Joy Ride by Desiree Holt (reading a book TXT) 📕

voice faded off. Tell him her name? Good girls didn’t give their names to sexy men they went home with from a bar. Besides, anonymity was her cloak in this wild exhilarating joy ride, and she wrapped it tightly around herself.

He stood there, an expectant look on his face.

Tell him something, dummy.

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

“Not a hard question,” he prompted. “You gotta have a name. Everyone does.” When she still didn’t answer him, he said, “Okay, I’ll call you Music Lady, because you danced to the music. ML for short. How’s that?”

She giggled nervously, her purse sliding from her hand. “Okay. Maybe I’ll call you Guitar Man.”

“Call me whatever you want.” His voice was low, seductive.

Kiss me again. Please. Then I don’t have to worry about things like names.

As if he’d heard the silent message, he turned her toward him, cradled her head in his warm palms, and lightly pressed his mouth to hers. His lips were as warm and sensuous as she remembered, and the feel of them sent sparks flying through her. The male scent of him surrounded her, invading her like an addictive drug. Her nipples stiffened again and between her thighs, she felt a low throb deep inside her body. She clung to his wrists again, anchoring herself.

His fingers gripped her skull and he slanted his lips this way and that, finding a better angle before thrusting his tongue deeper inside her mouth. His touch was firm. Possessive.

Ohmigod!

Kissing had never, ever been like this, so arousing that every nerve screamed for his touch. He was tall enough that she had to reach up to him but not so tall he towered over her. Lean but not skinny. Muscular. And their bodies fit together as if made for each other. For the first time in her life, she wanted a man inside her more than she wanted her next breath.

I want him to fuck me.

Lordy, where had that come from? Andrew would have been shocked into a state of performance anxiety if she used it with him. She swallowed a laugh, seized by a hysterical desire to show up naked at Andrew’s front door and scream “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” at him.

But in the next moment, all she could think about was the scorching flame of Guitar Man’s tongue searing her every place it touched, seducing her, coaxing her. Wiping away the attack of nerves that had invaded her. He moved his hands slowly down her neck and shoulders to her breasts. She moaned into his mouth as his palms cupped her, and his thumbs rubbed her nipples through the fabric of her shirt and her bra. More cream flooded her core and the throbbing in its walls intensified. Every pulse point pounded as wildness surged through her.

And still his tongue danced with hers, coaxing more and more of a response. She thrust boldly into his mouth, loving the purely male essence of him, wanting to drink him in so she could hold the taste forever.

The shock of it slammed into her. This was what she’d been looking for her entire life without even knowing it. This! This feeling. This man. And even while it terrified her, she welcomed it.

When he lifted his head, they were both gasping for air. Marc stared hard into her eyes as if searching for an answer to a silent question, then backwalked her into the house. He reached out a hand and in a moment, soft light from a small lamp illuminated the space.

Now she could see the strong line of his jaw, the clear dark blue of his eyes framed with thick eyelashes, the strong nose and the high cheekbones. There was something so totally masculine about him. She felt it sizzling straight to her sex.

She stared at him, flashing hot and cold.

“Yeah, that’s right, keeping looking at me. Don’t look around,” he whispered and laughed, a low, rusty sound. “I’m not sure what the place looks like. Bachelor pad, you know.”

“I don’t care.” She sighed. “You’re the only thing I want to see.”

When had she ever been so bold? Colored outside the lines? But with this man she was someone else, someone ready to fly into hyperspace.

“And I want to see you. Every bit of you. You are just so damn beautiful.”

Beautiful? Had anyone, even Andrew ever told her that? And in a way that made her think it might be true?

She stared at Marc’s face, trying to read his expression. His smile was warm and genuine, lighting him from within. It was soothing and at the same time stimulating. And he smelled completely delicious. Time seemed to slow down as his gaze took in every inch of her. Finally, he threaded his fingers through her hair and tilted her head back slightly.

“I could get lost in these hazel eyes. I bet they change with whatever you’re feeling. And I want to see them change.” He kissed each eyelid. “A perfect nose.” Another kiss on the tip, and his lips trailed down her cheek to her chin and then the column of her neck. His tongue slid along her jawline then down the column of her neck, and shivers skimmed the length of her spine. “So soft,” he murmured. “Like satin.”

He pressed his lips against the hollow of her throat, and she was sure he could feel her pulse pounding erratically. She clutched at him, her knees weak and the crotch of her panties already soaked.

He raised his head to look into her eyes and, even in the semi-darkness, she could see a wealth of emotion there. When he took her hand and led her down a short hallway into an unlit room, she wanted to tell him, Hurry, hurry. A flick of a wall switch and light bloomed from a small bedside lamp. Emma saw what seemed to be like acres of dark blue on a king-sized bed, covered with a dark blue comforter. An image of the two of them naked rolling around on