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  head, I run my palms over his chest, down his rippled abdomen, admiring him. He’s trim and muscled and so damn gorgeous I can hardly stand it.

  “You standing there, looking at me like that, is killing me, woman,” he says.

  “Get these stupid pants off,” I whisper, as I try to pull his jeans over his hips, wanting him in a way that makes me feel clumsy and drunk and overwhelmed.

  But he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls me against him forcefully, his hand at the nape of my neck, fingers tangling in my hair, mouth on me as his tongue finds mine. He kisses me hard, rough, like he can’t get enough of me. He palms my breast with one hand, his finger rolling over my nipple until I’m so far gone I think I’m going to come from his touch.

  Then he steps away from me, smiling. “Now I’ll take these stupid pants off,” he says, smiling as he strips.

  And then he stands there, naked as a jaybird.

  Naked and hot as sin, muscled from working the orchard and fighting fires and oh shit, I can’t remember what the hell else he does. Oh my God, I realize, I don’t know a lick about the man standing buck naked in the middle of my kitchen, not really.

  Buck naked, with a raging hard-on.

  A holy-shit, huge-as-hell erection.

  I stand there gaping, watching as he runs his hand over his length all the way to the tip. “Well, Red?” he asks.

  “Well, what?” I try to sound casual, like it’s every day that I have a hot-ass naked man in my damn kitchen, and fail terribly.

  “Tell me what you want,” he says, crossing the space between us. His cock is so close to my body, and all I can think about is wrapping my hand around it. But I don’t. I seem to have completely forgotten how to move, and now he wants me to articulate what I want?

  I can barely remember how to breathe.

  And no one has ever asked me what I want, let alone told me to say what I want.

  "Tell me," he says, his voice low. Demanding. "I want to know, exactly.”

  When I try to reach for his cock, he wraps his hand around my wrist. "Not so fast. Tell me."

  "I want you," I say feebly.

  He reaches up, traces his finger down my chest, between my breasts, his eyes never leaving mine. "I already know that,” he says. “Tell me what else you want."

  I'm self-conscious, tongue-tied. "I want you to ... fuck me."

  "Yes, I know that too," he says, as he slides his finger over my clit. He kisses me, drawing my bottom lip between his teeth, and this time he doesn’t stop me when I reach for his cock, wrapping my hand around his thickness. "How do you want me to fuck you? Do you want me down on my knees, my tongue licking your pussy until you come on my face, before I carry you up to your bed and fuck you, so slowly until you're begging me to let you come?”

  My breath hitches in my throat as I slide my hand up and down the length of his hard cock, my thumb grazing the head, already slick with his pre-cum. "Yes," I whisper, but he stops moving, his finger pressed against my clit.

  "No," he says, his eyes examining me so intently that I feel vulnerable under his gaze. "That's not it. You don't want slow and gentle. You've had that before. That would only disappoint you."

  I inhale sharply, my hand moving more quickly over his cock.

  Luke smiles. "Tell me," he says. "Do you want me to pick you up, fuck you on the kitchen table? Put your hands on the kitchen counter, bend you over and take you from behind?"

  When I bite my lip, Luke chuckles. "That's it, yes?" he asks softly. "You want me to bend you over, fuck you so hard that --"

  He stops abruptly, as I sink to my knees on the kitchen floor in front of him. His cock is close to my lips, almost touching, a gossamer thread of precum hanging from the tip. Gripping the base of his cock, I open my mouth, and catch it on my tongue.

  And I suddenly find my voice. “Yes,” I say. “But first, this is what I want.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Luke

  This woman is on her knees in front of me, her mouth open, the tip of my cock an inch away from her as she looks up at me, her eyes hooded, heavy with desire.

  If she only knew how absolutely fucking excruciatingly painful it was to not come, just looking at her like this...

  Then she wraps her lips around the tip, and it's heaven. It’s pure, warm, velvety heaven as she takes me into her mouth.

  And she moans.

  She fucking moans, like this is what she's wanted forever.

  What she does with her mouth is like magic. I push her hair back from her face, threading my fingers through it as she moves up and down on my length, practically swallowing me, moaning with each pass down my cock.

  I've had a lot of head in my life. A lot of shitty head, from college girls who didn't know jack about giving head.

  This is on a whole different level.

  I don't want her to stop. She sucks me for I don’t know how long – forever, it feels like. And I want her to keep going, to keep working me with her mouth. It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt in my damned life. I want to let go, to give in, release everything that I’ve had pent up since I saw her.

  When I look down at her, big green eyes looking back up at me, pupils dilated large because she's so turned on, it nearly pushes me over the edge. I almost come in her right then and there, and I have to yank her head back, pulling away from my cock by her hair with more force than I intend.

  Autumn makes a sound under her breath.

  "Shit, I'm sorry," I say, loosening my grip. But I don't let go. I can't let go. She’s kneeling at my feet, while I grip her hair in one hand, the other wrapped around my cock. But I tell myself that I can’t come yet, not like this. It’s crass, classless, the kind of thing that Luke Saint, part of the trashiest damn family in West Bend, does. It’s not something a woman like this does.

  "Do it," she says, like she can read my thoughts. Her eyes remain trained on mine, and she arches up, her breasts in the air. "Come on me. Now."

  I’m not going to. I’m going to pull her to her feet, roll a condom onto my length, and fuck her the way she should be fucked. But she reaches out, strokes her fingers lightly along my balls, mouthing the words again: Come on me.

  Fuck, I can’t help it. The fact that someone like her is begging me to do something so dirty right here in her kitchen is too much.

  I do it. I let go, all over her tits.

  After, she looks up at me, grinning, her expression triumphant.

  “Shit, Autumn, I’m so sorry.” I scramble to the sink and wet a towel with warm water, all the while feeling guilty as sin.

  When I turn around, she’s standing, and as I wipe the towel over her breasts, she looks up at me, her mouth parted slightly. “Sorry for what?" she whispers.

  I trace the towel slowly over her skin. "Sorry for...that."

  "Are you?" she asks, her voice breathy. The way she speaks makes my cock jump again. "Because I'm not sorry."

  "Hell, Autumn." I don't know what to think about this woman. She's smart and funny and full of sass...and thirty seconds ago, she was kneeling in her kitchen while I came on her tits. "I just came all over you. That's not how I pictured things happening with you."

  "Oh?" she asks, wrapping her hand around my cock. "Wow, you're still hard."

  "Yeah," I say. "It's because of you."

  “I’m sure,” she says, laughing. “Thanks for saying that.”

  She thinks it’s because I’m young, that I’m just rock hard all the time for any chick. I can see it in her eyes. How do I tell her that’s not the fucking story, that she’s absolutely the hottest thing I’ve ever laid eyes on?

  “Don’t believe me?” I ask, running my palm over her breast. Her nipple is hard as a rock against me. I lean down to cover it with my mouth, swirling my tongue round and round until she’s moaning, little sounds that are primal, that make me want to bury my cock in her pussy right now. When I finally take my mouth away to look at her, I press my hard-on against her leg. "This is all because of you."