God, I could get used to this.
God, I can’t get used to this.
“Here is the thing, darling fiancée.” He massages my clit, and I kind of forget what we’re talking about. “You can’t pick and choose what attention I’m allowed to give you. It’s all or nothing.”
“You promised to do only what I consent to,” I breathe, referencing our earlier conversation.
That was a revealing moment for me. Ethan had never gone down on me. And he told me I was shit at giving head. That pretty much buried the idea of oral for me. Until this man.
He removes his hand, leaving me breathless and needy while he casually returns to combing my hair.
“I will honor that promise.” With his skilled fingers, he returns to my clit and draws another moan out of me. “But I’m sure you’ll consent to everything. So yeah…” He flicks my clit, driving me crazy. “All or nothing, Coraline.” His breath fans my skin.
Something tells me all or nothing in Xander Stone’s world is something I have no reference for. Hurricane. Tsunami. Earthquake.
Life-threatening.
Unavoidable.
Out of my control.
And yet I jump into the experience willingly.
“When was the last time you were in a drugstore?” I bite my lip.
“High school,” Xander answers casually, not looking at me. He picks up a box of cereal, turns it over, and frowns at the label. “Maybe college. We were going through a lot of condoms with Cal.”
“You went to school with Celeste’s husband?”
“Yep. This thing is poison in a pretty box.” He puts the cereal back on the shelf.
“For some, it’s a cheap source of energy, often the only source.”
He frowns and glances at the box again. “I never thought of it like that.” Then he shakes his head. “Scratch that; I never thought about those kinds of struggles.”
It’s not regret—more an observation. The slight shift in the mood is noticeable enough for me to regret not opting for the delivery.
Maybe this is too much, too quickly for him. We should still be in our own bubble, and here I am confronting him with poverty.
“Let’s get you that toothbrush,” I say.
He glances at the box again, and then takes my hand and leads me through the aisles. I should revel inthe contact, but instead I fight the urge to pull my hand from his grip.
I thought bringing him here would be immersing him in my life. He adjusted just fine. It’s me who focuses on the looks of other customers.
Even in his casual attire, he is so obviously rich. And I’m so obviously older, especially with the red nose, no makeup, and bags under my eyes.
At the cash register, he pulls out a black credit card. The cashier flips it in her hands a few times before she decides she trusts it enough to try it.
“Did you bring me here to humble me?” He pulls me to him and kisses my temple when we step outside.
I guess he noticed how he stopped the usual flow of things in there. Even though he didn’t show his awareness.
Why the fuck do I care about strangers looking? Where did the need to appease people I don’t know—or try to be invisible—come from?
“I don’t think that’s possible. Your ego swallowed this entire zip code the minute you set foot in it,” I tease.
He snorts. “But you were tense there. Why?”
