Not Quite Perfect
Page 45
Mary wanted to channel her best friend right at that moment in the worst way. Dakota would know exactly what to do with a challenge like that, where Mary sat there and ate her words.
“Lose your nerve?” he teased.
“I’m thinking!” she snapped.
Glen sipped his wine and watched her.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I am.”
“I never make the first move.” Why did she tell him that?
Glen said nothing.
She set her wineglass down and stood.
“Giving up?” he asked.
It was her turn to be silent. She reached for the top button on her shirt and pushed it through the hole.
Glen’s eyes dropped to her hand.
She undid the second button, and Glen’s grin turned into an open mouthed stare.
Mary pushed part of her shirt to the side and traced the edges of her bra before sliding away another notch.
Glen set his wine down when she reached the last button.
When she started to slide the shirt from her shoulders, Glen stood and grasped her hand.
Without words, he placed her head in his palms and kissed her. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t hello . . . or even a good night. This was the kind of kiss that moved to something completely different. His lips were open and hungry.
Mary braced herself by placing her palms on his chest and holding on.
He tilted his head and enveloped her. Their tongues danced and Mary’s body swayed into his for full contact. The roughness of his shirt against the bare skin of her chest had her fingers searching for his buttons. While she searched for more skin, with their lips fused together, Glen’s hands slid down her back and over the globe of her bottom with a gentle squeeze. She saw stars. The simple touch was so welcome, so desired, her body scattered like rain being shaken off a dog in a storm.
She heard herself moan as she slid a button loose and moved to another.
Glen released her lips, gasped for air, and took them again.
Finally, she found his chest, his shirt slid from his shoulders, and she examined by braille. He was the most sculpted man she’d ever touched. For the amount of food the man ate, he should have held on to a few undesirable pounds. But no, he didn’t.
She let her fingernails scrape over his shoulders and down his spine.
Glen rewarded her with a quick tug closer.
Mary felt her nipples harden and felt everything south open for more. Her body needed attention, needed Glen’s attention. She released hold of his chest and reached around to unclasp her bra.
Through Glen’s assault of her lips, he batted her hand away and did the job for her. He caught one breast in his hand and finally let her breathe.
With one hand around her waist, he bent her back and took her tight nipple in his mouth.
“Oh, Glen.” Stars . . . there were so many stars. Her legs started to lose the ability to hold her up and her senses united with one purpose.
“Beautiful,” he mumbled as he moved to her other breast.
He caught her when her legs gave way. Had she ever lost control like this? She knew the answer but couldn’t concentrate on the question for more than a fraction of a second.
The man was good . . . so good at finding the right pressure, the right touch. Glen spun her around and in two steps had her back on the couch and his fingers working the clasp of her slacks. She lifted for him, felt cool air and his hot stare when she kicked her pants free.
Mary watched his eyes as she traced the inside of her thigh with one polished nail. He moaned, said something she didn’t quite catch, and dropped to his knees. Like with the removal of her bra, he batted her hand aside from her thigh and replaced it with his tongue. Her hips lifted from the couch with a mind of their own.
Lovely agony described his touch. She wanted more, but didn’t want this to stop. If this was what making love to a player was like, sign her up. Every touch was urgent and desired but nothing was rushed to the point of being forgotten. Her lips throbbed from his kiss, her nipples ached for more attention, and her core cried for his touch.
Mary yelped when he nibbled the inside of her thigh hard enough to leave a mark. She wanted to protest, but the stubble on his chin rubbed the burn away and his breath warmed the space between her legs. Even with her panties on, she thought he was going to offer some relief, but no . . . the man moved to her other thigh.
She raised a limp hand to the side of his face and helped him focus on what she needed.
Glen chuckled. “What do you want, Mary?”
The man was the devil. “I swear on all that’s sacred, if you don’t touch me . . .”
He continued to chuckle.
She braved an open eye and found him staring. “Glen!” Her voice gave warning, and thankfully, he wasn’t going to make her beg.
He traced the back of a finger against her thigh and lightly petted her through the cotton layer of her panties. Her body shuddered. There was no way Glen could know how easily she orgasmed, but he was about to find out. “Take them off,” she told him, no humor in her words.
“Demanding,” he said with a smile in his voice.
Her hips arched, and he tugged the tiny fabric away.
“Mmm,” he hummed as he leaned in.
Mary closed her eyes and waited.
His breath against her core had her wrapping one leg over his back and one hand fanning through his hair. Mary opened for him and arched, and he was there.
There was heat, and his tongue, and a gentle nip of his teeth, and Mary lost it.
She heard her own cries and couldn’t bring herself to care who heard them.
“Lose your nerve?” he teased.
“I’m thinking!” she snapped.
Glen sipped his wine and watched her.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“I am.”
“I never make the first move.” Why did she tell him that?
Glen said nothing.
She set her wineglass down and stood.
“Giving up?” he asked.
It was her turn to be silent. She reached for the top button on her shirt and pushed it through the hole.
Glen’s eyes dropped to her hand.
She undid the second button, and Glen’s grin turned into an open mouthed stare.
Mary pushed part of her shirt to the side and traced the edges of her bra before sliding away another notch.
Glen set his wine down when she reached the last button.
When she started to slide the shirt from her shoulders, Glen stood and grasped her hand.
Without words, he placed her head in his palms and kissed her. It wasn’t slow, it wasn’t hello . . . or even a good night. This was the kind of kiss that moved to something completely different. His lips were open and hungry.
Mary braced herself by placing her palms on his chest and holding on.
He tilted his head and enveloped her. Their tongues danced and Mary’s body swayed into his for full contact. The roughness of his shirt against the bare skin of her chest had her fingers searching for his buttons. While she searched for more skin, with their lips fused together, Glen’s hands slid down her back and over the globe of her bottom with a gentle squeeze. She saw stars. The simple touch was so welcome, so desired, her body scattered like rain being shaken off a dog in a storm.
She heard herself moan as she slid a button loose and moved to another.
Glen released her lips, gasped for air, and took them again.
Finally, she found his chest, his shirt slid from his shoulders, and she examined by braille. He was the most sculpted man she’d ever touched. For the amount of food the man ate, he should have held on to a few undesirable pounds. But no, he didn’t.
She let her fingernails scrape over his shoulders and down his spine.
Glen rewarded her with a quick tug closer.
Mary felt her nipples harden and felt everything south open for more. Her body needed attention, needed Glen’s attention. She released hold of his chest and reached around to unclasp her bra.
Through Glen’s assault of her lips, he batted her hand away and did the job for her. He caught one breast in his hand and finally let her breathe.
With one hand around her waist, he bent her back and took her tight nipple in his mouth.
“Oh, Glen.” Stars . . . there were so many stars. Her legs started to lose the ability to hold her up and her senses united with one purpose.
“Beautiful,” he mumbled as he moved to her other breast.
He caught her when her legs gave way. Had she ever lost control like this? She knew the answer but couldn’t concentrate on the question for more than a fraction of a second.
The man was good . . . so good at finding the right pressure, the right touch. Glen spun her around and in two steps had her back on the couch and his fingers working the clasp of her slacks. She lifted for him, felt cool air and his hot stare when she kicked her pants free.
Mary watched his eyes as she traced the inside of her thigh with one polished nail. He moaned, said something she didn’t quite catch, and dropped to his knees. Like with the removal of her bra, he batted her hand aside from her thigh and replaced it with his tongue. Her hips lifted from the couch with a mind of their own.
Lovely agony described his touch. She wanted more, but didn’t want this to stop. If this was what making love to a player was like, sign her up. Every touch was urgent and desired but nothing was rushed to the point of being forgotten. Her lips throbbed from his kiss, her nipples ached for more attention, and her core cried for his touch.
Mary yelped when he nibbled the inside of her thigh hard enough to leave a mark. She wanted to protest, but the stubble on his chin rubbed the burn away and his breath warmed the space between her legs. Even with her panties on, she thought he was going to offer some relief, but no . . . the man moved to her other thigh.
She raised a limp hand to the side of his face and helped him focus on what she needed.
Glen chuckled. “What do you want, Mary?”
The man was the devil. “I swear on all that’s sacred, if you don’t touch me . . .”
He continued to chuckle.
She braved an open eye and found him staring. “Glen!” Her voice gave warning, and thankfully, he wasn’t going to make her beg.
He traced the back of a finger against her thigh and lightly petted her through the cotton layer of her panties. Her body shuddered. There was no way Glen could know how easily she orgasmed, but he was about to find out. “Take them off,” she told him, no humor in her words.
“Demanding,” he said with a smile in his voice.
Her hips arched, and he tugged the tiny fabric away.
“Mmm,” he hummed as he leaned in.
Mary closed her eyes and waited.
His breath against her core had her wrapping one leg over his back and one hand fanning through his hair. Mary opened for him and arched, and he was there.
There was heat, and his tongue, and a gentle nip of his teeth, and Mary lost it.
She heard her own cries and couldn’t bring herself to care who heard them.
