helps me. Sure, I’m a little—okay, a lot—sexually frustrated, but for the first time in my life I’m being forced to slow down a little bit, and it’s not the worst thing in the world. Actually, the rewards are pretty fucking sweet.
“Sugar,” I start, trying to come up with the words to explain all that to her without looking like a pussy, “if this is about you feeling like you owe me something, then you’re dead fucking wrong.”
“Not owe,” she clarifies. “Just… even. Meeting you in the middle. You made an effort—you made me feel good—and I want you to give me the chance to do the same. I don’t know how it’ll shake out, but you can be chill. I know that now. You can be—”
I must suck in every atom of air to say, “Fuck yes, so chill,” and I’d probably be halfway out of my pants by now, but I’m kissing her instead. She makes a small, surprised sound into my mouth, but it doesn’t sound disagreeable. Going by the way she kisses me back, deep and breathless, she’s all for it.
I reach out to curl a hand around her hip, braced for her to twist away, leaving my grip loose. But she doesn’t. I wonder if she’s realized yet that it’s easier when we’re like this, licking into each other’s mouths, bodies pressed close and hot, buzzing with the promise of pleasure and the frustration of not getting it fast enough. She doesn’t flinch away like she does in the halls.
But I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t push it.
I drag a hand up the arm she has wound around my neck, gently tugging her wrist away. She pauses when I press her hand to the front of my pants, but doesn’t pull away.
She squeezes.
“Oh, fuck,” I sigh, letting my head fall back against the wall. “Fuck, I’ve been hard forever.”
Her mouth is hot against my throat, voice low as she rubs my dick. “What do you want? The door locks from inside. No one’s going to come in.”
The way she’s palming my cock has my brain too focused on the thought of a tight, wet hole to think twice about saying, “I want to fuck you.”
Luckily, she takes this in stride. “We’re not fucking in the photo lab, Bass.” Right. Not realistic. I look down, but she’s watching her hand curl around the tent in my pants, mouth parted as it strokes up and down. “I could do this.”
“Yeah.” Fuck yeah, she could. Even a hasty hand job through my pants would probably make me bust the best nut I’ve ever had. But, “Can you suck me off?” I’ll probably cringe about it later, but right now, I don’t even give a damn.
She gives me a wry look, and I’m wondering if a blow job is unrealistic like fucking. My brain isn’t exactly operating at peak capacity. But she just says, “Hey, tone down the romance, Nicholas Sparks. I’m a sure thing.”
“Uh,” I say stupidly, “sorry, I just meant, if you wanted to.”
She doesn’t look upset, though. If anything, she looks almost as horny as I feel, teeth sinking into that plump bottom lip as her fingers move up my shirt. She toys with the hair below my navel, dropping her eyes to watch.
“Take off your shirt and maybe I’ll think about it.”
I’ve never gotten out of a shirt so fast in my fucking life.
“Jesus,” she says, reaching up to press her palms against my bare chest. “You’ve got such a nice body.” I’m not sure why she says it like that—like me being ripped is the source of her greatest annoyance—but the way she sweeps her hand down my abs tells me it’s anything but.
“Did this hurt?” she asks, running her tongue over my collarbone tattoo in a way that makes my dick twitch angrily.
“Nah,” I answer, winding my hand into her thick, dark hair.
She hums against my skin, fingers dipping teasingly beneath my waistband. “Really?”
“No,” I snort. “Of course it hurt. Like hell.”
Tension coils in my lower belly and it only tightens further when she bends, placing hot kisses on my stomach. I hiss, feeling my abdomen cave. The sound forces her to look up with those big hazel eyes, and I touch her cheek. I realize that coming in my pants wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen to me that day, but god, having my cock in her mouth? Having those pink, puffy lips around me as I come? I’m this