The Lying Hours (How to Date a Douchebag #5)(52)

I kiss her sternum, right under the satin of her burgundy bra. I can see in the sliver of light that it’s clasped in the front—a tiny golden V, shining in the moonlight, and I free it. Spread the cups and let them fall.

My body lowers itself beside her, dick throbbing against her outer thigh so she’s flush against me when my hand roams over the swell of one breast, then the other. Palm it, loving its weight, thumb rolling over her nipple.

Breathy sigh.

Languid moan.

A gasp when I tweak it gently.

This isn’t about me; this is about her.

“You want me to lick it?” I ask her, whispering near her ear, breathing on her skin, my nose running along the column of her neck. “Should I lick your pretty nipple, Skylar?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?” I torment her a little longer.

She shoots me an irritated look, eyes narrowed, arms still laced above her head, making her tits lie full and round.

Lips pursed, she doesn’t respond.

Point taken—she’s not submissive.

Got it.

“Sorry.” Not wanting to piss her off, I apologize, already whipped.

When I dip my head to suckle, Skylar’s fingers plow through my hair, digging lightly into my scalp, massaging as I drag my tongue over her nipple. Round and round and round…

Suck.

Lick.

Blow so it puckers.

Kiss her everywhere: breasts, collarbone, the base of her neck. She tips her head back, giving me freedom to explore; I move, my body hovering over hers, dragging my hard cock over her hot, wet…

Pussy.

Up. Down. Up. Down along her slit, the head of my erection teasing her just enough that we’re both about to start begging for some relief.

I know she wants me to push inside by the way she’s moving her hips and grabbing at mine. Pulling me closer. Impatient.

But I’m not wearing a condom yet, and we haven’t had the talk. Besides, foreplay is underrated and we’re in no rush, so I plan to take it nice and slow.

She doesn’t. “Abe…”

“Not yet.” It’s killing me, but the pain feels better. I want us to both really want it. Hard and good.

“You’re doing this on purpose.”

I am.

I’m driving us both mad.

“Just stick it in.”

“Stick it in? I’m insulted, kind of,” I manage to say. Barely. Skylar is wet, slick, and freshly shaven downtown, and my dick is gliding over her slit effortlessly, just as desperate to be inside as I am.

Her head gives a frustrated thrash on the pillow as she tries to raise her lower half. “Slide it in, whatever you want to call it—I’m not a poet.”

“Patience is a virtue,” I soothe, lips caressing her hair.

“I’m trying to give you my virtue.” Another wiggle beneath me.

“Wait.” I stop moving. “Are you a virgin?” Shit, why didn’t she tell me? This changes everything.

“No, I’m not a virgin. It was a figure of speech.” Skylar exhales. “But it has been a long time and I’ve only done it a few times so it’s probably still going to hurt.”

Up. Down.

Up.

I kiss her on the mouth, our tongues deliciously entwining—I’m getting off on knowing she can taste herself on my tongue since I was eating her out not five minutes ago. “I’ll go slow.”

A little nod. More tongue. “Mmm, okay.”

“My lazy little love muffin,” I croon into her hair, still dry-fucking her without putting my dick inside, loving the endearment.

Love muffin is cute and so is she.

Jesus, sex has addled my brain, turning me into a pussy.

“Who are you calling lazy?” Once again, Skylar draws her arms over the top of her head, interlacing her fingers while I get her good and worked up. Doing nothing but still sexy as fuck.

“You, just lying here while I do all the work.”

“I’m sorry I’m being selfish. Also not sorry because this feels so good I could go right to sleep.”

“Uh, that’s not a compliment.”

This is one of the strangest conversations I’ve ever had, and certainly the strangest conversation I’ve ever had when I’m about to have sex.

In fact, I don’t remember talking while I was banging someone. Ever.

It’s the best kind of strange I can think of, and a good sign that Skylar and I are meant to be.

Meant to be? Wow, I sound like a girl. Next I’ll be writing her love poems and throwing rocks at her bedroom window and holding her purse.

All of which I would one hundred percent do.

Skylar finds the pulse in my neck and kisses me there, lips lingering on my throat, tongue darting out to moisten my skin. “You smell so, so good.”

My dick gets harder.

“Fuck, Skylar, if you keep doing that…” I’ll probably come before we get to the good parts.

“Do you like it when I do that?” She kisses me again then nips at my earlobe, voice husky with sex. “Do you like kisses, baby?”

I die a little at baby.

“Yes,” I hiss through my teeth, liking it a whole fucking lot, so much so that even my brain is spewing out curse words like a drunken sailor. “Yes I like kisses.”