“If you’d like to swap sex stories from the last eight years, by all means.” A flash of him and Emma naked makes me throw up a little in my mouth. “I’ll go first.”
I laugh in disbelief. “Pass, thanks.” I blow my bangs out of my face. “Either way, you’ll have your ring back today.”
He sets a kettle on the stove, clicks the gas range to life, then rounds the counter to lean a hip beside where I’m sitting. He nibbles his bottom lip and looks at me like a man who didn’t just spend the night with another woman and her child.
I notice it like a woman who isn’t hiding a child and engaged to another man.
“You nervous about spending the day with your husband?”
I scoff. “Hardly.”
He reaches over and puts two fingers on my throat, brows lifting as my pulse jackhammers against them. “Feels like it.”
I make a disagreeing sound. “That’s a reaction to this awful ring being on my finger.”
Instead of pulling his hand away, he strokes the opposite side of my throat with his thumb.
My heart rate, that slut, refuses to play it cool.
His eyes are bright, reading my bullshit as clearly as if it were spray painted on the Fontain water tower. “I get that ring off and you’ll relax?”
I swallow, the motion of my throat rubbing against his fingers. “Yes.”
His fingers drop from my pulse to take my hand in his, tugging at the ring and getting it nowhere.
“Gee, Nash, why didn’t I think of that?”
He laughs softly and licks his lips. “Bet I could get it off with my mouth.”
I scoff. “What exactly can your mouth do that my hands can’t?”
His look doesn’t need translation. “I think you know.”
It’s unfortunate for me that I do.
“You okay if I try?”
“Try?”Why am I thirsty?“Why wouldn’t I be? We’re adults. It’s just your mouth. Just my finger.” I look at him like I’ve never been less concerned with anything in my life. “Whatever it takes to get it off, be my guest.”
He works his teeth over his bottom lip, then in a single fluid movement, brings my ring finger to his parted lips and dips it into his mouth.
My entire finger goes into his mouth.
My.
Entire.
Finger.
When he stills, his eyes challenge me to react, but I refuse. I’m nonchalant. Like I’m so happily engaged to another man that my finger in his mouth on his tongue doesn’t instantly make my vagina drip with delight.
Lips wrapped around the base knuckle, his teeth clamp down, just barely, eyes not leaving mine as his tongue and teeth gently work to free the ring.
I clear my throat—twice—while he swirls his tongue—twice.
I swear he’s dragging it out.
Swear he’s taking his sweet time.
