“So quit stalling and do it,” I say back.
He doesn’t hesitate. He reaches around my back like a man with a lot of practice—because he is, I remind myself—and unsnaps my bra, then tugs it off my arms none too gently and captures my nipple in his mouth, sucking and rolling his tongue over it, even as one of his hands reaches between my legs. He doesn’t take off the thong but slips it to the side and rubs his fingers over and around my clit with just the right amount of roughness.
I’m not sure what I’m thinking—I’m probably not thinking—but I lean in and bite his neck slightly. Just because I want to.
He grunts and circles his arm around to my ass, hoisting me up off my feet, as if we’ve done this dance dozens of times and not just dreamed about it, and then lays me down on the table next to the computer, far enough away that we won’t jostle it. This time he does take my thong off, and then he steps in between my legs, splaying them apart in a way that’s hungry and not at all gentle, and if I’ve ever been wetter, I certainly don’t remember it.
“I’m going to taste you,” he says, his voice rough. “I’m going to make you come on my tongue before I fuck you.”
“I hope you’re a man who makes good on his promises,” I say, giving him a doubting look that I hope lights a fire under his ass.
“I’ve never had any complaints,” he says, and I wish I’d bitten him harder.
“Quit talking and start licking,” I say.
Lowering his head to me like he’s a lion about to devour his prey, he grins at me. It’s a feral grin, a predator’s grin, and the anticipation I feel is almost enough to burn me to dust. As he licks around my clit, he smiles up at me, then lifts a hand to cradle my breast, his fingers finding my nipple as if it’s a homing beacon.
I buck toward his mouth, and he sucks in my clit with hot little pulses that have me panting. “More. I need more.”
He doesn’t say anything—his mouth is busy, thank God—but he gives me a look that tells me what he thinks of my bossy mouth, which I’m quite all right with, because he’s giving me exactly what I need. His tongue circles my clit again, then sweeps through my folds, sparks of pleasure following in its path. The maddening tickle of his short beard only drives the sensations higher. Then his fingers join the game, rubbing me right while his mouth returns to my clit, giving it those hot little pulses that have me breathless and quaking, lifting from the hard table toward his mouth, asking for more, more, more, and getting it.
I reach down and grab his hair, because I need to hold on to something, and my other hand goes to my breast, rolling my nipple because he only has so many hands. When he sees me doing it, something seems to spark in his eyes, and he works me harder.
The pleasure curls tighter and tighter, and then I feel it happening—my body tightening, and—
“Cole, I’m going to come,” I say, tightening my hand in his hair, and his eyes rise. He watches me with those starving eyes as I buck under the onslaught of pleasure uncoiling to every last inch of my body.
When I’m coming down from it, he kisses a trail up my body, his touch still lighting me up, even though I should be sated, and ends at my mouth, kissing me sweetly this time. Softly. For a stupid instant, I almost feel like crying, so I’m grateful when he pulls away slightly and says, “Let me get a condom.”
“In my bag,” I say, nodding to the shoulder bag, slung across the chair in front of the computer. “I brought two.”
His eyebrows lift. “You only brought two? What kind of seduction is this, anyway?”
“I figured you’d be able to make up for any deficit,” I say, surprised to find myself laughing a little. “Don’t tell me you don’t have a drawer full of them.”
I’m not sure why I asked, when I know I don’t want the answer.
But he surprises me by laughing softly. “I’ll need a drawer full of them.”
It suggests this won’t be a just-for-today thing, and I feel glad for that. I tell myself that’s just because he’s even better than expected at giving head, but if it’s a lie, I don’t much care.
He kisses me again, more demanding this time, and I feel every inch of his hardness pressed against me like a promise I can’t wait for him to fulfill. Then he lifts off me to go for the bag, and I climb off the table with shaky legs.
“What are you doing?” he asks, setting the condoms on the table.
There’s a slight edge to his voice, as if he thinks I’m going to leave the apartment naked and streak through his bar.
The thought makes me smile, and I grab one of the condoms and open it. “What does it look like I’m doing?”
“I know what I hope you’re going to do,” he says, shaking his head slightly, ruefully, “but I’ve long since realized I’m shit at reading your mind. You surprise me all the time.”
I wonder if any of them are good surprises, although I guess today is.
I roll the condom onto him slowly, and then I turn my back to him and prop my hands on the table, doing a pretty damn good approximation of downward dog. “I want you to fuck me from behind,” I say, glancing at him over my shoulder.
I’m not sure why, except…I don’t think I can bear for him to look at me while he’s inside me.
“You don’t need to tell me twice.” He runs his large, slightly rough hands over my butt and then up the slope of my back, feeling me,learningme. They end up palming my breasts from behind, and the heat of them, paired with the pressure of his hard cock at my back, washes through me.
