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He opens his mouth like he might try to explain his last confession. I shake my head and squeeze his sides, thumbs stroking the warm skin just above his waistband.
“You don’t have to keep guessing, we’ll work on it later, just kiss me some more.”
His eyes dip to my lips, and he nods as if he’s transfixed by my mouth in the same way I am with his. I know that’s not what it is, but I can pretend for now. I lean forward and capture his lower lip in a soft nibbling kiss, and he gasps before pulling back.
“You can give me some examples, I learn faster from examples than from definitions,” he says, still focused on my request.
I laugh once, breathless, and rest my forehead against his. “You’re going to kill me. Fine. I’ll give you one example.” I drop my voice, even though it’s just the two of us. “I keep thinking about tasting you and making you moan while I suck you dry.”
He goes very still. I watch him absorb my words, and the flush climbs back up his throat. I half expect him to scramble off of my lap and across the room, but he doesn’t. His lips part before he presses them together and swallows.
“That,” he says and clears his throat, “is much clearer.”
I almost take it back. Not because I didn’t mean it, I meant every word, but because he looks as if I said something he doesn’t really understand, and it probably crosses a bunch of boundaries we haven’t even talked about. Guess that further proves Blue’s words wrong.
“I mean, it’s not a homework assignment or anything. It’s just something I think about, sometimes…it’s hard not to when we are so close sometimes,” I say, and I know I’m rambling, so I shut my mouth and let him process it all.
“I know what a blowjob is,” he says before clearing his throat again. “I understand the mechanics and have seen it in a porno once. So I do have general knowledge.”
General knowledge. I have to bite the inside of my cheek.
“Okay,” I say cautiously, but he keeps going.
“I don’t have experimental data.”
“Yeah. I got that.”
He nods like we’ve established the limits of his knowledge. Then his eyes flick down to my mouth and back up, and I watch him do the thing he does when he decides to be brave.
“Say it again.”
I blink. “Quinn—”
A faint crease forms between his brows. “I heard you. But I learn faster from examples, and if you say it again I can—” He stops, searching for a word and lands on the least sexy possible verb. “Retain it.”
I laugh, and it comes out wrecked. “You want me to repeat the dirty talk so you can study it.”
“Yes.”
That should not be hot. But my body says otherwise. So I do the stupidest thing ever and lean in close until my mouth is almost touching his and I can see the brown flecks in his eyes, so he has to taste what I say as much as hear it.
“I keep thinking about tasting you,” I say, slower this time. “About getting my mouth on you. About making you moan. About sucking you until you can’t stay quiet and you come down my throat.”
His fingers dig into my shoulders, and I’m almost positive his pupils get larger. He makes a small sound I haven’t heard from him before—small, punched-out, and possibly surprised.
“That,” he manages, “is also clearer.”
“You asked.”
“I did.” He swallows. I back up enough to watch his throat work. “I’m considering the hypothesis.”
“Maybe save it for later,” I say.
“Too late.” He says it’s like an admission of a scheduling conflict. Then, after a beat, he says, “It is a better example than what I gave you.”
I bury my face in his neck so I don’t start cry-laughing again and ruin the mood I just spent building back up. He lets me. After a second, one of his hands slides from my shoulder to the back of my neck, tangling with the hair there, and flexing slightly.
“Kiss me some more,” I say into his skin.
