Free Fly With Me by Chanel Cleeton

seen at the pool today. I wanted to gorge myself on him until I was happy, and sated, and too full to move.
    My movements went from hesitant to hungry, racingthrough the buttons, tugging the shirt off his shoulders until all he wore was the V-neck white T-shirt that looked like it had seen more than a few washes.
    The knot in my stomach tightened.
    I didn’t know what was in the Vegas water, but whatever it was, there was something about his ruggedness, his I-don’t-give-a-shit, this-is-who-I-am, fucking-deal attitude that turned me on completely. This wasn’t a guy I would be able to manage; there was little softness to him. He was a handful in a way I’d never experienced before. A man who lived by a code of his own, one I still didn’t completely understand. And where I’d never thought I was the kind of girl who appealed to a rugged guy, the evidence to the contrary stood right in front of me.
    I pulled at the hem of his T-shirt, my fingers sliding over satiny smooth skin. I yanked the fabric higher, the hiss that escaped his mouth singing in my blood. Our hands collided as we both struggled to get it over his head and then his shirt hit the floor and I sank to my knees.
    I was tall enough that my lips leveled with the bottom of his stomach, tantalizingly near the indents on either side of his hips. I could write poetry about those two gaps. I kissed him there, inhaling his scent, my tongue hitting the dips just above his jeans. He groaned as I licked him, rocking forward, his arousal heavy and hard, inches away from my mouth.
    The moment hovered suspended between us, his body vibrating with need. And then my hands grasped his belt buckle and we careened toward release.
    I unbuckled his belt, the sound of the metal clinking together crackling between us. I pulled the leather through the denim loops with a snap, the belt falling from my fingersas I attacked the buttons at his fly, another groan escaping his lips as I stroked his cock through the denim. I was a woman possessed, whatever we’d created here between us finding a home inside me.
    I slid the jeans off Noah’s hips. He jerked away to remove his socks and shoes, working the pants down his legs until he stood before me wearing black boxer briefs—
yum—
and a wicked smile. I tilted my face up, our gazes locking, my heart a steady drum. His hand reached out and stroked my hair, his fingers wrapping around the strands like a rope that bound me to him.
    Noah’s eyes went onyx, his voice hoarse. “I wanted you like this the first second I saw you. Imagined you on your knees, that look in your eyes, while I fucked your face.”
    My clit spasmed.
    I’d never been a flowery-sex kind of girl. My enthusiasm for phrases like “making love” and “joining” was tepid at best. I’d never cried during sex, preferred the lights on, and nothing got me off like the filthy words that fell from a guy’s lips while he fucked me. So on every single level, this was working for me. A lot.
    â€œYour mouth . . . your lips . . .” He groaned. The fist in my hair tightened, pulling my head back, dangling me somewhere on the precipice between pleasure and pain until it hurt so good. “You have fuck-me lips, a mouth made for sex. Full, soft, plump . . .”
    I figured it was the only time a guy would ever get away with using the word “plump” in a sentence referring to my appearance without getting kneed in the balls. But he was right, my mouth did feel swollen, my lips sensitive, my tongue itching to lick him from base to tip.
    Noah reached between us, the pad of his thumb brushing my lower lip, pressing down on the skin, opening my mouth.His fingers slipped in and I sucked them deep, the little bit of himself he gave me not nearly enough. I kept my gaze on his the entire time, the approval filling his eyes heating me from the inside out. Somewhere along the way this