A Guy Walks Into My Bar - Lauren Blakely Page 0,68

New York and never fucking forget how I made him feel.

I revel in every moment of his taste, his scent, his bliss. With each move he makes, I’m more aroused. That seems like it should be impossible, but my body says it’s not.

His palms clasp harder, and he’s fucking up into my mouth. “Dean, babe. What are you doing to me? Jesus. What the fuck are you doing to me?”

His words come out strangled. I know he’s close, and hell, I feel close too. I’m actually rocking my hips against the bed, desperately seeking my own pleasure. But his first. I want his first.

And I crave his words.

The things he says to me in bed.

The things he’s saying right now.

“You,” he rasps on a wild thrust. “You’re so fucking good to me.” Then he just grunts and calls out, “Coming.”

Seconds later, I’m tasting him, drinking him down, and losing my mind with lust, with desire, and with something else entirely.

Something I never wanted to feel when we started.

But something that I can’t stop now.

The feeling that he belongs to me. Just me. Only me.

When I climb up his body, I kiss him deeply and passionately. I know he likes that after a blow job, and hell, so do I. We go at it like we can’t get enough of each other’s lips. We go at it like time is running out. We go at it like we’re trying to consume all the kissing in the world, so we don’t forget how each other tastes.

Or maybe that’s just me.

Maybe it’s all in my head, this rush of emotion that pummels me, these impossible thoughts running rampant.

When we stop, with bruised lips and chins rubbed raw, he strokes my face, his eyes locked with mine.

For a second, maybe more, I see everything reflected back at me, and it’s terrifying.

But it’s thrilling too.

“I’m fucking obsessed with how you touch me,” he says, his voice low and rough. “I swear you suck me off like you love it. Like you can’t get enough of it. Of me.”

Nailed it. “Sounds about right.”

“Yeah?” The weight he puts in the question says it’s about more than mouths on body parts. It’s about this obsession we’ve given each other. This shared addiction.

So I answer without teasing, only with truth. “Yes.”

I don’t know what to do with this torrent of feelings. I fight the urge to say something that would reveal all. To say why I love it now, how it’s changed from the pure desire of a few days ago to something richer and deeper.

But it’s hard to keep it inside when Fitz repeats what he said when he was fucking my mouth. “Dean, what are you doing to me?”

He strokes my jaw and gazes at me, and this isn’t the heat of the moment.

He’s saying it after.

I swallow and try to look away, but I can’t unlock my eyes from his. “What am I doing to you, Fitz?”

His fingers trace my face. “That’s the question, isn’t it?”

“That’s definitely the question.”

For a few seconds, a heaviness descends on us, but I don’t want the pressure—not when time is running short.

Maybe he doesn’t either, because the next thing he says is light and easy. “I could do that every night with you. Every damn night.”

“A blow job?” I ask, a little relieved we’re returning to familiar territory.

He relaxes into the pillow for the post-orgasm sex talk. “Yes. But it goes both ways, babe,” he says. “You. Me. Every night. A blow job, a handjob, fingers, tongues, cocks. Everything. I want everything every night with you.”

Or maybe this is how we make the talk manageable. He’s talking about sex, but he’s also not talking about sex. He’s talking about every night. How he wants this, us, me.

Fitz wraps an arm around me and drops a possessive kiss onto my shoulder. He does everything possessively. His entire body seems wired for possession.

I arch a brow and fire back at him. “Every night? You sure about that?”

He nods vigorously against me, his beard scratching my neck. “Every night. Every morning. Couldn’t you?”

“That’s a tall order. You would want to go every night and every single morning?” Goading him is easier than dealing with this strengthening storm in my chest. And because of course I could fucking go every night and every morning. Of course I’d want to with him.

“Yes,” he says with certainty, then he shifts, looking into my eyes. “With you, absolutely. I would fuck you every night and then I