Chapter 5

The taste of him was intoxicating; better than any wine I had ever sampled. Better than the most decadent dessert I had ever had. I’d have to say that his kiss was better than any sex I had ever had. Yet. I had the feeling (both in my head and pressed against my leg) that sex was definitely in my future.

Jon’s hands left my hair and I nearly cried from the loss. Then I felt them trail down over my shoulders and sides, to come to rest on my waist. I let my hands wander down his chest feeling my way down the rough terrain of hard muscle, until I came to his jeans. I grabbed a fistful of the soft blue T-shirt he was wearing and hauled it up. With the other hand, I traced light patterns on his chest, feeling the soft fuzz that was growing back. I grinned.

Jon broke the kiss to look at me. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing at all, darlin’,” I said. “Just glad to see that your chest hair is growing back in. The mags may like you smooth, but damn,” I blushed a little, continuing to stroke his chest. “I like you a little fuzzy.”

Jon chuckled low in his chest, and smiled like I’d paid him a great compliment. “I think you may be the only one. Everyone else thinks I should keep up with the waxing, but,” he blushed himself a little, “damn it, it stings.”

Now it was my turn to chuckle. “Well, whatever the reason, it works for me.”

Jon’s thumbs were making lazy circles on my sides, making me shiver a little. I scratched my manicured nails over his ribs, making him twitch. “It’s not right that I’ve got my shirt off, and you don’t,” I chided. He took a step back, hitched up the hem of his shirt, and hauled it over his head by the neck. The motion made his biceps flex enticingly, and his abs tighten. Good Lord, he was sculpted perfection.

“Better?” he asked, throwing his shirt carelessly over his shoulder.

“Better than I’d imagined,” I said, just mesmerized by the bronze skin pulled tightly over well-defined muscles. I couldn’t help myself, so I helped myself. I touched every inch of skin I could see, and followed it with wet, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. God, how could I not? Jon’s hands braced on either side of me on the dryer, and his eyes closed and his head dropped back, exposing his neck and that delectable Adam’s apple. I had to tiptoe to reach it, but it was worth it. As I scored my teeth across it, he hissed and grabbed me, pulling me hard against him. I wound my arms around his neck, and pulled, bending him to my will.

Thrusting my hands roughly into his hair, I pulled his head to one side, and God help me, I bit him. Bit right into that sweet spot between his neck and shoulder, tasting the sweat that was accumulating there. Sweat and the musk of a very turned on man. Yum. His arms tightened around me, but he didn’t flinch away. I soothed the bite with my tongue, and I swear, Jon growled. Actually growled like a glorious golden lion. That’s all I needed to hear. The boy liked a little rough play? Oh yeah. Catching him off guard, I spun him so his back was to the dryer, and slammed myself into him, ravaging his mouth.

Before he could react, I broke the kiss. Locking hooded, heavy, eyes with him, I took a step back, scoring my nails roughly over his pecs, being sure to scrape his nipples on the way down. As I scratched at his ribs, he flinched a little – I’d found a ticklish spot. Being a bit of a pain in the ass, I took my time counting each of his ribs with my nails, making him make these little noises in the back of his throat like a mewling kitten. When he reached for me, I gently pushed his hands away, shaking my head slightly. This was my fantasy, damn it, and I was going to do this my way.

I slowly sank to my knees in front of him, not breaking eye contact until I was eye to, well eye (ha ha) with his pelvis. I remembered seeing some of the photos of Jon’s “package” and thinking it looks real good (and seems to always be tucked to the left) but he must be stuffing. Nope. Not at all. With a trembling hand, I traced the lump in his jeans. Jon’s hands tightened on the edge of the dryer when I reached for his belt. Slowly, I unbuckled it and let it fall open. His sharp exhale emboldened me, and I unfastened his jeans and had them down around his boots before I lost my nerve.

God, he’s a man who still wore tightie whities. Wow. Boxers are sexy, but damn, this man fills out these Calvins like nothing I’d ever seen before (not that I’m a slut, mind you, but I’ve seen my share). I grazed a palm over the pulsing bulge reverently, and ever so lightly. I leaned in to press a kiss to it, and just the scent of him made me wet. Jon grabbed for me again, and I swatted at him. “Don’t make me bite you,” I said to him, my voice a rasp. I swear, he smiled, no, smirked at me, and reached for me again. I fit my mouth over the width of him, and bit gently. He growled and arched his back as a small wet spot appeared near his waistband. I smiled. What a rush. I’m pretty sure I was now thoroughly drenched myself, and he hadn’t even touched me yet. Not really.

I hooked my index fingers into the waistband of his Calvins and pulled them down slowly, revealing him inch by glorious inch. He was swollen and purple and pulsing, and just lightly dusted with fine light-brown hair at the base, I licked at the glistening tip of his cock as I slid the underwear down to join his jeans. Jon groaned and dug his hands into my hair, no longer trying to stop me. I bit him again anyway, lightly; just to make him make that feral growl again. I licked up the length of him as I tested the weight of his balls with my hands.

Jon’s breathing was getting ragged and heavy, and I’d only just started. God, this was going to be fun.