Free Tell Me More by Janet Mullany Page B

quite so direct. But he didn’t think too long, particularly when I sat up and stripped off the long-sleeved T-shirt I wore and began on the buttons of his shirt. His hands flew to my breasts; I wore a pink cotton bra with a little lace, what I considered suitable for a lunchtime seduction.
    He reached into the picnic basket. Yes, condoms for dessert. My bra was tossed carelessly aside as he nuzzled and kissed my breasts and I pulled his shirt from his jeans.
    He had enough muscle and hair that he didn’t look like a pretty boy, but I noticed a certain awareness, a flexing of his pectorals, as though he was posing for my admiration. I suppose the equivalent for a woman was to suck it in.
    “I like your chest,” I offered, feeling that all that time at the gym should be acknowledged. I stroked his biceps and glanced down. His erection pushed against his jeans.
    He dipped a hand beneath my skirt. I propped myself on my elbows to watch his mouth at my breasts, his hand working between my spread thighs and my skirt bunched up at the waist. I liked that he played around my underwear, sliding his fingers under the elastic, stroking the dampened fabric of the crotch with his thumb. He took his time and when he slid a finger inside me I clenched on him hard, my breath short.
    He raised his head from my breast. I wondered for a moment if I’d burn in the warm sun. “Am I going too fast for you, honey?”
    “No. It’s great.”
    I reached for the button of his Levi’s and slid his zipper down. White Jockeys, not my favorite (was there ever a more stupidly designed piece of underwear in the world?) but I didn’t intend to look at them for too long. I shoved his jeans and underwear down and his cock sprang into my hand.
    He lost his concentration, his hand slowing on my clit, and I bounced my hips at him. What the heck were we going to do about our cowboy boots? Mine, it appeared, were going to stay on. He paused from regarding his dick approvingly to unzip my skirt and pull it and my underwear down. He raised himself onto his knees to stroke the condom over his penis, gazing at himself with adoration, jeans and underwear lodged at his calves. I was excited but at the same time I was an observer, taking notes for later.
    He levered himself over me, and I saw we were about to embark on classic missionary style. And, yes, his boots were staying on, too.
    “You’re gorgeous,” he said, staring at my nakedness, my cowboy boots, my darkened nipples. “I want to fuck you so bad.”
    Willis was losing his cool a bit, I was pleased to see. His mouth was half-open, lips wet, eyes hot. His hand stroked his cock, up and down. I don’t think he knew he did it, but when I reached down and touched my clit his eyes widened.
    “Now,” I said.
    I loved the sight of his cock sliding into me, the juicy, rude sounds of our fucking, the warmth of the sun on my skin. The scent of the lime shaving product he used mingled with those of sweat and oranges and champagne. Beside my head his arms flexed as he pushed inside, withdrew, pushed again, and my hips rose to meet him. He murmured to me how good it felt, how wet and hot my pussy was, how he couldn’t last, but he’d lost me. I tried to recapture my own rhythm, but it was like watching someone run away from you, and while the experience was pleasant enough, I couldn’t catch up.
    Willis was way ahead of me now, lost in his own excitement, sweat breaking out on his forehead and chest before he dropped onto me, out of breath.
    “Wow,” he said. “That was great.”
    He rolled off me and reached for a paper napkin. Condom disposed of, he turned back to me. “You okay, honey?”
    The best answer, it seemed to me, was to take his hand and guide it to my clitoris.
    “You want more?” he asked with a grin. And then he continued, “Oh. I thought you’d…you know, you seemed real close.”
    “Close but not quite there.” I added, “It’s the way I work. You were great, but the first