A Not So Meet Cute(76)
“You still think about how she let you go?” he asks.
“Yes, all the time, because that’s the reason I’m here right now. And I don’t mean that to be offensive to you, but this is very unconventional. So, yeah, I just wish I could let it go, not give her any more of my time. Any more thought. I just need to find something that will take over that headspace, you know?”
He slowly nods.
“And even though I love working with Kelsey, I don’t want my headspace to be taken over by work. I want it to be something healthy. Something that brings me joy. I guess I’m still trying to figure that all out.”
Huxley’s tongue drags over his teeth and he pushes his salad to the side. What’s he doing? He pushes his chair out, putting space between him and the table. In a commanding tone, he says, “Come here.”
“Uh . . . what?” I ask.
His laser-sharp eyes meet mine. “I said come here.”
“Why?”
“I’m going to teach you something, something to help with that consuming feeling you’re trying to fulfill.”
“Oh,” I say. Simple enough. I stand from my chair, but before I can even set my napkin down, he grabs hold of my hand and pulls me over to between his legs and up against the thick wood of the dining room table. “What the hell?” I say as he sits me on the table in front of him. I squeeze my legs shut and adjust my robe so as to not reveal anything. “What are you doing?”
“You want something to consume you? You want those thoughts out of your head? This is how you do it.” His hands go to my thighs, and realization finally kicks in. His eyes stay on mine as he says, “Say it right now that you don’t want this and I’ll go back to eating my salad. If not, I’m going to eat you.”
Oh.
Dear.
God.
Mixing business with pleasure, always a bad idea. Huxley has said it so many times, but how on earth can I deny the satisfaction of having him make me come again? After the texts, the tense conversations, the revealing questions . . . how can I say no?
There’s no chance.
I want to be consumed.
I want to forget.
I want to move on to something that isn’t going to make me feel bad, but rather make me feel completely satisfied.
“Why do you want to do this?” I ask him, wanting to figure out where his head is at.
“I’m a giving man, Lottie, but my offer doesn’t last forever. There’s a time limit. It’s either a yes or a no.”
I bite my bottom lip while staring down at this man. I can practically feel him between my legs already, that coarse five o’clock shadow rubbing on my inner thighs, while his delicious mouth presses against my arousal.
I want it.
I need it.
I don’t want him anywhere else.
I nod, giving him the go-ahead, but he doesn’t move. Instead, he says, “From your mouth. I want to hear you say you want me between your legs.”
I wet my lips, my heart racing a mile a minute.
“I want you, Huxley, between my legs. Your tongue on my clit. I want to come on your mouth.”
His eyes darken and his hands slide up inside my robe and to the waistband of my thong. He drags it down and I lift up to help him pull it all the way off me. He drops it to the side, almost seeming insulted that I’d wear such a thing to dinner.
Exposed, I press my hands behind me, my robe still cinched tight at my waist, and I watch as his hands slowly crawl up my inner thighs. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look at me; instead, he’s fixated on my center, slowly pushing my legs farther and farther apart until I’m completely open to him.
I don’t have to smooth my hand over my pussy to know I’m already wet. Just the thought of him being near me, in this position, turns me on.
His hands glide inward until his thumb gently connects with my clit. He passes over the nub a few times, a satisfied grin tugging at his lips. “Wet, just as I expect you to be when around me,” he says as his thumb makes circles. “Were you wet at the pregnancy class when you were pulsing over my thick cock?”
Jesus Christ, no man has ever talked to me like this.
“Yes,” I answer honestly. “I was.”
“Did you play with yourself when you got home?”
I suck in a sharp breath as he places a kiss on my inner thigh. “I’ve played with myself every night since I’ve arrived at your house.”
His eyes meet mine. “I don’t hear you at night.”
“I make sure of it,” I say.
“Don’t.” He stops his fingers. “If you play with yourself at night, I want to fucking hear it. I want to hear your moans. I want to know that you’re satisfied.”
“Would you want to watch?”
His mouth presses another kiss, and another. “Yes. I’d watch.”
“Would you masturbate while you watched me?”
“It would be difficult not to, but no.”
“Why not?” I ask. His mouth is so close, I want to scream, but he goes to the other leg, his tongue lightly dragging over my pussy for a brief second before tending to my other thigh. I groan in frustration. He’s worked me up in a matter of seconds. It usually takes me a few minutes, but not with Huxley, not with the way he commands my body. Well, and the text messages from earlier. Just thinking about how I’d caused him to tug on the ties of my robe . . . makes me hot.