Epoch (Transcend Duet #2)(38)

With a click, she unfastens her seatbelt and positions herself on her knees facing me.

“Swayz, fasten your ass in the seat.”

“Tell me you don’t want me sucking you off.” She unfastens my jeans.

Sucking you off and honeybuns in the same night. Drunk Swayze has a different filter than sober Swayze.

I tighten my grip on the steering wheel while I should be tightening my grip on her hands to keep her from doing this. But as she slides her hand along my length, I stop giving a fuck about safety and all things that require optimal brain power.

“Swayz …” I make a weak attempt at stopping her.

Too late. A rush of adrenaline shoots through me, restricting the air in my lungs a bit when her warm, wet mouth first makes contact. In seconds I go from hard to really fucking hard as she shows a lot more eagerness than sober Swayze.

Focus on the road. Focus on the road.

“You taste so good.”

Yet another phrase that’s new tonight. I don’t care how rich, educated, or sophisticated a man is, no guy turns this down. Except … the guy who loves a woman like I love Swayze. I can’t have my future wife—mother of my children—die in a car accident before we ever get the chance to say “I do.”

But it feels so fucking good.

I pull into a vacant parking lot of an office building and shove the truck into Park. Gathering her hair in my hands, I hold it away from her head so I can watch her in what little light filters in from the streetlights. It’s a beautiful sight.

She hums.

I bite my bottom lip, letting my head fall back. My plan when we got home was to talk about this therapy of hers and the crazy idea of hypnosis. But as her fingernails dig into my thighs and she takes me deeper, I decide it can wait a day or two—the approximate amount of time it takes to get over a good blowjob, and Swayze’s giving me a damn good blowjob.

“Easy, babe …” I tug her hair a bit as she gags.

I fight the urge to push into her mouth more as I get close. So close.

“Fuuuccck!” Every muscle tenses as I release.

Future wife. Mother of my children. Keeper of my cock … gags. Not a you-just-tickled-my-gag-reflex-but-I’m-good gag. This gag is a strong two-second warning.

One second.

Two seconds.

Blah!

Two coughs and one more upchuck.

“Oh my gosh …” she whispers, using the back of her hand to wipe her face covered in sweat, saliva, and humiliation.

A permanent cringe affixes itself to my face as I feel the warmth and wetness of wine, stomach acid, and cum covering my cock and absorbing into my jeans, clear to my ass as it runs between my legs along my leather seat.

Another first. One I could have done without tonight.

“Are you okay?” I press my hand to her cheek as she catches her breath.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

My attention returns to the mess between my legs. I nod slowly. “It’s okay, Swayz.”

“It’s not okay.” She shimmies half of her body between the seats. “Here.”

I stare at the plastic tube with the rolled up shammy I use at the carwash.

Swayze shrugs. “It’s very absorbent.” She pulls it out of the tube and unrolls it. “Do you want to do it or should I do it?”

I yank it out of her hand and ruin a relatively new shammy. After I get things cleaned up enough to tuck myself back into my jeans, I toss the rag out my door and start the truck again.

“That’s littering.” Swayze scrunches her nose.

I give her a look.

She zips her lips and fastens her seatbelt. “I uh … have a bottle of hand sanitizer in my purse.”

Shoving the truck into drive, I ignore her. It’s going to take more than a bottle of hand sanitizer to fix this mess.

“Don’t worry about dinner either. I’ll grab something at home.”

I shoot her an incredulous look.

She snorts out a laugh. “I’m sorry.” She laughs some more. “It was the Zinfandel on an empty stomach. Do you want the ring back?”

There’s no way I’m acknowledging her until my balls are no longer sticky with vomit.

*

Swayze

The shower shuts off. I search for a nonchalant expression, sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for Griffin to come out of the bathroom. I need a shower too, but I thought maybe he deserved to take one first. I’m nice like that.

“Your turn.” He eyes me with a hard-to-read expression as he drops his towel and snags a pair of red briefs from the dresser.

It never gets old. When we’re in our eighties, will I still lose all ability to speak when he drops his towel or will his body be too flaccid? Nothing more than loose skin. Will the dragon along his backside look eighty as well?

“Did you eat?”

My gaze snaps to his eyes. “Two pieces of toast.”

“Go shower. We can watch a movie if you want to.”

“Are you mad?”

Griffin pulls on a pair of sweatpants. “Nope.”

“Really?”

He picks the towel up off the floor and flips it over his shoulder. “It was the best fucking blowjob you’ve ever given me … until you vomited. There’s potential. We can work with that.”