Bottoms up

This erotic story excerpt from Playing by Her Rules by Amy Andrews is published with permission.

Erotic sexy story by Amy Andrews

She took the one step required to bring her body up against his and swore she heard the sizzle as her nipples came into contact with the smooth hardness of his chest.

She certainly heard the quick, rough intake of his breath. Rising to her toes, she slid her hands around his neck, their mouths so very, very close.

But there were parts of them that were closer.

Val was excruciatingly aware that only two scraps of fabric were keeping them decent, and the hard ridge of his erection was pressing against the screamingly sensitive flesh between her legs.

It took all her willpower not to grind against him.

As if he knew it, his hands came to rest in the small of her back, his fingers splaying again, pressing her closer.

“I think it’s time—” She stopped to draw in a ragged breath. There wasn’t enough air in her lungs when she was this close to him. “For my birthday kiss.”

His mouth was so close it almost brushed against hers as his lips broke into a smile. “I think it’s past time.”

“Okay. Don’t move,” she whispered. “Let me.”

He didn’t move. He stayed perfectly still as she fitted her mouth to his. So still she could feel the tension of his neck muscles and the rigidity of his abs and quads, the steel band of his hands in her lower back. But he let her lead, standing passively in the circle of her arms as she nibbled and tasted his mouth, her tongue licking along the seam of his lips. They parted under her probe, and she moaned triumphantly as she tasted beer.

Val’s senses swam with it, and she pulled back, temporarily overloaded. By him, by who he was, by what she was doing.

She shut her eyes as she ran her tongue over her lips, savouring his taste, humming her approval. Her eyes fluttered open to find him watching her intensely.

“That was…sweet.”

“Sweet?” He made a low, growly noise at the back of his throat. “Fuck that.”

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He kissed her then. Really kissed her. A proper birthday kiss. Nothing sweet about it. Not one little bit.

It was hard and fast and dirty, the power of it crowding her backwards. Back, back, back until her ass and shoulder blades hit the wall. Val barely noticed as his tongue—his clever, clever tongue every bit as good as he’d promised—took full possession. A hand slid under her hair, clamping at her nape while his mouth roved over hers, twisting and turning and demanding that she answer him back with the same fervour.

And she did. God help her, she did. Every desperate breath she sucked in around the demands of his mouth was full of him.

Full of beer and voodoo. Heady. Intoxicating her beyond all reason.

It was the kind of kiss that belonged in a movie. That was hot and effortless and arousing. That made the audience tingle and sigh and yearn. Made them pull over the car on the way home for a quickie.

As abruptly as it’d started, it stopped, and Val was thankful for the solid presence of the wall behind her as her knees almost went from under her.


She could hardly hear him above the hammer of her heart, let alone form coherent words. She made some kind of nonsensical noise instead, which he clearly took for agreement.

“Good.” He slid his hands to the backs of her thighs and lifted her. “Plenty more where that came from.”

Val gripped his hips hard between her thighs as he strode off to god knew where, all she knew was his mouth was back on hers, and she was moaning and hanging on, utterly lost in the havoc of his kiss. Time ceased to exist until she was suddenly falling, falling, falling, a soft mattress breaking her fall, her loose hair landing all over her face.

She brushed it away, sweeping it out from underneath her head and shoulders, her slightly out-of-focus gaze landing on Kyle. He didn’t bother with a light, but her eyes had adjusted to the dark so that she could see him clearly enough, and he was looking down at her like all his birthdays had come at once, the heat from his gaze scorching her from the tips of her nipples to the purple scrap of material between her legs.

His chest heaved in and out, and she could just hear the ragged jag of his breathing above hers.

“How do you want this, birthday girl? Fast and dirty or slow and gentle?” He spread his arms in an all-encompassing gesture. “Your wish is my command.”

Val’s belly turned cartwheels. God. He was her own private birthday genie. She was pretty sure all it required for her to erupt into a spontaneous orgasm would be for him to say that a few more times.

Hell, she’d probably come the second he stripped off his underwear.

“Fast. And dirty.” This was a hookup, damn it.

He grinned at her like he knew she was going to choose that option all along. It was conceited and arrogant and so damn male.

Sexy. As. Fuck. And her whole body throbbed with wanting him.

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She yelped in surprise when he reached down and yanked at the straps of her thong, stripping it off her legs in three seconds flat, tossing it over his shoulder as he pushed at his own underwear.

Even in the dark, his cock stood out like a freaking beacon, thick and heavy, springing proud and free from a thatch of black hair. So goddamn…ready.

If she’d been an artist, she would have sketched it. If she’d been a sculptor, she’d have cast it in bronze. If she’d been a poet, she would have written a bloody sonnet about it.

But all she was right now was a woman, and all she really wanted was to fuck it.

With the minimum amount of movement, he located a condom in a bedside drawer and rolled it on, all without taking his eyes off the soft Titian down at the juncture of her thighs.

“Spread your legs.”

Val’s pulse spiked at the rough command, but she spread them.

And then, his gaze boring into hers, his knee was on the bed, and then his body was on hers, and then his mouth was on hers.

On her lips and her throat and her nipples, and his tongue was lashing the hard tips, and she was gasping and arching off the bed, one hand sunk into his hair, the other clutching one firm ass cheek as his cock slid through the slick heat between her legs, prodding, thick and hard at her entrance.

She spread wider for him as his hips flexed, and he was inside her, thrusting deep. She cried out at the intrusion stretching her so damn good, and he abandoned her nipples for her mouth.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispered against her lips, “I got you.”

And he did. He had her, completely and utterly. He had her quick and dirty, just like he promised, his hand moving between them to rub her clit. It took three strokes to catapult her orgasm from a promise to stark reality, and she shattered beneath him so hard and so fast it sucked her breath away.

It didn’t take him long to follow, thrusting with deadly precision until he tore his mouth from hers and groaned his release into the side of her neck. His breath was hot as he took them all the way to the finish line, drowning them both in pleasure and a wild voodoo aroma.

Val cried out, high on their joining. High on the rock and the pound and the shudder. High on the thrust and the quiver. High on the forbidden fruit that was Kyle Leighton.

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Begging for more? You can buy Playing Dirty or find out more about Amy Andrews.


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