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

cream from her soaking vagina. Aware that she was wetter than she ever remembered, she jumped when he slid lower and lower until he reached the tight ring of the anal sphincter. No one had ever touched her there before. But then her lips parted, her breathing hitched, and she lifted to him.

His fingers, calloused from playing the bass, rasped against her tender skin and slid to her pussy again, sending frissons of excitement skittering along every nerve. He worked three of them into her as his mouth sucked hard on her clit. The orgasm hit without warning.

“Oh, oh, oh.” The sounds of pleasure rippled from her mouth. Body shaking, her own whimpers and cries echoed in her ears.

She jerked her hips, arching toward him as she shook with spasm after spasm. Deep inside, every muscle clenched in response. Marc’s tongue continued stroking and lapping until the tremors subsided, and she became a limp mass. He licked the last drop of juice from her pussy, humming his appreciation.

He rose to his feet and leaned over her, the liquid of her arousal gleaming on his face. When they kissed she tasted herself on his lips, a taste that was shockingly pleasurable.

“You are incredible,” he murmured. “A goddess. I want to worship your body forever.”

She smiled at him, spent, but unbelievably feeling a response growing again at his words. And wondering how it was even possible.

But now she was hungry to see every lean, muscular inch of him.

“I want you naked,” she told him, the words spilling from her mouth with a new boldness.

Marc grinned but when he spoke, his voiced was ragged and uneven. “I thought you’d never ask.”

He rose and pulled his T-shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor on top of her clothes. His jeans and boxers followed, and then he stood before her in his wonderful lean nakedness, dark hair curling on his chest and arrowing down to his groin where his magnificent cock rose proudly from its thick nest of curls. A beautiful tattoo sleeve covered one arm, unlike anything Emma had ever seen before. The only ones she was familiar with some actor had sported on television. But the beauty of the colors of this one, the scrollwork and unique characters and the delicate tracery of the design fascinated her. The hues were vivid, the lines scrolls and sweeps, each blending into the next, some more powerful than the others. Like his music, she thought. She could spend hours just studying it, artwork worthy of display in a museum.

Tentatively she reached out a finger and ran it over the intricate design. The feel of it somehow excited her.

He was the most beautiful man she had ever laid eyes on. Not just his body, but the strong set of his jaw, the straight nose, the dark eyes fringed with thick lashes. The same electric shock of excitement that had grabbed her when she first saw him in the bar seized her now.

And she’d never felt so totally and completely connected to another person.

Marc saw the heat flare in her eyes as she took in every inch of his nudity and if it was possible, his cock hardened even more. Jesus, he wanted this woman. Wanted to bury himself deep inside her and stay there forever. He could hardly believe she was actually here. With him. In his house. Naked in his room. He was afraid if he pinched himself she’d disappear. He’d been with a fair amount of women—all kinds—but it didn’t take a genius to know this one was special. The real deal.

This was no groupie going from musician to musician, or some barfly stimulated by alcohol. No, she’d radiated such nervousness at first he was afraid she’d bolt and run. Music Lady was pure, clean woman, sensual and shy at the same time. A combination that made him so hot he had to grit his teeth to find the edge of control.

All his adult life, he’d looked for a woman like this. A woman who, despite the fact that she’d come home with him after one scorching kiss, definitely did not seem the type to fall into anyone’s bed. A woman whose mannerisms, lack of experience, whose every action and reaction with him set her apart from the other women he’d been with.

His dream, only now forming, was to find someone who could become a real part of his life. One he could share things with. A very special woman who understood the demands of the music business and the soul of an artist. Someone who could adapt to him working nights, rehearsing days, needing quiet time to write his music. Someone who could live with the volatile environment of his career.

Just that quickly, he knew he wanted it with Music Lady.

The question was, did she desire it with him? And would she really turn out to be what he thought or was it just wishful thinking?

He had a hunger to learn everything about her. What she liked to eat. What movies appealed to her. What her favorite color was. Anything and everything that could unlock the secret of his Music Lady—why she’d come to Aftershock tonight, and more importantly, why she’d agreed to come home with him. But first he had to fuck her every way possible so he could completely imprint himself on her body inside and out.

Aroused to the point of desperation, he lifted ML in his arms, yanked back the covers on the bed, and placed her carefully on the sheets. His eyes roamed over every inch of the perfect oval of a face and hazel eyes fringed with heavy lashes. Her body was flushed a soft shade of pink, cream still glistening on the soft blonde curls covering her mound. He ran the tip of one finger through them, stroking the silken folds, and was rewarded with the sight of a delicious shiver racing over delicate skin. His breath caught at the wonder of this woman.

She lifted