Fighting Dirty

Finally she looked at his erection; heat expanded, spreading out to her limbs and making her tingle all over.

“I love your body, Armie. I love looking at you and feeling free to touch you.” She lightly dragged her hands up the front of his thighs, then asked again, “What do you like most?”

“You, naked and on your knees in front of me, has to be pretty damned close.”

“Good.” She brought her hands up the insides of his thighs. “I can work with that.”

“You don’t have to work, honey.” He sucked in air when she curled her hand around his straining erection. “Believe me, I want you enough already.”

She stroked him slowly and reveled in his harsh groan. “For so long, you’ve rejected me.”

“You know why.” His hand petted over her head until his fingers tangled in her hair. “Truth is, I’ve wanted you since you were sixteen years old.”

Shocked, Merissa looked up at him.

“That surprises you?” His face looked hard, his eyes dark as he struggled for composure. “I was twenty—too old to be perving on you like I did. But you were so damned sweet, so hot. You’d smile at me and all I could think about was getting under your skirt.”

“You hid it well.” She went back to stroking, but brought up her other hand to fondle his testicles.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his eyes momentarily closing before he opened them again to stare at her with blatant hunger. “You’re my best friend’s lil sister. Your family was always special, to the neighborhood and to everyone who knew the Colters. I was just the guy with the drunk for a dad and the mom who ran off and—”

Merissa pressed a kiss to the underside of his erection, stopping his awful speech. She didn’t want to hear him run himself down. To her, he was...everything. Protective and brave and funny. Armie was honor, reliability and the best of friends whenever someone needed him.

“You smell so good,” she whispered, brushing her nose along his length, then licking back to the head, over the tip where she stole a drop of precum.

Armie said nothing, but he now had both hands in her hair, and she felt him shaking. She looked up and found him watching the mirror. She’d forgotten all about it, but as she glanced that way, too, she saw what he saw; their bodies in profile, his big and strong, his muscles clenched in arousal while she knelt before him, her hair held in his fisted hands like reins.

Still he said nothing, but in his face she saw naked emotion. In his stance—feet apart and hips forward, shoulders braced—she saw pure, piercing lust.

She loved having him like this. She loved his pleasure.

She’d loved him—since she was sixteen years old.

Opening her mouth, she drew him in, taking him as deep as she could.

“Rissy,” he whispered, agonized.

She felt him growing taut, tasted more of him, and knew he was close—so fast. She’d expected him to last longer, but the fact that he didn’t, that maybe he couldn’t, thrilled her.

Each time she took his length, she sucked, and as she withdrew, she worked her tongue over him.

His powerful legs stiffened. He murmured low words, encouraging, cursing, praying a little...

Cupping one hand at the back of her neck, he drew her closer, and gave a harsh groan as he released.

Merissa stayed with him, her own heart racing, her body buzzing in excited awareness. When at last he relaxed again, his hands stroking her head, she eased back and looked up at him.

He breathed heavily, his shoulders loose, his expression both quizzical and poignant, somehow shaken and maybe even pained. He released one more big breath, then whispered, “Now you.”

With ridiculous ease he caught her under her arms and lifted her up and onto the bed, parting her legs as he came down over her.

His weight pressing her into the bed was a special delight, also the way he put hot, damp kisses on her shoulder, her neck, along her jaw. His mouth touched hers as he whispered, “When you start the night like that, it’s tough to beat.”

She smiled, pleased that he was pleased.

Then he added, “But let me try.”

* * *

SURROUNDED IN SENSATION, Armie struggled to find his usual finesse during sex. You’d think something he’d done so often, so many different ways, should be routine.

Not so, not with Rissy. The subtle scent of her hair and skin, the feel of her tight body beneath his, the touch of her small hands and, most of all, the emotion she gave him, all conspired to leave him nearly sick with need. The moment was fresh and new, incredibly hot, but also indescribably sweet, and it shook him.

I want you.

An invisible fist squeezed his heart, making him desperate to ease the restriction with her touch. With her taste. With the sounds of her release.

He kissed her, meaning for it to be sensual, an act of foreplay.

Damn if that didn’t turn near desperate, too. It seemed he’d been craving her for a lifetime, with familiar fantasies that played and replayed in his mind.

But the reality was far different from anything he’d expected. She was different.

Better, when he hadn’t known that was possible.

He moved down to her breasts, molding the small mounds in his hands, loving her delicate curves, and loving even more her faint gasps and whimpers as he licked her nipples, then drew one in, sucking gently. He could have done that for an hour, just relishing the intimacy as he learned her body, the feel of her, the taste of her, touching her in ways he found she liked, and ways she shied away from.

He always paid close attention to a woman’s reactions, but now it wasn’t a deliberate move to enhance the sex. It was because this was Rissy, and what she liked fascinated him.

He loved witnessing her building need.

“Armie,” she whispered, her back arching, one leg wrapping over his.

He switched to the other breast, this time not as gently. Her hips rocked against him; he was hard again, throbbing, hurting for relief.

Leaving each nipple ripe and wet, he put openmouthed love bites down her body, occasionally sucking to mark her, licking in certain spots, nuzzling in others.

Coming up to his knees between her long legs, he opened her thighs. He hadn’t lied about enjoying the sight of a woman, most especially this woman. Her sex looked very pink and slick against the dark curls of her pubic hair. “God, you’re beautiful.”

She choked. “Armie.”

His fingers sank into her pale inner thighs and he used his thumbs to part her lips. She was wet, glistening, her clitoris swollen with need. On a groan, he leaned down and licked over her, then in her, gathering her sweetness, inhaling the heated aroma of her arousal. He loved eating Rissy, feeling the tension grow in her lithe body, how she shifted and moaned and whispered words of entreaty.

Her cries went higher, thinner, mixing with short moans and gasps. One hand locked tight into his hair, the other fisted in the sheets. “Armie...” she breathed, then more frantically, “Armie.”

He stayed with her, knowing she was close, pushing her, and she came with a trembling sob that went on and on. Even after she sank boneless back to the bed, he continued to lazily lick and taste her. She flinched. He knew he should stop, but this was Rissy, a fantasy come to life. He pressed his face to her, locked his arms around her thighs.

He didn’t want to let the moment go.