I tossed them aside when that was accomplished and held her to me with both hands, going at it furiously with my tongue, partaking of her.

She was a feast, and I was a man starved.

She gripped her hands into my hair and tilted her h*ps up for a better angle, my name punching out of her lungs, over and over, like a prayer.

I relished the sound of that enough to keep going, forget about myself, and bring her over.

She never stopped saying it, even when she came against my tongue, and even after, like a mantra, she kept chanting it.

I ate it up.

Literally.

I shifted her leg until her foot was perched on top of my shoulder, tore my mouth away, and leaned back against the sofa.

This stretched her over me, and gave me a spectacular view of my own little slice of heaven, right between her gorgeously tanned thighs.

“Take your top off,” I told her, shoving two fingers solidly into her cunt.

She whimpered, pulled her br**sts free from that sin of a top, and started whimpering my name again.

It was good enough for me.

I jerked my fingers in and out of her fast, relentless with it, finger f**king her until she was trembling over me, her long legs shaking.

I took pity on her then.

Her and myself.

I pulled my fingers loose, setting her propped foot down on the ground. I turned her, then brought her slowly onto my lap.

Or, more specifically, onto my cock. I arranged her, legs spread wide over my knees, head against my shoulder.

I impaled her inch by agonizing inch, until I was balls deep.

She was limp and close to reaching her pleasure. I brought her the rest of the way by slamming her down on my c**k a half dozen times.

A half dozen more had me exploding inside of her with a rough cry.

I didn’t move much for a long time after. Couldn’t move much. I lay limp, with her boneless on top of me.

My hands were the only thing I had the energy left to use and those just to lazily touch.

I stroked a bared breast with one hand, plucking at a sensitive nipple.

The other was between our bodies, exploring the spot where our slick sexes met, her pu**y still sheathing my cock.

I wrapped my fingers around the base of my shaft and gave a few restless jerks that agitated us both.

“Oh God,” she whimpered. “It’s too much.”

“No, you’re wrong,” I murmured into her hair, twisting my hand repeatedly to rub her entrance, and my base roughly. “It’s never enough. Never. Tell me, how long can you stay with me this time?”

She was starting to move, to shift against me. “A few days.”

It would have to be enough, and it was certainly better than the last time, when she’d barely given me a night.

“You enjoy messing with me, don’t you?” I asked, still twisting and jerking my hand, working us both up into another frenzy.

“I enjoy doing anything at all with you, Dair, but I’m not playing you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

The fact that she could still lie even with me buried inside of her sated cunt had me riled in an all new way, and abruptly, I pulled her off me, arranging her on her knees between my spread legs.

She didn’t have to ask what I wanted.

I watched through half-lidded eyes as she bent over, tonguing me, watched my tip as it pushed past her lips, felt as it slid along the roof of her mouth, hit the back of her throat, and went deeper, squeezed tighter by the inch.

I gripped a handful of her silky hair, and her plush tit and enjoyed the view as she deep throated me.

Perversely, getting my c**k sucked made it impossible to hold onto any sort of animosity or even so much as remember the cause.

I was done being riled and back to being smitten with a few enthusiastic bobs of her head.

I figured there was probably a name for this, something Turner would know, when she sucked me off while I was still covered in our last bout of sex.

I didn’t know the name, but I did know that it felt incredible, and that the memory would definitely be stored in my mind for future jerk-off sessions.

I warned her when I was getting close, but sweet girl that she was, that just had her latching on tighter, and sucking even harder when I shot down her throat.

CHAPTER NINE

We used one of Turner’s showers to clean up, and got back into our suits, since Iris unfortunately wanted to stay at the party.

I’d have preferred to go home and pass out, but I was also in the mood to indulge her.

She was tying herself back into her bikini while I pulled on my swim trunks when she said something that gave me pause.

“Tammy saw us. She didn’t look too happy.”

I straightened, blinking at her. “Tammy saw us? What do you mean?”

She was pulling the strings of her top into the complicated pattern that kept her at something approaching decent. It was fascinating to watch each of her pale pink ni**les disappear under a little triangle of fabric, so fascinating I had a hard time focusing on my own question.

Her answer, however, brought me back. “She came into the room while we were ha**ng s*x and saw us.”

I ran my tongue over my teeth, studying Iris.

She didn’t appear the least bit concerned that someone had apparently watched us f**king.

She saw the look I was giving her and grinned. “What did you expect? We had sex in a room without a door, at a party. We’re lucky we didn’t draw a crowd.”

“What exactly did she see? And when did you notice this?”

“When I was on your lap, riding you. She was hovering in the doorway. I can’t be sure, but I think she may have watched the whole thing. She was upset, I could tell.”