A wave of anxiety rolls over her—she’s only ever been with normal-sized guys. This feels like a logistical crisis.
Still, curiosity is stronger than common sense. She reaches down, dragging her palm up the length of him in one slow, deliberate stroke.
Oh. Dear. God.
Her hand stills, resting on what can only be described as a fully armed weapon of mass destruction. “Um,” she pants, voice breathy with a mix of awe and terror. “I’ve reconsidered. Let’s just be friends.”
Garrett only chuckles, low and knowing, brushing his lips against her ear.
“Too late for that,” he murmurs, grabbing her hand and plunging it into his waistband to wrap around his thick, throbbing cock.
Yup, this is the end. Death by cock. Her mother will be so proud.
He pins her to the wall with his hips, grinding his thick erection into her hand. With hot breath in her ear, he leans down, his voice a low, sensual purr. “I’ll take good care of you, baby.”
Baby.
Naomi swoons, a rush of heat pooling between her thighs. Maybe this isn’t the worst way to go.
She’s melting, heart swelling, when he pulls her hand out of his boxers and spins her to face the wall. His touch is firm, guiding her arms to stretch out in front of her, palms splayed, cheek resting against the surface. The coolness of the wall contrasts with the heat of his body behind her, and the way he positions her sends a thrill down to her toes.
His hands caress her backside, each grabbing a handful and squeezing as he nips at her neck. “Stay still,” he murmurs, tugging her trousers down to reveal the delicate lace of her thong. Then, with a gentle nudge to her inner thigh, he parts her legs wider. She stands there trembling, flushed and exposed, every inch of her lit up with anticipation.
A shiver shoots up her spine as he kneels and nips at her ass cheek before kissing and lightly sucking on an inner thigh. One large hand glides slowly up her back in soothing strokes, then lingers at the base of her spine, applying pressure to coax her into a soft, obedient arch.
Feeling bare and breathless, Naomi glances over her shoulder—only to catch Garrett watching her with that wicked, satisfied grin as he slowly slides her thong down her thighs, before burying his face between her cheeks.
“Holy fuck,” she shrieks, arching back into the sweet, sinful pressure of his lips and tongue. Naomi thought he might tease her, make her beg, just because he knew how nervous she was. Instead, he devours.
The air leaves her lungs as he draws hard on her clit, wringing a cry from deep within her. Spots blur her vision as she presses her cheek against the wall, her legs trembling.
Fingers trail up the curve of her knee, gliding along the slickness coating her inner thigh, his other hand firm on her back—pinning her there, holding her exactly where he wants her, unable to move, entirely at his mercy.
When he finds her most sensitive spot, flattening his tongue and brushing it there over and over, Naomi feels a shock of pleasure so intense that his name is ripped from her lips.
“Fuck, Garrett,” she cries, her hips writhing.
“Say it again, when you come for me,” he growls.
She gives him exactly what he asked for, moaning his name again and again as she shatters. Sparks explode behind her eyes, and her voice is ragged and lost as wave after wave of pleasure crash through her.
Naomi’s still clinging to the wallpaper, breathless, legs trembling like jelly, when he rises and spins her back around, claiming her mouth in a feral, breath-stealing kiss. Sensing how unsteady she is, his strong arms curl beneath her to lift and carry her to the bed, tossing her down with a gentle bounce.
“I think you’re ready,” he murmurs, eyes dark with promise. His forearms flex, and his fingers make quick work of his belt and jeans, sliding them down muscled thighs.
“Define ready,” she pants, sprawled on the bed. “Because I think I just forgot my own name. I only know yours now.”
“Good,” he grins, then in one swift motion he tugs his boxers down, erection springing free.
Any last shred of self-preservation within Naomi vanishes. All she can feel is the aching, primal need to have him in her mouth. Immediately.
She crawls to the edge of the bed, a woman possessed, rising to her knees as her lips find his chest, then trail lower—across the hard lines of his stomach, down to the sharp dip where his hipbone meets his thigh, tasting every inch like it’s hers.
He sucks in a sharp breath as she leans forward and licks him like the world’s porniest ice cream cone—each swirl teasing and filthy. She lingers at the tip, circling the bead of moisture there with a flick of her tongue, savoring it like a promise.
“Christ, Naomi,” he groans.
Humming in approval, she takes him into her mouth, sliding her lips down his length torturously slow. When she takes him in as deep as she can—tragically not as far as she’d hoped—she hollows her cheeks and sucks hard, drawing a sharp, guttural groan from Garrett as his hips jolt in response.
