Exes and O's (The Influencer, #2)(80)

I nod. “In the first one, we were in your car. You had your mouth on me.”

“Did it feel good?” He picks up the pace, meeting my eyes.

“The best,” I pant. “Except you didn’t make me come. Because the real you woke me up.”

His soft laugh vibrates into my neck as he runs his finger over the band of my thong, finally tugging it down all the way. “Trust me, that won’t be a problem this time.” He gives me one more cocky smile before lowering himself between my legs.

Seamlessly, his mouth takes the place of his hand. Just like in my illicit dream, we’re connected. He knows what I want before I can even tell him. Every languid swipe, turn, press, never lingering for too long before telling me how good I taste, how he can feel me pulsing on his tongue.

My legs tremble, and he holds them wide open, taking control entirely, winding me up until I’m convinced I’m facing impending death. Every nerve ending is a live wire, on fire, multiplying with every swipe.

Unexpectedly, I cry out as it all surges into one powerful, unrelenting release. I don’t hear a thing as wave after wave sizzles through me. I’m still trembling when his gaze locks with mine, visibly taking pleasure in how he’s made me feel. Right before his eyes, I’m unspooling like I never have before, like twine pulled tight to the point of snapping. The aftershock leaves me breathless, floored, motionless.

I’m only brought back to earth when he moves back over me, pressing a soft kiss to my temple.

I can’t find the words to express my gratitude, so I slip out from underneath him, shifting my weight on top of him. For the first time, he relinquishes control. He lets me hold him down, a smile tugging at his lips as I retrace all the artwork adorning his chest with my lips. I’m taking my sweet time, savoring the moment, moving over each line of his abs, one by one, like he’s a gourmet feast.

By the time I finally take his length in my hand, he shudders, letting out an unexpected groan that does something to my insides in the best way. It’s oddly gratifying to have such an impact on him without really doing anything at all.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says, lifting my chin with a single finger.

“I want to.” There’s nothing I want more than to hear how he sounds when I take him in my mouth. I want to see what he looks like when he comes undone.

“I can’t believe you’re right in front of me like this.” His words quiver with raw emotion, letting his hand roam down my back.

“How much have you thought about me doing this to you?”

“More than you want to know,” he admits.

I squeeze him a little harder, feeling the pulse of his blood pumping. “Tell me exactly.”

“Since the day you moved in, I wanted you,” he manages. “I’ve never wanted someone so bad in my entire life. You’ve wrecked me.”

When I give him a teasing lick, he lets out a string of breathy curses. “Holy fuck.”

I release him for a split second. “Is that good?”

“I—I can’t speak right now,” he says, breathless, which tells me all I need to know. He lets his head fall to the pillow as I settle into what I can tell is the perfect speed. Even submitting, he’s still dominating, threading his fingers through my hair, holding me in place, how he wants it.

I watch his hand twist the sheets for grip as my pace picks up. Given the earth-shattering orgasm he just gave me, I’m eager to pull out all the stops. Apparently, he’s found the strength to speak again. And judging from all the filthy things coming out of his mouth—how much he loves my mouth, how wet he imagines I am, all things that could make even the most seasoned romance readers blush—I’m confident in my abilities.

When he’s done, he pulls me upward by the biceps and folds me over him. We lay like that for a few moments, skin to skin, chests heaving in unison.

“Can I ask you something?” I blurt out.

“No,” he chuckles, running his fingers up and down my spine.

I ask anyway. “Was it okay?”

“Was what okay?”

I give him a sideways glare. “You know.”

I can tell by the devilish smirk on his face that he knows exactly what I’m talking about. “You’re bad at a lot of things.” He lets that statement linger in the air for a few beats too long. “But believe me, blow jobs aren’t one of them.”

I nuzzle into his chest and peek up at him.

“You never listen to me,” he says, his lips curled into a boyish grin. “I thought I told you never to let me kiss you again.”

A bubble of laughter escapes me as he traces the pad of his finger over my shoulder. “That’s your idea of kissing?”

He squeezes me tighter against him. “Was it as bad as you claimed the first time?”

“Wow, I really bruised your ego, didn’t I?” I swing him a side eye, contemplating letting him out of his misery.

“I mean, yeah. You said I was the worst kiss you’d ever had.”

I run my hand over his cheek, curving at his jaw. “Metcalfe, you were a perfectly fine kisser. I couldn’t let your head explode,” I tell him. “Listen, I’m not a good judge, because for me, it’s less about the mechanics. It’s all about—”

“The emotion,” he cuts in knowingly.