tongue into her sex.

Monet pushed back toward his penetrations, sucking on his growing cock as she did so. She rode his face, taking pleasure from his lashing tongue in her pussy, mimicking with her mouth the rhythm of her hips.

He groaned and shoved his hips upward, his fingers digging into her ass cheeks, his knees bending. His tongue laved her clit, swiped into her folds and back to her clit again. She hummed her approval around his thrusting cock and he groaned again, his grip intensifying.

Monet didn’t relent, fucking him as hard and fast as she could with her mouth. She’d never get tired of giving him head. His cock filled her mouth so perfectly, slid over her tongue, pressed at the back of her throat. She hummed again, wanting to feel Dylan’s reaction. He gave it to her, nails driving into her flesh, tongue plunging deeper into her sex.

It was exquisite torment. She never wanted it to end. She wanted to live in this moment forever.

He licked his tongue up over her perineum, into her anus, and she let out a cry, concentrated pleasure surging through her.

Dylan assaulted her ass with his tongue, each stabbing thrust driving her closer, faster to release. She stilled above him, allowing herself the sheer indulgence of his worship for a moment, her whimpers slipping from her parted lips, her eyes closed. She hovered there on the brink of orgasm, his tongue in her ass, his hands on her flesh, roaming her butt, hips, inner thighs.

Her pussy.

He rubbed a finger—or it could have been his thumb, she didn’t know, didn’t care—over her clit, laving her ass as he did so. Propelling her closer to the edge. Closer.

She returned her mouth to his cock, the taste of his pre-come like ambrosia. She wanted to come with him. Wanted to feast on his seed as she came on his face.

Sliding her lips up and down his throbbing length, she sucked hard. Plunging deep and then withdrawing to the very tip, over and over and over again, her orgasm like twisting fire building in her core. Threading through her very existence. Scorching its way from her center, through her body, through her soul.

Dylan’s fingers left her clit, sank into her wet sex and she came. Just like that. Her orgasm gushed from her, shuddering waves of pleasure that stole any ability to think. To act. All she could do was let it crash over her as her mouth continued to fuck Dylan’s cock. Take it deeper as his tongue fucked her ass and his fingers fucked her cunt.

And then, as his tongue left, he let out a roar and he came, his hips slamming upward, his come flooding her mouth, the back of her throat.