Mama’s Boy by Avery Flynn

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Fiona

Who knew campfires and luxury hot chocolate were total aphrodisiacs? At least that was what Fiona was going with to justify what she knew was probably a mistake.

Probably?

Okay, definitely, but the time for second-guessing her instincts was so gone, it wasn’t even a blip in a metaphorical rearview mirror—not when Dixon kissed her back like that, as if he’d been waiting for years just for her. His body, hard beneath hers, remained still as she melted against him. But his mouth? That was working magic, making her whole body go from warm anticipation to sizzling-hot need for more. And God, did she want. How was it possible that his kisses—hard, demanding, and mind-blasting—could leave her satisfied and yearning at the same time?

She pulled back far enough to put some space between them, her heart hammering in her chest and her breath escaping in little puffs of misty clouds in the air. “You lied to me.”

His eyes, hooded and swirling with lust, showed absolutely no guile. “About what?”

As if he didn’t know. He had to know.

“No mama’s boy kisses like that,” she said, already desperate for more.

The smirk—holy shit, the sexy, egotistical, testosterone-soaked smirk—he gave her was enough to make her bite down on her bottom lip so she didn’t moan out loud.

He cupped the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair, and guided her lower. “Oh yes they do.”

“Prove it.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. How she’d had it in her to ask the first time instead of just giving in and kissing him, she had no idea. Figuring that out fell way down the priority list, though, the moment her lips met his. The only important thing at the moment was to make sure that they never stopped.

His fingers were firm against her skin as they skimmed along her sweater, burning a trail down her back and over her jean-covered ass. He cupped her curves and pressed her against him—as if she needed any help feeling his cock even with the layers of clothing between them. The only problem really was the layers of clothing between them. Well, that and the fact that she couldn’t stop kissing him long enough to tell him to just hurry up and get naked already.

There was something so addictive about his mouth, the line of his jaw, the sound of his moan when she started trailing kisses down the length of his neck. She followed the line to the edge of his Henley, undoing the two buttons that were actually fastened. And when she started to lean back, his hands moved from her ass to her hips so that by the time she was sitting up and looking down at him, he had a firm grip, rocking her back and forth against him.

Something caught in her chest when she looked down at him. He was a mess, with his kiss-swollen lips and his hair going in every direction from where she’d dragged her fingers through it, but that wasn’t what got to her. It was the look in his dark eyes. Knowing. Promising. Determined.

Fuck.

No one had ever looked at her that way, as if she wasn’t just a temporary distraction but someone worth focusing everything on. Someone worth winning over.

He has to win everything, remember?

Yeah, but tonight she’d let herself pretend he really meant it—at least a little, as much as she could without ruining everything.

She reached down to the hem of her sweater, pulling it up and off. The cool air shocked her skin, making her nipples even harder than they’d been from Dixon’s kisses.

“Fiona, you don’t have to—”

“I know,” she interrupted and then reached back and unhooked her bra, letting the straps slide down her upper arms and then tossing the red lace across the tent.

His jaw tightened, and his grip on her hips was like iron. “Just because my cousins put the condoms in doesn’t mean we have to use them.”

Every muscle in her body tensed as she readied herself for rejection, and she dropped her gaze to the blanket-covered tent floor. “Do you not want to?”

That banging in her chest as she waited on his answer? Oh, it had to be loud enough to be heard back at Gable House and probably all the way to Harbor City and Waterbury beyond. She couldn’t look up, couldn’t make her gaze meet his. Instead, she concentrated on taking steadying breaths in and out. After a few seconds, she was ready to go get her sweater and pull it back on while mentally yelling at herself for reading the situation as what she wanted it to be as opposed to what it really was.

Dixon hooked a finger under her chin and turned her head so she faced him. It was fucking grim. His jaw was squared. His gaze narrowed in on her. The line of his mouth was unyielding.

“You,” Dixon said with steel in his voice, “are pretty much all I want in the world right now.”

Heat surged through her, and it took all she had to remember that this wasn’t a forever kind of situation and never could be. “For tonight.”

“I don’t date,” he said without even a hint of give in the three words. “Ever.”

There. Now you know it. Try to remember it.

Calling on her reserves of bravado that she hadn’t known were there, she pulled back from the chasm of this actually maybe meaning something. “Good thing we aren’t actually dating.”

And before she could say anything else, give away the soft little part of her that was the kind to wonder and hope and think, well, maybe, she planted her hands on the floor on either side of his head and leaned down slowly, letting her breasts go lower and lower until her hard nipples brushed his lips. She didn’t have to ask out loud. He opened his mouth, taking in a nipple, sucking the hard peak, letting his teeth graze the sensitive flesh until she thought she’d lose her mind. Then he let go and turned his head enough to take in the other nipple. He teased her in the best way, going from one breast to the other, taking his time and sticking with whatever he was doing each time she let out a moan of pleasure. It was absolute fucking blissful torture because even as good as it felt, she wanted—needed more. She pulled back, sitting on her heels and grinding her core against his hard length as she cupped her boobs, pulling her nipples taut as he watched, his eyes dark with lust.

Gliding his fingers from her hips to the button of her jeans, he paused and lifted an eyebrow in question.

“Dixon Beckett, are you trying to get me completely naked?” Please say yes.

“Yes,” he answered in a harsh near-growl.

“Thank God.” She let out a soft laugh that turned into a needy moan the moment he touched her again.

He flicked open the button, and she raised herself up on her knees so he could inch the zipper down. “Stand up.”

She did without question, needing to feel his fingers on her bare skin more than she needed to pretend to be anything other than what she was at this moment—desperate for him.

Dixon sat up and pulled off first the right and then her left sock. Then he yanked down her jeans, helping her to balance as she stepped out of them and kicked them off to a corner, leaving her standing above him in just the red lace of her panties. The material didn’t even begin to cover all of her ass like it had on the online model, but she dismissed the thought as soon as it snuck into her consciousness. Really, there was no way to hold on to it, not with him looking at her like that, as if the strip of cherry red between her legs was the only thing between him and heaven.

“Christ”—he let out a sigh—“you’re beautiful.”

“And way more undressed than you are.”

“I can fix that, but first…” His words dropped off as he slid his hands up her legs, the pads of his thumbs traveling to her inner thighs.

A shiver worked its way through her body as her knees got more wobbly the farther north he went until his thumb brushed the damp material covering her slick core. She put a steadying hand on his shoulder—there was no way not to when the world had shrunk down to the one spot where he was touching her, sending reverberations of lust and pleasure through her entire body.

“Can I?” he asked in a whisper.

“Please.”

He slipped his thumb underneath, brushing it against her wet, swollen folds. He sucked in a harsh breath, as if he was the one already skating along the edge of coming—meanwhile, it felt as if she was seconds away from flying apart at the seams.

“So soft,” he murmured. “God, I can’t wait to taste you.”

Then, before she could take a breath, he was sitting up, one thumb holding the center of her panties to the side while he licked and kissed and sucked her clit. How in the hell she managed to stay standing was a mystery, because it sure wasn’t as though her legs had any strength left in them—not when he was doing that to her, making her feel as if she could take off and float up into the sky. It was all she could do to almost, not really, control the moans of pleasure coming out of her mouth as he did delicious fucking things with his lips and his tongue. Thank God they weren’t back at the house. She wasn’t sure there would be a damn thing she could do to quiet herself as he did this thing with his thumb circling her opening as he rubbed her clit that had her crying out his name and murmuring promises that she had no intentions of keeping even if she could understand them. All she knew was at that moment, she would do anything if he never, ever stopped because she was so fucking close.

It took everything she had in her not to beg him to keep going, doing exactly what he was doing. That was always a sign for Chad to immediately switch to doing something else.

Do not go there, brain! Do not think of that man right at this moment.

Yanking her thoughts back to the here and the amazing man between her thighs, Fiona sank her fingers into Dixon’s hair, encouraging him on. And he did. Thank fucking God, he did. Her orgasm hit like a boomerang, a zip of pleasure up her legs that bounced outward and then rebounded back to her core with enough power to knock every thought out of her brain until there was only bliss.

It wasn’t until she was floating back down from the peak that she realized what had kept her from falling—Dixon’s arm hooked around her waist.

Don’t do it. Don’t make that connection. This man will let you fall, just like all the others.

This was just for fun, to get it out of her system, to scratch an itch.

She was in the middle of the you’re-in-danger-girl pep talk when Dixon stood up, reached behind his head, and pulled off his Henley, revealing a broad, muscular chest that had her brain stuttering.

Then he went for the button on his jeans, and she stopped thinking completely.