Window Shopping(62)

If I didn’t know Aiden, if I wasn’t positive he doesn’t play mind games, I would think he’s using reverse psychology on me. Because him telling me his erection is extra sensitive is making a blow job nine times more appealing. “Just a little,” I whisper, scooting forward on my knees, rolling my forehead side to side on his abdomen and wrapping both hands around his long, heavy manhood, reveling in his hissing intake of breath.

“God help me,” he says through his teeth. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

My heart skips and lands, going faster than before. There’s a whisper of some important truth in the back of my mind, but I don’t want to acknowledge that I’m in love with this man while I’m about to service him on my knees—at least not the first time—so I shoo it away for further examination later. This is about pleasure. His. Ours.

Not wanting to miss a single reaction, I look up at Aiden from below, bringing him to my mouth and pushing his salty abundance of flesh past my lips. Closing them tight around the pulsing trunk of him, sliding them up and down. When he’s wet, it’s easier to glide, so I’m able to take another inch of him on the next bob of my head—and now I add suction, my hands beginning to stroke the part of him I can’t reach without choking.

Aiden slaps a hand down on the edge of the counter and curses. “Stella. Stella, please.”

Is he asking me to stop or keep going? I don’t even think he knows. But I’m enjoying myself too much to end this so soon. I have a front row seat to watch his straining stomach muscles. And when I look up, I see him bite his bottom lip, eyes squeezed shut, his stifled moans filling the kitchen and the combination is such a powerful turn on that my mouth becomes hungrier, eager for his reactions.

“Felt so guilty thinking about this. For weeks,” he slurs. “Especially this. Fucking your mouth. Hated myself for thinking of you kneeling. Licking it. Loving it. God help me.”

His words incite a fervor. I can’t stop thinking about how his eyes glazed over when I had my fingers back there. I want that again. Again. Before I can question myself, I leave my left hand to steady his erection and bring my right hand up between his splayed legs, palming his backside from below, massaging him with my palm, feeling the way his buttocks flex every time I tunnel him toward the back of my throat.

“Ohhh fuck. Stella. I’m going to come. Don’t do this to me.” Even as he begs me to quit, he’s beginning to pump his hips. My God, it’s the hottest contradiction. This man, the master of doing what’s right and morally sound, is captive to his lust. He can’t stop pushing his thickness into my mouth, over and over again, his groans getting louder. And he likes when I squeeze his ass, likes me touching the crevice between. I know because his pumps grow more desperate. “I’m serious.” He’s growling at me now. He’s losing his grip on willpower, control and it’s only serving to excite me more. Make me want to watch it happen. “That sucking little mouth is about to blast me off.”

I moan around his erection, my throat opening with the sound to bring him deeper and I just want to touch, touch him everywhere, feel him all over. And with that goal in mind, I press my fingers between the cheeks of his backside, feeling for the puckered opening and I rub him there, my sex clenching when he lets out a shocked sound, beginning to pant.

“Stella…I…” The edge of the counter creaks in his grip. “Christ. Don’t stop.”

A shudder goes through his powerful thighs and there’s a corresponding pulsation between my legs. Like I could have an orgasm just like this. From watching this man come apart for my mouth, my touch. He’s so heavy and stiff in my mouth now, I know instinctively that he’s not lying. He won’t be able to last much longer. And I’m more than okay with that. I’m craving that moment he loses the fight. Because of me. The anticipation is making me bolder, braver, my middle finger pushing against his rear entrance until it allows me in—and then I take him as close to the back of my throat as I’m able.

Aiden’s strangled roar is like a bomb going off in the apartment and I wait, muscles tense with expectation to feel his liquid warmth in my mouth. I want it. I want that intimacy with him so terribly bad. But it never comes and suddenly, I’m being jerked to my feet. I’m gasping for air, gasping from the wild pull of lust in my belly being jostled—and I’m being turned by Aiden’s strong grip toward the counter. I’m bent over face down, my cheek landing on the cool marble. Laboring to breathe, he takes a big handful of my backside, fondling it roughly, before his fingertips travel down. Around to my wet sex.

Without preamble, two fingers are thrust inside me.

“You like me coming in your sexy mouth, Stella, then we’ll arrange it. Believe me. As often as you want.” Tennessee flavors his tone more than usual. “But your first day as my girlfriend?” I look back over my shoulder to see him shaking his head, eyes glittering with need. “Nah. You’re going to leave here with the memory of my cock between your thighs. You’re going to spend the day missing it. Wanting to climb back on it as soon as nighttime hits.” His fingers leave my flesh, moving in a tight drag through the valley of my bottom, stopping at my rear entrance and—using the wetness he gathered—he tucks his pinkie inside of me. “You like that, too, sweetheart?” I moan incoherently in response. “Yeah, you do. We’re both a little dirty, aren’t we?”