Gesturing to my skinny jeans and loose v-neck sweater, I said, “Be quiet. This is perfectly adorable.”
“Yes, peanut,youare really fucking adorable.” Will took the flat iron from my hand and set it aside, then slipped his hand down the front of the sweater. His thumb passed over my nipple, circling it until it peaked for him. “But if one of the guys gets an eyeful of tit, there will be a volume of bloodshed tonight.”
“That’s why you have balls. Just give them a twist whenever you think you’re going to do anything homicidal,” I said as I nudged him away.
“I’ll remember that,” he said. He dropped to the lip of the tub, his forearms braced on his thighs. I was a little obsessed with those forearms. Thighs, too. “Although, it is worth stating that I prefer when you give them a tug.”
Will observed while I passed one section of hair after another through the straightener, and his gaze left my skin tingling. It was intimate, him watching me, almost overwhelmingly so. Less than an hour ago, I was flat against the shower tiles while he pounded into me. Now, I was fully dressed and making careful work of singeing my hair while our eyes met in the mirror, and I couldn’t look away.
There was no urgent passion pumping between us, no timer ticking away the seconds until separation and distance robbed us of kisses, glances, skin-to-skin. This was different. It was everyday affection, and as it surrounded me, I knew it was sweeter and more satisfying than scheduled sex could ever be.
I wanted to tell him this, and show him that I was finished pushing him away, to explain that I was experiencingother feelings, but I wasn’t the girl who lived for dramatic monologues or sentimental gestures. And there was no sense tweaking the rules of engagement, either. We shoveled a lot of shit at each other, and maybe it meant I was a new and improved brand of demented, I didn’t want that to change.
“I like that shirt,” I said, tilting my head toward Will. “I mean…I like it onyou.”
He looked down at the light blue Oxford, and smirked. “Was that your attempt at a compliment? That was rough.”
“Yeah. I’m a lot like whiskey,” I said. “Few can handle me, and even fewer can get it up afterward.”
Will pushed off the tub and stood behind me, and I couldn’t read his expression as his fingertips slipped through my hair. His hands tracked down my back to my waist, and when I expected him to lob an antagonistic barb in my direction, he dropped to his knees.
“You are the finest whiskey,” he breathed. “Only the barrel proof.”
My jeans and panties were skimming over my thighs before I could turn the straightener off, and Will’s palm settled between my shoulder blades, bending me over the countertop. His lips mapped my backside, his short beard was hot, ticklish torture on my skin, and it only intensified when he widened my stance and ducked between my legs.
He traced my folds, licking just enough to leave me moaning and clawing for more. Rising up on my tiptoes, I arched back as his hand anchored me in place and his tongue speared inside me. His groan rumbled through me before I heard it, and that dark sound sent all the electricity in my body straight to my clit.
“Oh, fuck,” he growled. He tugged me between his teeth, sucking and nipping, and I was rushing to the verge. Slack-jawed, cross-eyed, and teetering on shaking legs, that glowing ball of orgasm was throbbing low in my belly and ready to burst open. “Fuck, fuck,fuck. I can taste myself, inside you, and… I fucking love that.”
Glancing down my torso, I could see Will’s bent legs. His impossibly thick erection was trapped against his thigh, under his clothes. “Take it out. Stroke yourself,” I said, “but don’t stop licking me.”
“Like I could,” he said.
His belt rattled as he whipped it open. He dragged his cock free, giving himself a slow caress down his length, twisting at the crown, and then jerking back to the base. With a strangled grunt that vibrated across every inch of my pussy, his hand flew back and forth over his cock in the purest definition ofbeating offI’d ever imagined.
Will’s tongue matched that pace, and all of this—the naughty position, the filthy sounds, the hand holding me down, the lingering evidence of his last orgasm—had us careening toward the finish in minutes. My orgasm blasted through me, heating everything from my toes to my scalp, and leaving me breathless and quivering. He managed a few guttural noises that bore no resemblance to words before closing his teeth around my inner thigh and coming on the blue and white striped bath mat, and watching from my spread-legged vantage point was a new level of dirty.
“Shannon…” he sighed, his head resting on my thighs. “I want you. For a long time. A long fucking time. If you don’t, I need you to lie to me, because there’s a real possibility that I’ll cry right now if you say no.”
“Can we talk about this when your face isn’t between my legs?” I raked my hands through his hair. “And since when is crying a commando tactic? I didn’t think you even had tear ducts.”
“We can grow them on demand, and I can’t imagine a better way to have a conversation with you. You’re amenable to most things when I’m licking your pussy.”
“William,” I said, my tone firm. “You’re kneeling in a puddle of jizz, and I’m pretty sure I have a perfect impression of your teeth an inch from my clit. I promise you we’ll talk about all the things you said, but not now.”
He sighed, and I was certain he was pouting. “I didn’t mean to bite you that hard.”
“It’s okay,” I said. “I kind of liked it.”
“You’re the toughest little peanut I’ve ever met. You’re barely five feet tall, you weigh nothing, and you’re small, but fuck, you are scrappy,” he murmured as he pulled my clothes into place and carefully folded the bath mat. “I’m gonna wait for you outside. I might maul you if I stay in here much longer.”
I required a few minutes to recover, and a few more to finish getting ready. By the time I met Will on the sidewalk, it was dark, and a heavy covering of marine layer was drifting in. It was a brief walk through Coronado Village to the tavern, and Will devoured the distance with rapid-fire stories about his teammates.
“Should I expect to see knife throwing, or kung fu and arm wrestling tonight?” I asked.
He paused at the tavern door. “Probably not,” he said with some reluctance, “but it isn’t impossible. There’re always a lot of team guys here. Some I might let you meet.”
“Let me,” I repeated. “It’s funny because you think you’re in charge here.”
