But he knew.
I didn’t need to tell him.
Two thick fingers slid inside me. Slowly. Like he wanted to savor the sensation as my walls tightened around them, pulling them deeper inside.
A shudder racked his whole body at the sensation as we both seemed to have our minds on the same thing. Not his fingers, but the thick length of him instead, sliding, stretching.
Then he was thrusting. Slow at first. Then harder, deeper, more demanding.
My hips rocked, demanding more.
Suddenly, giving me what I needed, his fingers curled and stroked inside me just as his tongue found my clit again.
The pleasure tightened, coiled.
My body went taut as a bow.
My thighs crushed the sides of his head.
And finally, with a long, deep moan, the climax soared through me over and over, and just when I thought I could take a breath, more. Until I was gasping, shaking, boneless.
Perish’s head shifted when my legs released him, pressing a sweet kiss to my inner thigh as my hand rested gently on his head.
I wanted to hold onto the moment forever.
I never wanted him to move away from me.
But then, drifting down the hallway, a familiar voice had the two of us jerking apart like we’d been scalded.
“Listen, I usually believe that men just shouldn’t be allowed to buy mics with the toxic shit they are spreading with them,” she said as I clutched at my top, yanking my bodice back intoplace, hoping it didn’t look like it was gaping too much. “But yours is something special. I know!”
She was getting closer.
For one short second, our gazes met; the longing, regret and, yes, worry passed silently between us.
Then Perish was rushing away from me, striding toward the door as I slid down from the counter, suddenly wanting to curl up in a ball and cry.
“Alright. I’m at my door. I’m hanging up now. Go give your boyfriend a kiss for me! Love—”
Perish yanked the door open, silencing Layna.
She looked up at him with raised brows and wide eyes. He said nothing, ducked his head, and disappeared out of my line of sight.
“You,” Layna finished, ended her call, then let her arm drop down to the side. “Um…” she said, shooting that curious look in my direction.
I knew I was flushed, that the orgasms were written all over my face.
So I turned back toward the kitchen, waving a hand as I went to finish making the pot of coffee I’d started.
“My stupid car wouldn’t start,” I said, hoping I sounded natural because everything inside me felt shaky, raw, exposed. “I ran into Perish, and he insisted on walking me home.”
“Hm,” she said, closing and sliding the door locks. “Then why is he walking like he’s in pain?”
“Dunno. Maybe he hurt himself when he tackled me or something.”
“Or something,” she repeated. I could hear the dubiousness in her voice, pretended not to, and watched the first few drops of coffee fall into the pot.
“Do you want to have a pajamas and pizza night?” I asked, forcing some enthusiasm into my voice. “Then call it an early night? I’m so tired.”
