Page 88 of Married in Michigan
He meets my eyes, smirking. “Fine. But on one condition.”
I just blink at him. “Condition? Really?”
“It’s an easy one.” He slides up my body, and I feel his straining erection gliding and stuttering against my thigh as he hovers over me, lips centimeters from mine. “You call me Pax from now on. Just Pax.”
“All the time, or when we’re alone?”
“All the time. Everyone calls me Paxton.” His smile is tender. “I’ve always been Paxton, the full name. You’ve called me Pax a few times, now, and I…I really like it.”
I can’t help but feel special. “All right…Pax.” I cup his cheeks. “Now, Pax…please.Please.”
“Please what?” he teases.
I glare at him. “Don’t.”
He shifts down my body, grinning at me. “Fine. No more teasing.” He comes to a halt between my thighs, and I let my legs splay apart for him.
His eyes lock onto my sex, and his eyes darken with aroused heat. “So fucking beautiful.” A glance at me as he palms my belly with both hands, and then his touch grazes down, framing my core. “You know how often I’ve fantasized about this?”
I shake my head. “I didn’t know you’ve fantasized about me.”
He smirks. “I have. A lot. I tried not to, but I couldn’t help it.”
I run my hands over his arms, his shoulders, his back, touching the burly, rippling muscle. “Well, Pax, here I am, live and in person, and all for you.” I gaze at him with hooded lids, expectant. “What are you going to do with me?”
“Make you scream,” he murmurs. “Long, and loud.”
“Prove it.”
He buries his mouth against my core, tongue flicking fast against my sensitive center, the tiny nub of nerves assaulted by a frenzy of tongue-lashing licks. I cry out, unashamed, wanton—lift my hips to press hard against his mouth, and his hands curl under me, grab my ass and hold me. I rest against his hold, back arched, hips flexing. It’s zero to one hundred in seconds flat, so aroused by all the teasing and needing that when he finally does lap at me with his talented tongue, I’m there in moments. Whimpering, gasping, crying out, shifting against his mouth and now I’m grinding harder and faster as his mouth works up to a quaking climax. I teeter on the edge, and then fall over and he doesn’t relent, devours me through it and the orgasm is a whirlwind of heat and pressure, ripping me apart and drowning me, flinging me to heaven and splintering me to pieces. Wave after wave of ecstasy soars through me, and I am screaming, as promised, and I don’t hold back, don’t try to quiet myself. I don’t care. I want him to know how he makes me feel, and I show him.
When I’m shaking all over and can’t come any harder, can’t breathe and can’t stop trembling, I push him away and roll him to his back and wipe his face with my hands—his mouth and stubble and lips are gleaming with my essence. I laugh, wiping my now-smeared hand on the comforter, then leaning over him, and he doesn’t hesitate to kiss me. I take my time with this kiss, taking his breath for my own, because I’m still breathless, still shaking. He feels me shaking, and laughs through the kiss.
He stops laughing when I reach down and grasp his erection in my fist. “Ohh, fuck.”
I grin at him, my head resting on my propped-up hand. “My turn.”
His grin vanishes, turns to a frown of concentration. “God, Makayla. Feeling you touch me is…”
“What?” I prompt.
“Better than I’d dreamed it could feel.”
I stroke his length; roll my thumb over the weeping tip. “This is as beautiful as the rest of you.”
“I have a confession to make,” he mutters, teeth gritted as I slowly glide my hand up and down.
“What’s that?”
“I’ve fantasized about this too.” He closes his eyes. “Touched myself, wishing it was you.”
“I didn’t dare,” I say. “If I let myself do that, I’d have to admit I wanted you, and I was trying like hell he to keep that from happening.”
“I couldn’t stop it. I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. Not since before we met. Well before. I’d spent most of the spring and summer working pretty much nonstop to get that bill drafted so we could put it up for a vote as soon as we reconvene.” He’s talking as I caress him, watching my hand move over him, and there’s something bizarrely intimate about making conversation while doing something so sexual and arousing. “The party you cleaned up was to celebrate finishing the draft. Two of my colleagues who worked with me on it are Republicans, and the donkey was their way of teasing me over being a Democrat.”
I nod, head still propped up on my hand, elbow planted in the mattress. “So all those strippers and hookers?”
He shakes his head, annoyed. “My friends were nagging at me for working too hard and not taking any time to date or hook up, and they figured if they brought those women in, it’d help me loosen up. I was super tense over the whole thing.”