Get a Life, Chloe Brown (The Brown Sisters #1)(73)

He snorted. “You’re confused about the state of my sex life. No, there’s not a condom in my wallet. And even if there was, I wouldn’t give you what you want. I’d need to take my time. And I like hearing you beg.”

“You’re evil.”

“You like it.” He cupped her jaw, kissed her gently. He always touched her so carefully, but she didn’t feel like he was afraid of breaking her. More like he worshipped her even as he debauched her. More like she was his, and precious, but he planned to come all over her anyway.

Mmm. Please.

He eased his tongue into her mouth and pushed two fingers inside her—not deep, not hard, just teasing. Stroking. Exploring. When he glided over her G-spot she stopped breathing for a moment. Then she started again, and her next exhalation was a rush of “Oh, that, stay there, stay there.”

“Yeah?” he whispered against her lips. “Sure you don’t want me to—?” He pulled out and she sobbed. Then he circled her clit, fingers wet with her arousal, his touch so certain, she screamed.

And then he went back to her G-spot.

She clutched his shoulders because she felt like she might faint. “Red, please, please—”

“All right, love,” he murmured, his fingers moving faster, his warmth fading as he moved away. His next words were a hot breath against her thigh. “You’re so beautiful. So beautiful, and the longer I look, the better it gets.”

How he could say that, when he was shirtless and stunning on his knees before her, torturing her, she had no idea. Then he lowered his head and flicked his tongue over her swollen flesh, and it didn’t matter, because nothing mattered except feeling. Feeling this. Feeling him. His mouth was hot and wet and slow, so slow, as he licked and sucked her clit. His tongue rubbed every inch of her with shameless intensity, slick and thorough and dizzyingly good. She moaned, choked out his name, pulled his hair, but none of that released the divine, impossible pressure building just beneath her skin. He did that. He loved her steadily, thoroughly, his fingers thrusting deep inside her while he lapped, sucked, pressed deep kisses to her labia the same way he’d owned her mouth. She melted, and he licked up her wetness like nectar.

Her orgasm was so powerful she thought she might black out. She released a high, desperate, gasping sound that might’ve been his name, might’ve been nonsense, might’ve been “Oh-my-goodness-this-is-fantastic-thank-you-so-much.” Who knew? Certainly not Chloe, because sheer pleasure took up so much of her body that it shoved awareness out of the way to make room. She came until she was nothing but a limp, worn-out mess of a woman with hot tears spilling over her cheeks.

Red held her tight and kissed her hard, and she sucked her own taste from his tongue. Then he brushed his lips over her tears and murmured, “I knew you’d cry.”

She wasn’t sure how her voice still worked, but she managed to ask, “How?”

“You feel so much,” he said simply.

Oh, if he only knew. If he only knew how very much she felt for him.





CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


Chloe didn’t think it was unreasonable to say that an orgasm courtesy of Red’s wicked mouth was now her favorite way to start the day. And, speaking of: an orgasm courtesy of Red’s wicked hands was her favorite way to float into sleep. She could say that with certainty, because on Thursday night, he came back after work and made her dinner, and approved the work she’d done on his website so far. Then he took her to bed and stroked her until she fell apart for him.

He wasn’t there when she woke up on Friday morning, but he’d left something behind on her desk, right beside her computer: a message scrawled in his familiar handwriting on one of her pink sticky notes.

Call if you need me. I’ll see you tomorrow.

(FOR CAMPING.)



Underneath, he’d scribbled a cute little picture of a tree. What, exactly, made the picture cute? She couldn’t say, except for the fact that it came from Red.

So, he’d be busy until tomorrow, would he? She found herself smiling at the thought of all the things he might be getting up to. For someone who’d once seemed like her antithesis, he had a secret fondness for plans that made her want to kiss his lovely, blushing cheeks. She ran a finger over his cartoon tree and sighed. Camping. Ick. Not exactly her forte, but she had the oddest feeling that she’d enjoy it anyway. There was a warm, jittery thrill in her stomach, like the screaming smile of someone on a roller coaster.

This, she decided, was how an adventure should feel. Not like an ordeal, the way drinking and dancing had, but like a welcome risk. When she and Red had left that awful nightclub, a seed of possibility had started growing in Chloe, daring and electric: maybe the list should be more than a box-ticking exercise. Maybe it should mean more. Maybe changing it wasn’t the end of the world.

Now, that seed had become a sapling, and Chloe was ready to make changes. A little apprehensive, but ready all the same.

She found her glittery blue notebook and sat at her desk, Red’s sticky note beside her, a momentous weight in the air. After a moment’s hesitation, she crossed out item 2, Enjoy a drunken night out, with quick, sharp lines of her pen. Beside the crossed-out entry, she wrote simply, awkwardly, with a what-am-I-doing wince: Call Annie. Be nice. Make friends.

Dani often said that writing down one’s desires, even in the slightest way possible, was a vital step in manifesting one’s ideal future. Chloe often replied that that was nonsense, but the truth was, she believed in it. She stared down at the altered list with growing satisfaction, like a streetlight slowly switching on as the sun set behind it. She crossed out item 5, meaningless sex, with relish.