Free The Rules According to Gracie by Stefanie London

neck.
    “Is that a yes?”
    “You had me at naked.”
    …
    There had been plenty of opportunities for Gracie to back out—from the awkward escape at the restaurant, to the short walk to his car, to the ten minute drive to his house. She’d been quiet the whole way, but she never broke contact with him.
    Her hands drew intricate patterns on his thigh while he drove and she snuggled against his back as he unlocked the front door. Part of him had wondered if she might gather her senses and make a break for it.
    Yet here she was, standing in his living room among the leather furniture, exposed brick, and polished boards. She radiated at the center of it all and he couldn’t look anywhere else.
    “Can I get you something to drink? Wine? Soda?” The courtesy was merely a tick in a box because he didn’t want her to think he’d savage her the second they walked through the front door. Though savaging her was exactly what he wanted to do.
    He worried that she’d use him to scratch an itch and go back to her normal life in the morning, where he would be nothing but a memory. In his normal state, that part would have a louder voice and be more effective to stop him. But logic wasn’t the part of him ruling right now. His cock was throbbing so hard that no other signal in his body could possibly override it.
    One night and you can get her out of your system. Then you can both walk away tomorrow, no strings. No emotions.
    “I didn’t come here for a drink,” she said, removing her jacket. She slipped it off slowly and draped it over the coffee table. “I came for orgasms.”
    Des’s blood simmered anew. Though she smiled and moved slowly, her hand trembled as she undid the buttons of her shirt.
    “I like a girl who knows what she wants.”
    “I’m not feeling ashamed for being turned on,” she said, parroting his words from earlier, as though convincing herself.
    “And how turned on are you?”
    She un-zipped her jeans and let them puddle at her feet, her shirt following. In the soft lighting of his lounge room she looked like an angel, the glow of the lamp picked up the burnished tones of her hair and her cream lace underwear was a striking contrast to her olive skin.
    “Why don’t you see for yourself?”
    Before he had time to think he was in front of her, sweeping her up against him while his lips found hers. She was like liquid pleasure—pliable, fluid. He backed her against the wall, his mouth searing a trail down the slender length of her neck, tasting her honeyed skin. He pushed down the straps of her bra, bending to suck a beaded nipple through the lace cup.
    He wanted to know exactly how excited she was. His fingertips danced down her side, skimming the scalloped edge of her underwear. Hooking a finger under the waistband, he traced the sensitive flesh there.
    She jumped, stifling a cry by pressing her lips together. His free hand skirted around her waist, supporting her while he delved deeper. She was hot, wet.
    “Please.” The plea was murmured against his neck. “More.”
    His thumb found the sensitive bundle of nerves at her center, stroking slow and steady while she writhed against him. Her body sagged forward as she gasped, her forehead pressed against his chest, her breath hot through his T-shirt.
    Pleasure manifested itself in her breathless whimpers as she jerked her hips, increasing the friction between them. Enjoying her frustration far too much, Des held her tight with his other arm to prevent her from taking control. She was completely at his mercy, a groaning, wriggling, firecracker of feminine goodness. His cock pulsed harder. He wanted her badly but the sensation of bringing her to orgasm in his arms was too good to pass up.
    “Des.” She stretched out his name until it dissolved into a cry against his chest. “You’re killing me.”
    “What do you want, Gracie?” He nuzzled her hair, keeping his thumb flicking a steady rhythm against her clit.
    “I want to come,” she panted.