Weather Girl(78)

We trip inside—literally, I stumble over a carpet strip while my mouth is fused to his—and Russell wrestles with my sweater while I kick off my shoes. Outside his bedroom, he cages me against the wall, a hand braced above my head. “You want bossy?” he says into my ear, and I’m shocked by the thrill that simple question sparks through my body.

“Yes,” I breathe.

His lashes lower to half-mast. “Get on the bed. And take off your clothes.”

I can’t oblige quickly enough, though I steal a moment to examine his room. Stylish mahogany furniture, striped comforter. Minimalist and organized, just like I imagined, with a biography of a hockey player on his nightstand. More graceful now, I slip off my skirt and impress myself with how deftly I can unbutton my linen shirt after all these weeks of physical therapy. I lower myself onto the bed in my bra and panties, and almost immediately, I’m overwhelmed by how much the sheets smell like him, even when he is right here next to me.

Russell walks inside, his shirt unbuttoned and his hair already a disaster. His facial hair has grown out a bit, a shadow along his jaw, and I want it to burn up my entire body.

“Come here to the edge,” he says, patting the comforter, a tremor in his voice now. Heart in my throat, I do. “Show me where you want me to touch you.”

“Everywhere.”

He lifts his eyebrows, as though this answer isn’t good enough. So I drape a hand behind one ear, dragging it down along my jawline. My collarbone. “Here.”

When his lips meet my neck, all hunger and gorgeous heat, I let out a low hum. God. I’m not sure if my body has always been this sensitive or if it’s just perfectly attuned to his mouth. His fingertips.

“Where else?” he says into my skin.

Already lightheaded, I slip my fingers inside the cup of my bra, pinching my left nipple. “Here.”

He obeys, dipping his head to my chest, unhooking my bra before he sweeps his tongue over my breasts, drawing my nipples to tight, hard peaks. The torturous pressure of his teeth makes me close my eyes, losing my center of gravity as I fall back onto the bed. He sucks one nipple into his mouth and then the other, then removes his lips so he can blow cool air across them.

“God. So beautiful,” he murmurs, kissing a line from my breasts down to my navel, pausing at the lace band of my panties. “What about . . . here. What do you want me to do to your pussy, weather girl?”

This wicked streak in him—I’m obsessed with it. “Lick me. Please.”

“I would fucking love to.”

He grins before lowering himself down my body. Slowly, he nudges my legs apart, lips burning a path from calf to knee to thigh, and I feel the earth simply dissolve beneath me, one great swoosh of air leaving my lungs. He kisses me through my underwear at first, because he is awful and terrible and so extremely cruel, and I love it. I love it all. I’m too desperate for his tongue, bucking my hips, fisting a hand in his hair. Begging for what I’ve asked him to do. When he finally slides down my panties, I’m on the verge of passing out.

Until he parts me with his middle and index fingers and buries his face between my thighs.

The first swipe of his tongue is fucking lethal, hot and slick and igniting anything in me that wasn’t already wide, wide awake.

“Tell me what you like.” Even Bossy Russell is polite, and I love that, too.

“More of this,” I gasp out as his tongue feathers over where I’m most sensitive. “But a little slower. Softer. Yes.”

He slows down and takes his time, not eager to race to the finish. A finger joins his mouth, and then another.

“Now you can go faster,” I say.

That feeling builds and builds and builds before plateauing, again and again, and I will myself not to get frustrated. I’m about to tell him as gently as I can that I’m not sure it’s going to happen for me, but then something tightens at the base of my spine and suddenly I’m not so sure after all. He strokes my clit with his tongue, giving it all of his attention with these warm, insistent flicks. Dear lord help me. My legs start to shake, but he’s gripping them, keeping me steady. Anchoring me to the earth.

I bite out his nickname as I ride that feeling, Russ—Russ—Russ—and then in one brilliant burst, I’m gone. Launched into the center of the sun.

He presses these grin-kisses into my thighs, clearly pleased with himself. “You are amazing,” he says before he slides onto the bed next to me.

“And you’re a very good listener.”

I barely let myself recover, still glowing from my orgasm as I peel off his boxer briefs. The sound he makes when I close my mouth around him is even hotter than I imagined it would be.

“Ari. Christ. That’s—that’s really good. Fuck, that’s good.”

He throws his head back, exposing his lovely throat. Swallowing hard. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m wondering how long it’s been since anyone touched him in this specific way, and it makes me want to make this even better for him. I take him deeper, swirling my tongue over the head of his cock, savoring the salty taste of him.

“Wait, wait,” he says, gently tugging at my hair. “I don’t want to—before we—”

I glance up, our eyes locking as we both realize what he means.

I straighten into a sitting position. “I have an IUD.” It’s not the sexiest of dirty talk, but at least it leaves no doubt as to what I want. “And I got tested last month. After our first date.”