I clench my jaw to keep from nutting and pray she doesn’t need any more to tip her over because I’m done. She screws her face up and goes still, her whole body locking with pleasure.
Swearing with relief, I let go too and as she closes around me, part of my mind pushes out of my head and explodes, never to return.
“Oh,fuck!”
I’ve never heard her swear before. Something about that realization coupled with what we just did makes me want to wrap my arms around her. Instead, I pull out as slowly as I can. There aren’t baby wipes, but there’s a handkerchief in my pants pocket. I grab it and help January clean herself up.
My head spins like a fairground ride. I was the first man to come in January Whitehall. Well, unless you count her mouth… Whatever, I was still the first to fuck her. And the first to kiss her. What more could a man want?
“I’m sorry,” she pants, and I know she means for making this all happen.
“Don’t be. That was fucking life-affirming.”
I lift her into the passenger seat and help her clean up. Once she’s done, we collapse against the leather. It’s the same afternoon in the same lonely side street. The world is probably the same, even though I just fucked January Whitehall in the ass. That doesn’t seem right. There should be a parade. Or at least a blimp.
“You didn’t make love to me,” January says. “Even though I asked you to.”
“I know,” I say, still mildly amazed at my self control. “Good for me.”
“It just keeps happening. First Adriano and now you.”
The miffed note in her voice makes me grin. “Maybe we’re just trying to do right by you.”
She gives me a look. “By doing what you just did to my…”
“Asshole,” I finish. “You’ve gotta start saying it, Tits. I fucked your asshole, and it was unbelievable. Like… I literally can’t believe you let me do that.”
“Isn’t it normal?”
“Maybe for porn stars, not Park Avenue virgins.”
She giggles, I can tell she’s proud of herself. My heart does the weird flipping thing again. I touch a hand to my sternum, trying to get it to stop.
“Nico?”
I look into the side mirror. What the fuck is happening to me? I suck in air and the ache in my chest eases a little. I turn back to January. “We need to get home.”
“Okay,” she says lightly.
We climb into the front seat and I start the car and pull away, my body still pulsing with pleasure, paranoia, and nicotine withdrawal.
“Are we going back to the clothes store?” January asks.
“No way can I give this suit back to the old guy after what we just did. I’ll drop you off at Velvet House then circle back for the Dodge.”
January shifts around until she finds her necklace. “That’s a long drive.”
“I like driving, Tits. Driving and swimming. It relaxes me. You can put more music on, by the way.”
She fiddles around with the radio and settles on some alternative station. A female voice comes through the speakers, gritty and soulful. She sings about love healing you from the ground up and my skin feels too tight. My heart feels too big. I keep my gaze away from January. I think I know what’s happening, but Christ I’m not ready to admit it.
You’re a sulky bitch, Dom.
The ache in my chest rips wider. It’s still so easy to imagine her. My dead big sister, the psychotic blonde. I imagine taking January to Alessia’s house for dinner. Chinese takeout or maybe fish sticks. Alessia’d make fun of me for dating someone so young. She’d be divorced a million times by now. Or maybe she and Beckett would have made it. Had a bunch of kids and a house by the water.
“What should I tell the others we’ve been doing?” January asks.
I snort. “You can tell them I fucked you in the ass and you loved it.”
