The Ex Talk(68)

“Hi,” I say when I’m standing in front of him, my legs against his knees. I am very, very happy to be wrong about the direction this conversation took.

“Hi.” He strokes his fingers up the backs of my thighs, and when he cups my ass and pulls me onto his lap, it becomes clear that whatever talk we were about to have is going to need to wait.

It feels different, kissing him in his apartment, in his kitchen, his mouth wine-tart. Our lips fit together like they didn’t learn each other’s shape only two days ago. He runs his hands over my legs, up my back, tangles them in my hair. We kiss and we kiss and I press against his shirt’s softness, searching for something rougher. Finally, I tug it open, button by button, exploring the muscles of his chest.

He’s hard beneath me, and I position myself so I can feel him exactly where I want to. When I rock against him, he groans into my ear. I could listen to that groan on repeat for the rest of the night. Longer, probably.

“You’re evil,” he growls as I rub myself back and forth across the stiff front of his jeans.

He stands up with me wrapped around him, and I’m wondering if this is some signature move or if I just fit against him this perfectly. Once he’s vertical, we stumble down the hall to his bedroom.

Gently, I push away from him to take it all in. His room is small, a queen bed in the corner with a plain navy comforter. The furniture is IKEA again, a basic bedframe and dresser—and propped up on top of it, a box of condoms. Like it’s been waiting for us.

I can’t help laughing at it, and yet knowing he planned for this makes me want him even more.

“I wanted to be prepared,” he says against my mouth, but he’s laughing, too.

“I have some in my bag, too.”

“You know—” He puts a foot of space between us. His hair is wild, cheeks flushed. My blazer is somewhere in the hall and my jeans are half-unzipped. “You can change your mind at any time.”

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were trying to get rid of me.”

“No. I swear. I’m just . . . not good at this. I told you, I’ve only been with one person. I don’t know how these things usually go. Or what we’re supposed to talk about. I want to do this with you. A lot.” When he laughs again, it lands somewhere in the center of my heart. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about since Saturday night. But I just want you to know, if you decide you don’t want to, it’s okay.”

I try not to notice how I want to do this with you is not I want to be with you. But god, I want this, too—so badly I can’t think straight.

“Dominic,” I say, closing the space between us and placing my hands on his chest, deciding to be as clear with him as I possibly can. “I want you to fuck me.”

That’s all it takes. He leans in and crushes his mouth to mine, propelling me backward until I hit the bed and drag him down on top of me. I changed into a black lace bra and panties after work, and it’s worth it for the way he groans when he gets my shirt unbuttoned. Maybe he didn’t care about my sports bra, but he definitely doesn’t hate this one.

We’re clawing at each other now, my shirt and bra dropping to the floor, his jeans and boxer briefs in a heap next to them.

He kisses my breasts as he works my jeans down my legs. “Can you say that thing again? About what you wanted me to do?”

“What thing—oh.” I grin, dragging my fingers across his back. “I want you to fuck me.”

His cock pulses against my bare thigh, and he casts off my jeans in one swift motion. “Yes. That.”

So Dominic Yun likes dirty talk.

I can work with that.

Then he’s on top of me again, kissing me hard and deep while his fingers stroke the silk of my underwear. I might die if I have to wear them for much longer.

“How do you feel even better than last time?” His mouth travels down my body, but when he lowers his head between my legs, I instinctively clench up. “What? Should I not—”

“No, no,” I say quickly, trying to haul him back up to me, but he doesn’t budge. “I just—you don’t have to. I don’t really—I’m not sure I can—” And now it’s my turn to be awkward.

A sly smile curves his lips. “Shay Goldstein. Have you never had an orgasm from oral sex?”

I shake my head, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “I mean, I don’t mind it. But if it doesn’t happen,” I add quickly, “it’s okay. We can . . . you know. Skip it.”

“You don’t mind it,” he says matter-of-factly, his finger brushing the damp silk between my thighs. “You don’t think I could make you even wetter than you are right now?”

“I—I’m sure you could,” I manage as he continues moving his finger in a torturous circle. Christ. He can’t be some kind of oral sex savant, can he?

He bends to kiss along my inner thighs, gently at first. Then he removes my underwear, kisses beneath my navel before dipping lower. “So this is something you wouldn’t mind?” His tongue starts slowly, a whisper of pleasure as he steadies me with a hand on my hip. He slips one finger inside me—but only for a moment before he draws it back out. I clutch at his hair as he does it again. “Should I stop?”

“Don’t you dare.”