“Better.”
“Glad to hear it. Now, should I help you with these sheets, or do you need to cuddle a bit longer?” He played with the edge of the fitted sheet.
“No.” I twisted to pin his wrist flat against the mattress.
He arched his brow. “No to which part, pidge?”
Looking down, I cleared my throat. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me.”
“What if I want to take care of you?” He brushed my hair behind my ear. “That’s what good boyfriends do.”
“You’re the best boyfriend, Angel.”
His pupils dilated. “The best?”
Oh, I needed to stroke that massive ego of his.
I smiled, caressing the trails of his major arteries, his pulse jumping under my touch. “You’re a dream come true. Now, I want to take care of you,” I said, hooking my fingers in his waistband.
“You don’t have to,” he said, his voice husky.
“I want to.” I kissed the soft fuzz on his stomach, massaging his thighs and shaft over his clothes.
He lifted his hips, and I tugged his pants, hungry with curiosity.
I was going to taste him. Take him. Not as part of an exam, but as an intimate way to connect. To learn what makes him moan. What makes him thrust. What’ll pleasure a deeply sensitive part of him.
Would he hold my neck? Curl my hair around his fist? Tell me what a good, perfect girl I was for him?
My mouth watered at the prospect.
But just as I lowered my head for a taste, my stomach growled.
Stupid, traitorous organ. I still hadn’t had breakfast.
He propped up on his elbows. “Do you need—”
“No. Ignore it,” I said, determined to suck the gleaming droplet from his tip to silence my body on the subject.
But then his stomach gurgled, and I couldn’t help but laugh.
He chuckled too. “I’m just so hungry for you, pidge. And you’ve been hungry for me.” He flexed his abdomen to make his dick twitch in a ‘come hither’ motion.
I snorted, which devolved into a giggle fit. “Angel. I can’t…”
No matter how many times I tried to school my features or curl my lips over my teeth, I couldn’t get over his balls jiggling while he held back laughter.
Of course this would happen. I collapsed onto his pelvis in defeated giggles.
“I hope you’re not laughing at my dick,” he teased.
I shook my head, my cheeks hot as I gestured to his penis. “Do you still want—”
“I mean, generally, yes. But maybe after we’ve had breakfast? And made the bed,” he suggested, stretching the edge of the fitted sheet.
I rolled off him, covering my face with my hands. “Ugh, I must be the worst girlfriend ever. I can’t even give you a blowjob without incident.”
“Practice makes perfect, pidge.”
