1
Iturned off the car and pulled out my phone, opening the text one last time.
I think I need to take a break. It’s all just a bit too much for me.
Jesus, even the man’s breakup texts were timid. “I think I need” instead of just saying what he wanted. We’d only gone out a handful of times. I hadn’t even decided how I felt about him. I sure as hell hadn’t been pushing for any kind of commitment or exclusivity. If a few dinners and mediocre foreplay—we hadn’t made it to the main event; I’d been waiting for him to take the lead—were enough to scare him, what would have happened if we’d gone further?
Rereading the text had the desired effect. I’d moved from the sting of rejection to a healthierfuck himattitude.
Only he wasn’t the man I was going to fuck.
I tucked my phone into my Kate Spade bag and headed to the elevator. Two minutes later, I knocked on the door to Jake’s loft, letting go of some of my tension when he answered.
“I don’t think I’m scary. Do you?” I made my eyes wide and projected an innocence I hadn’t felt in well over a decade.
I might be too much for the timid rabbit of a man, but none of that would be a problem for Jake. What we had could scarcely be called a relationship, and he had no problem handling every bit of me. He’d done it over and over again masterfully for the six months or so we’d been friends with benefits.
We drifted in and out of each other’s lives largely dependent on my current relationship status. I got bored or frustrated, or in this case rejected, and called Jake to see if he was interested in playing. So far, he’d always said yes. I didn’t want to think about what I’d do if that changed. I didn’t want to think about anything but the man, standing in front of me, looking at me like I was his favorite flavor of ice cream.
“You’re not scary.” He stepped closer, close enough for me to feel the warmth from his body and smell the scent unique to him.
I’d never been able to figure out what it was—something clean like soap but more, maybe green tea. It didn’t matter. For me, it worked like pheromones. I inhaled, breathing in the delicious man, and melted into his arms. He slid a hand to the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair.
“You’re attracting the wrong kind of men. You need someone who’ll do this.” He tightened his grip on my hair, adding the perfect nip of pain to my already hyper-aware body. I’d been wet since he opened the door and let me into his loft. My body reacted viscerally to Jake. It’s one of the reasons we worked so well together despite—or maybe because of—the lack of conversation.
He tugged my hair hard enough to bare my throat, and I sucked in a breath in anticipation. His teeth grazed my nape, not gently but without enough force to leave a mark—at least I’d hope that was the case when my head was clear enough to think again. Probably sometime after the second or third orgasm.
The hand in my hair tightened, forcing me to my knees. My gaze slowly swept up the length of his body, letting every filthy thought in my mind play across my face as I bit my bottom lip. His hazel eyes creased, and the corner of his lips curved in a way that let me know he enjoyed the playacting as much as I did. That was another thing Jake did phenomenally well. Without the distraction of an emotional entanglement, we were free to explore fantasies I hadn’t been comfortable sharing with anyone else.
If the rabbit thought I was too much in my subdued state, I couldn’t imagine what he’d think about the Elena who wanted to be pushed to her knees and forced to suck a man’s cock. Hell, I wasn’t sure what to make of that part of me either. But none of that mattered with Jake. There was no judgment with him, just text message negotiations of desires and limits and then we played. Introspection was something for another time and place. Or not. I’d never been abused. The things I wanted might make other people uncomfortable, but they didn’t feel unhealthy to me.
Maybe the why wasn’t nearly as important as the when and with who. Keeping my gaze locked on his, I opened my mouth and stuck out my tongue.
“Good girl.” He made quick work of the button and fly of his shorts. The man dressed like a beach bum with bare feet, slouchy cargo shorts, and a mop of sandy-brown hair overdue for a trim, but he sure as hell didn’t feel like one.
Relaxing his grip but keeping his fingers tangled in my hair, he took his already hard cock in his other hand and tapped my tongue, urging me to open wider. I eagerly complied, flattening my tongue against the underside of his length and taking the wide, smooth crown into my mouth.
“That’s it, beautiful. Take it all.” He cupped my head as he thrust into my mouth. His cock hit the back of my throat, and I forced myself to relax—to fight the urge to gag.
I glanced up and found him watching me, studying me as if he was trying to figure out where my line was. How much was too much. His gaze seemed much too intent for a man who was supposed to be mindless with pleasure. I wanted him coming undone, not calculating depth and degrees. Meeting the thrust of his hips, I took him as deep as I could, swallowing when he hit the back of my mouth, feeling my throat squeeze as he let out a groan that had nothing to do with calculations and everything to do with how I made him feel.
“Fuck, Elena.”
I smiled with him still in my mouth. When he used my name instead of an endearment, I knew his control was slipping. I stole a breath and repeated the movement, swallowing a bit more this time. My eyes stung, and I blinked against the tears. I didn’t care—didn’t care about anything but pushing him past the point of his restraint, feeling him pulse against my tongue as he spilled himself down my throat. I’d come here needing a balm for my bruised ego. Knowing a man like Jake wanted me so much he let go of his tightly held control might not come with an immediate orgasm, but it would be reassuring as fuck.
“Not yet, gorgeous. You feel so fucking good, but I want to come in your tight little cunt.” He tightened his grip on my hair, anchoring me in place as his cock slipped free of my lips. “But not until you come two or three times for me first.”
He let go of my hair and reached down to help me to my feet, pausing to kiss me breathless before guiding me to the sofa chaise. I didn’t know how many times I’d end up spread out on the soft gray upholstery when I picked it out for him. The first time we fucked, I’d been bent over a sofa so old I worried it might break. I mentioned it after the orgasms—three for me—and he told me to have what he needed delivered and to send the invoice to his assistant. Which might make him the perfect accidental client along with the perfect fuck.
Any disappointment I felt at not being able to take him over the edge with my mouth vanished as he kissed his way down my neck to the tops of my breasts, unbuttoning my blouse and baring my skin as he went. Gently biting my nipple through the lace of my bra, he slid the blouse off my shoulders and tossed it on the chair. He made equally quick work of my bra, skirt, and panties, steadying me as I stepped out of my heels.
I always took special care choosing my lingerie before I came to Jake, but it was more for me than for him. I’m honestly not sure he even noticed. Ending up on my knees wasn’t our normal thing and one we’d talked about ahead of time. Usually, it was a race for him to get me naked as soon as I walked through his door.
He stopped to take his time after I was bare for him. The before felt more like an obstacle for him to conquer.
He stripped just as quickly and when he pulled me back into his arms, he was warm and naked, the scent I loved stronger than before. The long, hard ridge of his cock pressed against my belly, and I paused for a moment to rest my cheek against his chest before stretching up on my toes to kiss him. He let out a low rumble of pleasure, tumbling me onto the pile of down-filled pillows I’d chosen.
I grinned up at him, my gaze holding his as I let my legs fall open, baring my sex.
