Full Package(34)

She lowers her face near mine, her hair falling like a curtain, framing me in more of her wondrous scent. God, when did I become so addicted to the way someone smelled? I don’t have a clue, but it’s happened with her.

“Chase,” she whispers, and for a second I tense, thinking she’s going to want to talk about what we’re doing. I don’t want to discuss or dissect it. But we’re on the same wavelength because she says, “Want to know what else gets me off?”

My throat goes dry. “Yes. I do.”

A little thrust of her hips. “Want to know what did it for me in the shower the other night?”

I strain against her wrists. I want to touch her so badly, but I can tell she wants to steer this ship. “I’m dying to know,” I rasp out, my voice like a dry husk on a hot summer day.

Then the vixen runs her tongue over her teeth, brings her mouth to my earlobe, and whispers, “The thought of sucking your cock.”

I’m roasted. I’m fried. I’m well past broiled. I push against her hands, sit up, cup her cheeks, and stare into her eyes.

“Do it,” I tell her.

She nibbles on the corner of her lip and shoots me a wicked grin. She’s like a quick fox, darting down, her hands tugging at the waistband of my boxers. She yanks them off, my dick springing free.

She kneels between my legs and takes my cock in her hand. She’s silent for a moment. When she speaks, her words are the best dirty poetry. “You’re fucking beautiful,” she says, staring at me as if she’s mesmerized. And she’s not looking at my face. She’s gazing at my dick, and I couldn’t be happier that she’s bestowing compliments on that part of my anatomy.

She wraps her hand tighter and strokes up once, and it feels out-of-this-world good. I shudder. She bends lower and licks.

“Holy fuck,” I mutter, my head falling back onto the pillow. It’s so ridiculously good.

She swirls her tongue over the head, licking me as if I’m a piece of candy and making the sexiest murmurs.

“Fuck, that’s good, baby.”

She wraps her lips nice and tight and inches lower, taking more. The pleasure in me shoots into the atmosphere, sails above the stratosphere.

I don’t want to go crazy and fuck her mouth hard, but God, I want to go crazy and fuck her mouth hard. I lace my hands in her hair and thrust up into her heavenly mouth, letting her lead, letting her take what she can.

She takes it all, sucks me to the base, and then licks her way back up. She drives me insane.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I say, and when I stare down, she’s smiling, she’s fucking grinning, and her eyes meet mine. They’re full of both mischief and utter, sensual delight.

My God. This woman. This amazing woman.

She picks up the pace, and her mouth is a blur. My vision is, too, and my whole body sizzles. It crackles. It pops. It’s ready to snap. I’m losing control, and an orgasm gathers force in my body as her mouth races over my dick. When she wraps her hand around my shaft, squeezing the base, I fire.

Unspeakable pleasure barrels through me from a climax so powerful it rocks me to my bones.

I grunt and grip her head, my hands curling tighter as I come in her mouth, and my whole world turns electric with ecstasy.

At some point the orgasm recedes, but I’m still floating because that was the kind of orgasm you could measure on the Richter scale. It’s the kind that makes the news. That causes epic aftershocks. I tremble as another wave ripples through me.

With a loud, wet pop, she lets go of my dick, wipes her hand over her mouth, and crawls up my body. “You tasted better than you did in the shower.”

I kiss her, and she seems surprised at first, like who would kiss a girl who just went down on him? This guy. She kisses me back harder, and when we separate, I say, “I want to do that to you.”

“I want that, too.”

I cup her cheek. “I want to sleep with you, Josie. I want to be inside you. God, I want you so much there aren’t enough Swedish Fish to explain it.”

“I want you, too,” she says, then dusts a light kiss on my lips. “But I’m not ready tonight.”

And I don’t know what that means, except the obvious—this isn’t a one-time thing.





19





She’s up and gone before I even wake up.

It’s probably for the best.

Not that I don’t want to see her.

More like all I want is to see her, but I don’t know what we’re supposed to say or do, or how we’re supposed to act after last night.

Do I just bump into her on the way into the bathroom to brush my teeth and say “hey,” all nonchalant? Or do we wake up and pepper each other’s cheeks with morning smooches?

I drag my ass out of bed, grateful I don’t have to make those decisions this morning. After I shower, dress, and grab my phone, I head for the door.

I stop.

And stare.

And grin.

On the doorknob hangs a black lace thong, like she promised she’d leave if she expected to be getting it on. But that was when we’d first laid out our roommate rules. When we didn’t expect to be getting it on with each other. Truth be told, though, I can recall a dose of jealousy coursing through me during that conversation at the mere prospect of her with someone else.