So why didn’t he want to give that to Colette? Why had he never imagined her like the rest? What was so different about her? And no. Her intact cherry wasn’t it.
His brain shut off right around the time Colette stood up, literally jumped out of the tub, and peeled her jeans off herself. Considering that they were slightly damp, skintight, and skinny jeans, she did get the hell out of them in record time.
She stood facing him. In red panties. Red lace panties.
Okay, there was no way she wasn’t into him and wore those panties on the off chance that they’d accidentally get a showing. No. Fucking. Way. She wanted this. She wanted him. She was just too prim and proper and high and mighty to accept it.
Or maybe she wasn’t, given that she was standing there naked.
Completely naked, because as he gaped at her through his still burning, abused eyes, she peeled those panties off her shapely hips and rolled them down a set of legs that belonged on a goddess. She stepped from them and stood there, half shy, half brazen, knowing full well that she was sexy as hell. Ultra-fuckable. The kind of sexy that destroys a man.
Perfect breasts. More than a handful, but not too much, with the perkiest dark raspberry nipples. A tight stomach that flared out to sweet curvy hips, legs that went on forever, and her delicate prize between them. So ripe. Already swollen and soaking wet. He could see her arousal glistening on her thighs, and her legs weren’t even fully parted.
His mouth watered and his stomach cramped violently. He got the hell out of the bathtub in record time, half blind, sore arms, blue balls and all.
What he wanted to do was take Colette by the hips, lift her onto the sink, wrap those long legs around his neck and fuck her into oblivion. Instead, he fell to his knees before her, because she was the one with the power. She was the queen. She was everything and god, he’d always known it. He didn’t want to scar her or ruin her. He didn’t want to break her. He wanted to teach her what it meant to fly. Teach her the meaning of her own power and sensuality in ways she had no idea were possible.
“Turn around,” he rasped hoarsely, blinking furiously because he wanted to enjoy as much of the show as possible.
She hesitated, casting him a scalding look that said if he was up to his normal asshattery, she was out of there.
He put up his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to hurt you, Colette. Never. No tricks. No games. I promise to keep my mouth shut. No, that’s not right. I promise not to say anything stupid. I just want to make you feel good. If you’ll let me. I promise that it will be the best thing you’ve ever done.”
One brow shot up nearly to her hairline. “I’ve done some pretty good things in my life. That’s a tall order you’ve given yourself.” She turned though, pivoting slowly, to rest her hands on the vanity.
He wanted so badly to command her that the words scalded the back of his throat, but he bit them back. Instead, he’d show her. He’d touch her reverently, gently, take his time, go as slow as she needed him to, even if it killed him. Given that his balls already felt like they were going to explode, there was a good chance that it might.
She slowly, reluctantly turned around, giving him a full view of her perfect ass. He took two steps, stopping right in front of her, and his knees hit the tile floor and it didn’t matter that it was hard or that they let out a crack of protest. Even on his knees, he was nearly taller than her. He was so much bigger and she was so small, so tiny in comparison. He loved the contrast between them, the silk of her skin against his hands as he gripped her thighs, the muted whimpers of pleasure torn from her and the low, feral grunts that were his.
“Blaze- I- this is…”
Her words died a hard death when his mouth hit her core. She was on fire, and so sweet that he wanted to weep and not just because the soap was still burning the hell out of his eyes. Her thighs quivered in his hands and her hips bucked back as she let out a throaty moan that echoed through the bathroom.
He parted the folds of the sweetest pussy he’d ever tasted and licked her slowly, exploring her with broad sweeps of his tongue. Colette wasn’t exactly the shy type of virgin, or maybe she just couldn’t help herself, because her protesting was done. Her hating him was over, at least for the moment. Instead, her hips rocked back into his face as he ate her noisily and she didn’t protest. She danced with him.