Despite going overboard more than once, she hasn’t tapped out yet. On the other hand, she found one no-go with me when her finger ventured too close to my asshole. To say I jerked away would be an understatement. I jumped out of bed, my chest heaving, eyes shooting fireballs her way.
I don’t hate for the sake of hating. I tried many things over the years, learning what makes me tick. I could get on board with cock rings, vibrators strapped to my shaft, or even—though I’m not a fan—edging, but a finger in my ass isnotmy jam.
Blair, on the other hand, almost fucking purrs when I coat my fingers in her arousal and toy with that tight back entrance. I’m yet to push my dick in there, but she comes twice as hard when I slip the tip of my finger past the ring of muscles.
I adjust myself in my chair because my cock’s growing hard just thinking about going balls-deep in her ass to make her squirt.
It’s been two weeks since we made the deal, and we’ve had sex eighteen times (not that I’m counting). July is here already, hellishly hot. Five more weeks until Logan’s wedding, four until the bachelor party I’m here to plan with my brothers.
Too bad planning the night’s strippers and booze loses the battle for my attention with Miss Fitzpatrick. I can’t push her out of my head for five fucking minutes lately.
Just this morning, she knocked on my door at five thirty, two hours before I normally rise on a Friday, sucked me off in the shower, then pushed me onto the bed and rode my face.
She tried sliding off when she was about to come, but hey, we’re testing limits, so I held her in place, and almost fucking drowned as she came.
I thought I wouldn’t enjoy it considering scientists have yet to decipher the squirting phenomenon. I thought it’ll be like a golden shower—
A lightbulb moment has me snatching my phone from the table to text Blair. Sex talk is the only talk we are free to engage in, so I’m not crossing any lines.
Me: Got one more. Golden showers.
B: Isn’t squirting the same thing? You didn’t protest this morning.
Me: It’s nothing like that. Tastes sweet like your pussy. Smells like your pussy too. Cherry candy.
She sends back a rolling-its-eyes emoji because she thinks it’s dumb that I claim she tastes like candy.That’s impossible, Cody.
Like I don’t know that. Of course it’s impossible, but I love her taste, and when I say she tastes like cherry candy, it’s because it’s my favorite flavor and hers is on par.
“What’re you smirking at?” Colt asks, joining me at the table, fashionably late, his hair freshly cut into the signature style he’s had for years.
Seems like everyone in this family took punctuality lessons from Logan. I’ve been sitting at this table for ten minutes, and even though we said seven and it’s five past, no one but Colt is here yet.
“Nothing. A message I got,” I say, erasing the chat before tucking my phone into my back pocket. “Where is everyone?”
“Shawn pulled up just as I was coming in. I don’t know about the rest. You been here long?”
“Not really. Ten minutes tops.”
His eyes quickly sweep the table. “Why haven’t you ordered a beer?”
“I was waiting for all of you.”
“You never do that.” He narrows his eyes, crossing both arms over his chest. “Alright, spill. You obviously spent the last ten minutes texting some chick, so out with it. Who is she?”
“I’m not texting any chicks. I’ve not got rid of Ana yet, so I’m taking a break from pussy.”
“You gonna try a dick?” Shawn asks, approaching our table with his husband, Jack.
“My friend has a massive crush on you, Cody,” Jack says, pulling another table closer since we won’t all fit by the one I chose, and Nico apparently failed to let the staff know we’ll need a table for eight. “I can give you his number.”
“Tell him I’m flattered but I’ll stick with pussy. As soon as I find one less unhinged than Ana.”
“Has she been in touch again?” Shawn asks, waving the waitress over. “Why didn’t you call me?”
“I got rid of her. She’s not doing anything harmful. I’m sure you can’t file for a restraining order just because someone gets on your nerves and doesn’t understandno.”
“Evening, boys,” Kathy, the waitress, says, pulling her notepad out of her breast pocket. “What are we having? The usual?”
