The Wingman Read online

  She arched herself into his hand, obviously wanting more, and he reluctantly left her breast, ignoring her moan of despair, to trail his fingers down her waist until he found the bottom edge of her T-shirt. His hand crept beneath the cotton, craving the heat of her naked skin against his, but she moved before he could touch her, writhing out from beneath him and breaking contact with his mouth. Gutted, he watched as she struggled to sit up and peer at him through those big gray eyes with their massively dilated pupils. Her mouth was swollen and red, her breathing out of control, and he could see her hard nipples straining against the confines of both her bra and T-shirt. She swallowed and licked her lips causing him to groan.

  “Are we . . . are we going to . . . f-fuck?” The word made his cock swell more, even while he winced at the crudity coming from that pretty mouth.

  “Daisy,” he reprimanded shakily. “Such language.”

  “Learned it from you,” she reminded him.

  “Unlearn it; euphemisms suit you more,” he murmured, while he reached out to trail his finger over her naughty, kewpie doll mouth. He leaned over to nuzzle the sensitive spot below her jaw, and she tilted her head to allow him greater access.

  “Well? Are we?”

  “Hmmm, I’d say so,” he whispered. “But when we have more time. For now we’re going to do some seriously heavy petting. You up for that?”

  Daisy considered the question and looked into his strained face; his eyelids were heavy, making him look sleepy, but she wasn’t fooled, he was hyperalert, his entire body radiating tension. She glanced down and could see him straining at his zipper and knew with absolute certainty that this man wanted her. Wanted her! Daisy McGregor. It was a heady, powerful feeling, and she craved more of it. She wanted him, and she wasn’t going to fight it anymore. Why not just enjoy this? Mason was a great guy, but he wasn’t the man for her. He was just the man for now.

  “I am,” she finally said, after a long, fraught silence. He groaned, his arms gave way, and he collapsed onto the bed on his back. He raised his hands to cover his face, and she admired his strong, beautifully veined and muscled arms. She could see the bottom edge of a tattoo peeking out from beneath the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt, and it thrilled her to know that she would soon see that tattoo. And so much more.

  “Thank God for that,” he muttered into his hands before he reached for her and tumbled her over his broad chest for another long, deep drugging kiss. “Come on, angel, let’s get this pesky T-shirt off you.”

  She giggled, and together they fumbled like two teens as they tugged at and finally tore her T-shirt before dragging it up over her head. Daisy felt self-conscious as she was revealed to him for the first time. She was aware that because she was half slouched over him, her love handles were showing and her tummy was pooching, everything was too soft and nothing like his tight perfection. And he was staring, a lot . . . fixedly. She was certain that he’d never before been to bed with a woman who was less than perfect and now started to feel uncomfortable beneath that piercing regard. Until he spoke . . .

  “Hello, old friend, we meet again.” His tone was rough and filled with admiration. Daisy followed his gaze down to her chest and laughed when she saw that he was staring at her bra. The same lacy pink bra from that afternoon in her house.

  “Stop it,” she chuckled, and he shook his head.

  “Do you know how often I’ve fantasized about you in this pretty pink thing?” His words were gruff and his tone a little reverent. He reached out and ran his finger over the flesh above the scalloped lace edge of one of the cups. Her nipples went harder at the subtle caress, and he left a trail of goose bumps in his wake. His mouth followed his fingers and she hissed at the contact, all humor forgotten.

  He continued to nuzzle her through the lace, edging closer and closer to the hard, tight bead at the center of her breast. She cupped her hands around the back of his head, trying to guide him there, but he seemed to have his own ideas, moving away from that breast to nuzzle at the other one.

  “Mason, please,” she begged, and he looked up at her, those beautiful green eyes slumberous and heavy with desire. His bottom lip looked fuller, his breath was hitching in his chest, and she could see he was as affected as she was.

  “Please what?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Touch me.”

  “Where?”

  “You know where.”

  “Tell me what you want, Daisy,” he encouraged, and she swallowed and moved her own hand down to cup her breast.

  “Here. Touch me here,” she said, and he made a satisfied sound in the back of his throat. It sounded like a purr.

  He sat up and dragged her into his lap. After wrapping an arm around her waist, he took her hard nipple gently between his teeth, abrading it against the lace of her bra and the edge of his teeth. Not hurting, just making it hypersensitive before sinking his mouth over it and suckling hard.

  “Oh!” Her back arched over his arm as the electric sensation shot through her entire body. But he wasn’t done; he had moved to the other breast, and the same treatment yielded the same results. Daisy, who had only ever orgasmed by her own hand, felt dangerously close to coming without even removing her jeans. Every stitch of clothing set her nerve endings on fire, and she needed to get rid of it all; she needed to feel his heat against her.

  “Take it off,” she sobbed, and he lifted his head, his eyes gleaming down at her.

  “What?”

  “Everything. I want it off.”

  “Bra first, I think,” he said in a ridiculously measured voice. How could he sound so in control when she could feel his hot erection grinding against her bottom? He reached behind her, deftly unclasped her bra, and sent it flying across the room, before moving his eyes down to her chest. She heard him whisper a little prayer of thanks as he took in the sight before him.

  “Too big,” she muttered self-consciously. He didn’t seem to hear her as he cupped one of the soft, naked mounds, testing the weight in the palm of his hand.

  “You bite your tongue, young woman,” he chastised after a couple of moments of sheer reverence. “These beauties are perfect. They’re nowhere close to too big. They fill my hands with room to spare.”

  “That’s because you have great big mitts for hands.”

  “Yeah? Well, you know what they say about guys with big hands,” he reminded her smugly, and she laughed. Daisy had never dreamt she’d be comfortable enough with a man that she could laugh so freely while sitting topless in his lap. But this was Mason, and he’d always been marvelous at putting her at ease.

  “That’s big feet,” she corrected.

  “I have big feet too . . .” he said, then paused for a beat before adding, “and you should see the size of my cock.”

  He captured her laugh with his mouth, and things got serious very quickly. She started tugging at his shirt, and he happily obliged her by pulling it off and sending it in the same direction as her bra. She moaned in appreciation when she saw his beautiful hard chest. Just a sprinkling of hair, tanned and taut, but with way too many scars marring all that smooth, perfect skin. He had an intricate Celtic band tattooed around one bicep, sexy and mysterious looking, and his other arm was embellished with a stunning geometric quarter sleeve from shoulder to bicep. A true work of art. And climbing up his right side, from hip to just below his pectoral, was a stark black tree bared of all its leaves. There were gnarled initials and numbers printed randomly on some of the branches; at first glance they looked like part of the tree. And it was this gorgeous, haunting tattoo that she wondered about the most.

  His modeling shots must have been Photoshopped, because none of these scars and tattoos had been present in a single pic, which was a shame because this was a warrior’s body and it was beautiful and she wanted to kiss every single scar; she wanted to lick his abs and suck his nipples, trace his tattoos with her tongue . . . She abruptly understood that everything she wanted to do was highly achievable in this moment and started on the lickin
g and petting and sucking seconds later. He allowed it, his breathing becoming more labored with every sweep of her tongue and every tiny kiss she bestowed at random spots on his skin.

  “If you’re going to kiss me, angel,” he suddenly muttered hoarsely. “Do it properly, okay? I don’t think I can stand these sweet little butterfly kisses . . . they’re designed to drive a man insane.”

  He cupped her face and brought her mouth back up to his, kissing her hotly and flipping her onto her back until he was positioned between her thighs. They were both still wearing their jeans, and as he began to grind against her, the double layers of denim became a major hindrance. He swore impatiently and tore at the buttons of his jeans and, following his lead, she struggled with hers too. They both managed to shimmy out of their denims at the same time; Daisy’s were completely kicked off while Mason’s were bunched around his ankles. Neither cared, and he was back at her mouth in seconds with penetrating kisses that made her lose her reason. His hands were busy at her breasts, plumping and thumbing at the nipples until she thought she would lose her mind.

  Her hands dug into his back and then his buttocks when he started up that deep grinding again. This time, with only her lacy, damp panties and his cotton boxer briefs between them, the sensations were way more intense. She could feel the long, thick outline of his hard penis as he sawed against her damp furrow, the tip brushing against her clitoris with every forward stroke.

  She bent her knees and thrust herself up against him, wishing that she could have more, and as if sensing her desire, one of his hands left her breast and crept down over her belly and under her panties, his thumb finding her with ease. His mouth was now at her nipple, sucking strongly, the way—she’d discovered—she loved it.

  Daisy opened her thighs even wider, and he took it as an invitation to further liberties, his long middle finger attempting entry into her slick channel. He got only knuckle deep before she came like she never had before. She clenched tightly around that intrusive finger for one long, long moment, before she released. The spasms repeated again and again, while Daisy’s back arched and she sobbed into his neck, her nails buried in his back, her ankles crossed around his buttocks.

  One of her hands moved down between their tightly locked bodies, and he shifted slightly to accommodate her and then gasped in utter shock when she pushed his briefs down and took him in hand.

  “Daisy, wait, you don’t have t—” The desperate words faded into a deep groan of satisfaction as—after only one untutored stroke of her hand—he came. Hard and fast and copiously. He shuddered and spent every last drop all over their bellies and her still-stroking hand.

  For an endless amount of time, neither of them moved, and then, as if by unspoken accord, they both flowed into a tangle of arms and legs. They were breathing heavily, hot and wet and literally steaming as their body heat hit the cooler air.

  Daisy’s head was resting on one of Mason’s hard biceps, and his arm was curled so that his hand could idly toy with her hair.

  “That was fucking amazing,” he muttered after he finally caught his breath, and Daisy made a contented little sound of agreement as she snuggled closer. She had both hands curled against his chest with her nose buried in the hollow of his throat and was drifting off to sleep, while his one hand played with her hair and his index finger of his other hand traced lacy patterns across her back.

  “Are you falling asleep?” he asked, his voice brimming with amusement.

  “Tired.”

  “What about dinner? Should we order in?” He sounded disgustingly keen, and she smiled sleepily.

  “No. Wake me up; family will be waiting.” He sighed, his chest heaving beneath her hands.

  “It’s nearly seven.”

  “Just a quick nap. We can be late.” She snuggled closer, feeling not even the slightest bit self-conscious at her nudity, and fell asleep seconds later.

  Mason watched her sleep, a pang of . . . something in his chest. God, they hadn’t even shagged, but it was still the most amazing sex of his life. He wasn’t sure how the hell that worked; all he knew was that little Daisy McGregor had rocked his world with her irresistible mixture of charm, innocence, and lethal sexiness. He knew he should move, get a damp cloth or something to at least wipe some of the stickiness off their bodies, but he wasn’t sure he could move, and right now the damp discomfort was preferable to letting Daisy go.

  She looked so peaceful, he didn’t want to disturb her, but as the minutes ticked over and their bodies cooled, he sighed and regretfully conceded to the inevitable.

  “Daisy,” he singsonged softly into her ear and smiled when her forehead puckered slightly. “Daaaisy.”

  “Hmm?” Grumpy girl. Clearly early mornings weren’t the only times she hated having her sleep interrupted.

  “Come on, angel. Open your eyes.” A deep sigh and another moan.

  “Wha—?”

  “It’s time to get cleaned up,” he told her and watched as awareness returned to her eyes. She went bright pink as her natural shyness inserted itself firmly between them. Understanding that this was all a bit overwhelming for her, he dropped a kiss on the tip of her delightfully freckled nose and eased away from her, allowing her the space she needed.

  “You can have the bathroom first,” he said, and she dragged a pillow to her chest and slid off the bed, keeping the cushion firmly in front of her but completely unaware of the fact that the full-length mirror behind her showcased her smooth, naked back, nipped-in waist, and generous bum and thighs to perfection. Her tiny little pink panties rode low on her hips, low enough to just tease a glimpse of the shadowy cleft between the delightful mounds of her behind.

  “I won’t be long,” she promised, keeping her eyes downcast, which was probably a good thing because he was hard as a steel pipe again and not doing a damned thing to hide that fact. He wanted her, and she would have to adapt to that fact very quickly because he was done retreating. He would deal with the fallout if it meant having her in his bed for however long this lasted.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Daisy sagged against the bathroom door and took a deep breath before dropping the pillow and shakily making her way to the sink. She was a mess, literally and figuratively. She couldn’t quite believe what had just happened. And she couldn’t bring herself to regret it at all. This was all new to her, and she figured Mason would be a phenomenal teacher. But that didn’t mean years of shyness and awkwardness around the opposite sex would simply disappear after one—admittedly amazing—sexual experience with the guy.

  “Just go with it, Daisy,” she whispered, as she stared at her reflection in the mirror above the basin. “Enjoy it while it lasts.”

  She took a long shower, her nerve endings still alive with sensation, her body feeling completely alien to her. Throbbing and sensitive and ready. After she got out of the shower, she dropped the towel and stared at herself in the full-length mirror next to the huge tub. It wasn’t something she usually did. She tended to avoid looking at her naked body, hating every pound of extra fat, every bit of jiggle, any hint of cellulite . . . but now she wanted to see. Wanted to inspect and list the so-called imperfections. This body, which she had practically despised for so many years, had just given her more pleasure than she had ever believed possible.

  She looked at the thighs, too round, too plump . . . without any gap at all between them, the tummy—not flat and abtastic, instead soft and rounded—but not as hideous as she had once thought. Her breasts—she reached up to cup one and hissed when the sensitive nipple immediately tightened in her palm—they weren’t perfect little apples; they were big, round, and overt. Her nipples were positioned high and gave a false impression of pertness, but the mounds themselves were bottom heavy and sloped gently down into a full curve.

  She saw it all and automatically cataloged each and every flaw and then stopped and realized that Mason had seen all of this too, in a brightly lit room. He hadn’t seen any flaws; he had seen a desirable woman. The woman in t
he mirror wasn’t perfect, but she was . . . okay. She was somewhat ordinary with her curly brown hair, her freckles, and her pale skin; she had curves, and maybe they were a little fuller than was currently acceptable, but they emphasized her waist and gave her a pretty decent hourglass shape. She had cellulite, a double chin, and too much junk in the trunk, but right now she looked vibrant, happy, and even a little sexy.

  “Is this a private party or can anyone join?” She jumped guiltily and looked to where Mason stood framed in the doorway, watching her watch herself.

  He had on a fresh pair of briefs and that was all he wore. He came to stand behind her and eyed her reflection in the mirror. There was nothing but sincere appreciation and desire in his gaze. He was so tall her head only reached his chest; he wrapped his strong, hard arms around her and spread one hand over her stomach and the other replaced her hand at her breast. His dark skin contrasted starkly with her paleness, but the most striking thing about the way they looked together was that he made her seem tiny.

  Beneath his huge hands, everything about her was small. His hand spanned the stomach she spent way too much time angsting over, making the extra weight look like nothing. And he was right; he was able to cover her breast with room to spare. She watched as he bent down to nuzzle his favorite spot beneath her ear and smiled and leaned against him. She loved the feeling of his taut body behind hers. She had never felt more fragile or more protected.

  She turned in his arms and rubbed herself up against him voluptuously; his hot skin against her breasts felt simply amazing, and she was almost embarrassed to hear herself purring like a cat at the delightful sensation of the sparse hair on his chest grazing against her hard nipples.

  His hands had come to rest on her butt and he was kneading the flesh there appreciatively before dragging one hand down to her thigh and lifting her leg so that he could rock his erection against her nude femininity. They moaned, and he leaned down to kiss her hungrily, his tongue mimicking the thrusting of his hips.