“But mostly.”
“Just fuck me, Garrett,” I pant.
“Your pussy is clenching me. Try not to come before I get the truth out of you.”
“What truth?”
“How many times have you come for me since the last time I had my fingers on your clit?”
“A few.” And even admitting that makes me coil tight, like it’s too much to reveal, but I can’t resist his rough demands.
“This week?”
I flush with reckless heat. “Last weekend. Woke up horny.”
“Should’ve called me.”
I shake my head.
“Had to wait until your pussy was this fucking needy?” He strokes into me again, the head of his cock pressing in exactly the right spot. Over and over again.
I guess I did have to wait, because the price of getting fucked this good is having all my secrets laid bare.
I whisper his name, desperate now. My thighs clench against his sides, my toes finding purchase against the door as he arches his back, sliding down a few inches until I’malmost on top of him, both of us desperately working hard to make the other person come.
He wins.
I go first, slamming myself down on his cock and shouting his name. Then he follows, and that feels like I win, too.
We both win…until he’s walking himself back to be upright, until I’m hanging in his arms, and it’s all too close and intimate and messy.
“Hang on,” he sighs as I try to vault my way out of his arms and almost trip. He catches me by the waist, steadying me. “Let me deal with the condom.”
At least this time, I’m still wearing his flannel shirt, so covering up is easy.
God, it’s annoying how good he makes me feel on a cellular level.
He goes to the bathroom, still shirtless.
I find his Henley and pick it up for him, holding it out so he can grab it when he comes back.
“I know when I’m being dismissed,” he says dryly. “You working tomorrow?”
“Yep. Second last shift before—” I cut myself off.
Three days from now, I’m heading home.We’reheading home, I guess, but separately. I wasn’t expecting that for him, because he always spends the holidays with my family, and obviously, he’s not invited to that this year.
“Are you driving?”
I swallow hard. “Yeah.”
He searches my face, his gaze dark and stormy. “You don’t need to pay for the extra insurance on a rental, remember. That fancy black credit card of yours?—“
“I know,” I say thickly.
I’m not going to tell him I’m not renting a car, becauseI’ve finally bought wheels of my own—that would open a whole different can of worms.
And none of it is his business.
