Free Unfinished Business by Isabelle Drake

mouth from mine and runs his wet lips down my neck. The trail of his breath makes me aware of the slick wetness of my pussy. He scraps his teeth lightly over my skin and I shiver so hard my clit stiffens and, trying to get some needed friction, I rub my thighs together.
    The rock-solid muscles beneath his shirt contract as he moves his free arm to slide his hand under my dress into my thong then cups me between my legs. I pull in a sharp breath when he flips his hand over and his knuckle brushes against my clit. Gradually he starts moving his mouth back up my neck. By the time his mouth finally connects with mine again, I’ve got my hands on his shoulders. The rough texture of his wide palm rasps across my thigh, and the sheer size of his fingers makes me feel petite and fragile. And so ready to fuck him. My sigh sounds more like a moan.
    No wonder I have a thing for hands.
    Really.
    Now he’s seriously kissing me and I’m returning his enthusiasm with plenty of my own. Each caress of his lips and sweep of his tongue makes me hotter and I can feel the pulse of my own blood as it zips through my veins. The kissing, the touching, it’s awesome. But I’m not getting enough from his hand. I want more skin-on-skin contact. But when he starts to push me back against the couch and tug at my panties with his amazing hands, I stiffen and press my palms across his chest.
    We are not going any further with his shirt on.
    After I jerk the shirttails from his pants, I work down the buttons. As I reach the last one, he gets the picture and pulls at his sleeves then whips the shirt to the floor.
    My hands connect with the smooth warm cotton of his undershirt. The swell of his chest. The solid, tight curves of his stomach.
    Mmmmmmmmmm. If heaven is only about physical satisfaction, I’m there.
    Again he tries to push me back but I’m determined to get what I want so I tug at the hem of his undershirt.
    Apparently he’s used to girls giving him signals to undress, because in the blink of an eye he reaches back, grabs the back of his shirt and slips it over his head.
    Shit.
    My wide-eyed stare catches his eye and he grins as he straightens and takes a deep breath that makes his chest swell. “Coach works us pretty hard.”
    For the first time that night, I’m the one with nothing to say.
    All that rock-hard, heated muscle sitting right there on my couch. Waiting for me.
    He kisses me again, this time without asking, and slides his hand back under my dress. Farther up this time, until his hand is curved around my ass. Not one to waste an opportunity, I gradually glide my hands across his thick back. Each time he moves his arms, the giant muscles shift under my fingers making me even dizzier with lust.
    He tangles his fingers in the thin waistband of my black thong and I lift my hips. He mumbles something that is probably a comment of approval, because he works the scrap of lace down far enough to touch my clit. His pressure is light at first, but when I begin moving against his fingers he gradually applies more pressure.
    This guy has experience making girls feel good.
    Damn good.
    While he works his magic, I fumble with the buckle of his belt. After two unsuccessful attempts, I get it undone then start on his fly. The task is hard to accomplish with waves of heated pleasure buzzing through me but I’m more determined than ever to see all of him so I keep at it.
    The weak light from the street is enough for me to make out the striped pattern of his boxer briefs. Because of his erection, the fabric is pointed up like a tent. If I weren’t so hot to get him naked, I would’ve taken a minute to laugh.
    But I don’t have a minute to waste so I tug at his pants and briefs. I’m all over him and the couch, bent around in a bunch of different positions as he shifts forward to push his clothes down and out of the way. Then his cock is standing there and it’s huge and hard, just like the rest of him.
    He’s still caressing me with his