The Dare Collection: June 2018. Lauren Hawkeye

she half hissed, half whispered. No way could she stay completely silent, not when he lay sprawled beneath her looking sexier than any sight she’d ever seen. And not when he filled and stroked her with sublime perfection.

      When he started thrusting up from below, each blow accompanied by a harsh grunt while his big hands held her hips firm to hit the same spot over and over again, she lost all strength in her upper body and collapsed forward. Her hands clasped his sweat-slicked chest and her hair formed partial curtains before her face.

      ‘Damn, you’re tight. You clutch me just right.’

      She whimpered, his verbal encouragement, his deep thrusts and his thumb back on her clit working a unique brand of magic over her body.

      She gasped, flinging her wild hair back over her shoulders, her neck arched.

      ‘That’s it, ride me.’ He panted out, his gruff commands low but no less insistent. ‘I’m going to make you come so hard.’

      With one last swipe of her clit and three rapid-fire thrusts of his hips, she climaxed, her whole body tense as she fluttered and clenched around him. Her cries bounced off the walls, but they were both past caring.

      He sat up, buried his face between her breasts and clutched her to him with breaking force as he convulsed and groaned out his own climax.

      Essie swallowed past her dry throat, gripping his shoulders while the spasms petered out and her heart slowed.

      The sheen of cooling sweat stuck their clammy chests together. Essie caught her breath at last. ‘Well, that was fun.’ She buried her nose in his hair, stifling a giggle.

      He kissed her breastbone, between her breasts.

      ‘Hell, yeah, it was.’

      She cracked up, taking him along with her.

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      ASH WOKE TO the melodic sound of distant church bells.

      He opened his eyes to find the hotel suite, which was situated in Paris’s Eighth arrondissement, bathed in filtered sunlight and his body wrapped around a soft, warm, sleeping Essie. His morning wood nestled between the cheeks of her spectacular ass. He ground his hips, the bite of pleasure damping down the flare of panic that waking up spooning a woman had created.

      He never spooned. He rarely spent the night with someone, usually leaving after the business end of the evening was over.

      He held himself rigid until the wave passed, its grip on his chest lessening until he could once again breathe.

      They’d agreed.

      Just sex.

      Fun sex.

      Astounding sex.

      And, seemingly to test him to the hilt, she wanted to experience new and adventurous sex. Would he even survive? She’d been incandescent last night. First agreeing to his renegotiated terms of engagement and then stating her own, which aligned with his so beautifully that he had discovered breaking his cardinal rule was easy. For the right woman. The right...inducement.

      And then she’d blown him away by suggesting they fuck in the very upmarket club that they’d come to vet. Who knew studious, bubbly, relationship expert Essie concealed such a libidinous inner vixen?

       Lucky him.

      He’d gladly expose her to previously untried experiences—a tough job that he relished. This was the perfect solution. Keeping things fun and playful clearly delineated the boundaries, gave him back the control he needed like oxygen. And provided an out clause—because this would end. Sooner or later the fun would dry up. And they could walk away. No feelings hurt. A good time had by all.

      He breathed deeply, preparing himself, just as he did in negotiations—take control, brainstorm all possible outcomes and, if all else fails, railroad the opposition. With that strategy in mind, Ash shelved the niggling seed of doubt and gingerly untangled his limbs from hers without waking her.

      By the time they’d returned to the hotel in the early hours of this morning, they’d been beat. They’d shared a quick shower and collapsed into bed.

      And now he wanted his breakfast.

      Sinking beneath the sheet with slow stealth, he manoeuvred himself between her thighs. Essie slept like the dead, so she didn’t wake until he’d opened her up and wedged his shoulders between her shapely legs.

      She stirred, her head lifting from the pillow to level sleepy eyes on him. Eyes full of dawning realisation.

      Fresh lust pounded through him, his dick burrowing into the mattress. ‘Morning. Ever experienced wake-up oral?’

      She shook her head, bleary eyes rounded.

      ‘Do you mind?’ His voice was gruff, from the sight of her rumpled and vulnerable, her hair a wild tangle around her face, and from the vision of her open and glistening before him.

      Her eyes were tinged with growing excitement. She shook her head but continued to stare. Waiting.

      Ash touched the tip of his tongue to his top lip, catching the flare of heat in her eyes and the way her breasts rose and fell with her shallow pants. Her scent enveloped him. He shifted her thighs until she was splayed to his satisfaction.

      Perfect, pink and pouty. The strip of fiery hair neatly trimmed framed the most exquisite sight he’d ever seen. One certainly worth waiting for. Who needed the works of art housed at the Louvre, when they had a naked Essie in their bed?

      ‘Are you going to watch?’ A surge of blood flooded his groin and she dropped her head back onto the pillow with a hoarse groan.

      ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to.’

      He tutted. ‘Your choice. But I will. I recommend the experience.’

      She looked at him again, her cheeks flushed pink. ‘I...I’ve never come this way before.’

      Heat bloomed in his belly. Man, he loved a challenge. ‘You will for me.’ Leaning forward, he opened her lips with his thumbs and touched the tip of his tongue to her clit. She jerked. Her thighs slammed against his head and her hands flew to his hair to hold him in place. Not that he was leaving. Not until he’d gorged himself and left her begging him to stop. Until he’d ruined her and set the bar sky-high.

      He’d warned her last night and he never made idle threats. They weren’t leaving this hotel room until neither of them could walk.

      Sucking the tiny bud between his lips, he flattened his tongue and laved at her, over and over. He watched her every reaction: the way she fisted his hair in her hands; the way, despite her proclamation, she lifted her head from the pillows every few seconds to stare at the action occurring between her thighs; and the way she urged him closer by lifting her legs over his shoulders and digging her heels into his back, demanding more.

      She swelled in his mouth, her breaths now coming hard and fast.

      ‘Yes...oh...yes. You’re so good at that—’ Her breath caught on a keen wail. He winced as she twisted his hair, drawing back for a second to part her and slide two fingers inside her tight, velvety heat.

      ‘Having fun?’ He scraped his teeth along one inner thigh, delighting in the trembles that snaked across her flat belly.

      ‘Yes. Yes. Don’t stop.’

      ‘I have no intention of stopping. Best breakfast ever.’ He dived back in, this time matching the rhythmic laves of his tongue over her swollen clit to the plunging of his fingers, which he angled forward to rub her walls.

      When she released his head so he could pluck and roll her rosy nipples, her neck strained as she held her head up to watch his every move and he knew she was close. He gave her everything, sucking and humming and plunging until she cried out, her voice a broken, thready