Free Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 by Katie Porter Page A

to go down on her?”
    “Who said I was going down on you?”
    “I did.”
    “Duly noted. And I wasn’t insulting you. You know full well that Heather Morris and an F-16 were not meant to be.” He nudged the robe open to her navel and dipped his tongue inside. “But Heather and an F-16 pilot ? That’s perfection.”
    “You think I’d be here with just any flyboy?”
    “Since you’d already agreed to dine with me before discovering my panty-wetting profession, then no.”
    “Your ego is plated with titanium.”
    “Safer that way.”
    Before Heather could process that enigmatic comment, he pushed up on his hands, levering as if preparing for pushups. The movement rippled across the muscles of his back and shoulders, bunching his triceps into fierce, powerful knots. She caressed that flex and play of flesh. He was lean, solid, so strong.
    Jon brought the cheesecake back within reach then opened her robe. Deliberate. Controlled. Already she’d learned to expect pleasure when his words dried up and his eyes turned sultry. The anticipation alone was enough to make her wet.
    He scooped a finger of whipped cream and painted it along her inner thighs, up to her stomach. With patience and slow moves, he made her into his own personal dessert. Shivering, Heather forced her muscles to relax. She had no doubt, none , that he would make this amazing.
    Jon dipped his head. Where his tongue would go first was a mystery. Only a glimmer of warming breath gave away his intention, just before he licked her thigh. Heat surged through her limbs. He consumed her. Teeth and tongue explored, lips sucked—all the while opening her thighs with implacable hands.
    He murmured low and soft against her skin, words in French she couldn’t understand. Knowing him, it was probably filthy. The sublime and the sordid together. That was Jon. And he made her crazy.
    Heather’s hands were restless. She rubbed her inner wrists against his buzzed hair, then petted up the length of his spine as tension built in her belly. He feasted, he teased, but he never got close to her clit.
    Soon it was all she could think about—that place he hadn’t yet touched. She wanted his mouth there, firm against her sizzling nerves. She gave her body permission to beg. A moan started low in her throat, lengthening to a sound like a plea. She tensed her nails into the striated muscles of his shoulders and along his scalp. He hissed against her skin.
    “Wider,” he said simply.
    No talk and no sweet sentiments, just a quiet command Heather couldn’t help but obey. She spread her legs as he slipped around to the floor, kneeling. He parted her lips, leaned low and sucked.
    Her hips clenched, but she forced herself to hold still. Part of her knew this was a gift. No matter how he teased and nibbled, he was being rather generous—giving, making no head-game demands. She felt the need to save her strength.
    Jon was having none of it. He tensed his tongue, thrusting softly into her pussy. Heather bracketed his head in her hands. Desire swept over her in seeing him that way. His smoky eyes watched her. He judged every gasp, every twitch, as he dragged out her body’s secrets.
    She couldn’t stand much more.
    Seeming to sense that, he balanced an elbow on the couch, which freed his other hand. With his lips firm on her clit, he shoved two fingers into her cunt. No warning. Just that hard drive. Her body snapped back, the sudden orgasm like the quick crack of a whip.
    “Oh, God ,” she groaned.
    For long moments Jon remained kneeling. His tongue laved and caressed, soothing her back into herself. Or perhaps he just enjoyed her taste. Heather could only lie there, momentarily spent, watching him work as she stroked circles over his bristly head. His attention ensured that she couldn’t tune out and call it a night. Her body—the greedy thing—still wanted more.
    Then, rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth, he slipped out of his briefs and returned to the couch.