Larger Than Life by Alison Kent (bill gates books recommendations .TXT) 📗

He opened his legs wider. Smart woman that she was, she took the hint, licking her way down his rod to his nuts, which were ready to crack. And then her fingertips found their way to his back door and knocked.

He couldn't take any more. He hooked his heels around her thighs and pulled her up his body. Canary feathers fluttering when she smiled. She climbed over him and leaned forward. He grabbed her tits and buried his face between them, breathing her in, loving the way she smelled. Like clean skin and sunshine and summer in the wind.

All the things missing in his life were right here. She was everything he wanted and never thought he'd find. The jolting realization would have easily brought him to his knees had he not been flat on his back already. And if she hadn't been nibbling her way across his collarbone, nipping him beneath the chin, nuzzling up against his cheek.

He reached down between their bodies, took his dick in his hand, and guided himself into place. She felt him there and opened, sitting back, sliding down, swallowing him whole. He throbbed as she stilled, throbbed harder as she stirred.

And then because he feared he was just about to blow it, he ordered her, "Stop. Don't move. Just. . . don't move."

"Am I hurting you?" she asked softly.

"Only in all the right ways." His balls felt like they'd been tethered to the end of a paddle and slammed back up into his gut.

Jaw clenched, he glanced down to where the base of his shaft spread her wide. He didn't think he'd ever seen a more beautiful sight, his cock stretching her open, her folds exposed and glistening.

And then she milked him. Without moving a visible muscle, she clenched him, held him, her smile telling him she knew how close he was to coming. He wondered if she'd take it in her mouth if he asked. He wondered if she'd lift that ass in the air and let him have her from behind.

He wondered why the bloody hell he was painting mental pictures of the ways he wanted to spend the rest of the night instead of making her come again now.

Reaching down, he thumbed her clit where the hard nub stood at attention. She wrapped her arms around his uplifted knees and rotated her hips, grinding down hard against him. Eyes closed, she bit at her lower lip and rode him up and down until he began to pump.

He watched the slide of his shaft in and out, watched her breasts bounce, her hair swing free. He'd always been so strong; she reduced him to rubble. A tingling, tickling surge of heat coiled at the base of his spine and sparked. That was it. He was bloody well done.

He held her by the hips and drove upward, groaning as he came. She cried out as she followed, falling forward and bracing her hands above his shoulders on the bed. She continued to crush their bodies together, continued to belly dance, to rub her clit against his shaft, to squeeze him, grip him, wring him dry.

"Mick," she panted. "Oh my god." And then she pulled free and slid onto the mattress at his side. "That's one hell of a pony."

He chuckled, smiled; it was all he could do. Sweat coated his body. His pulse thundered. His fingers and toes tingled as the blood that had been elsewhere flowed back. Still, his dick stood at half-mast. Five minutes, he'd be ready to go again. To spend the night with Neva riding him like she'd promised, working him and wearing him out until both of them went blind. She was worth it.

She was worth everything. Even the sharp stabbing pain to his heart. And when she curled up against him, tucked her head beneath his chin, her hair smelling like wildflowers and feeling like strands of Indian silk, he wondered how he was going to tell her that he had to leave.

The sun waved streamers of red, orange, and yellow through the Munroes' kitchen window, sparkling off the faucet and stove front and countertops, which Jeanne always kept spotlessly clean. Yancey should've been at the office by now instead of sitting around thinking about his family. But they were all he had on his mind.

He'd had a hell of a short weekend, a hell of a messy weekend. Ever since Friday he'd been waiting for Monday to roll around. Start over. New beginning. Make it all up to Spencer and Jeanne. Prove that he really wasn't a big bad ogre. More like a teddy bear with a couple of tears.

But he'd been dragging the trash from the cans at the back of the house out to the burning bin before daylight when his eye had been caught by a shimmering piece of turquoise lace. It wasn't anything he remembered ever seeing his wife wear and, well, curiosity killed the cat.

Bikini panties and a push-up bra. At least what was left of the lingerie. Not Jeanne's style, and he was pretty damn sure neither piece was her size. Which meant he was going to have to have a come-to-Jesus meeting over breakfast with his son—not the foot on which he wanted to start off the day or the week. Especially since the last time he'd seen the boy he'd been dodging Spencer's fist.

When Jeanne had finally come home from Jonnie's on Saturday night, she'd climbed into bed beside him and told him about Spencer slamming through the house earlier in the day and holing up in his room ever since. Yancey hadn't been much interested in Spencer, only in getting his wife's nightgown unbuttoned, but he'd promised he'd talk to the boy.

On Sunday, by the time he'd come downstairs to find Jeanne making eggs with biscuits and red-eye gravy, it had been too late for church and the boy had been gone. Telling his mother earlier he and his friends would be