Mister O(46)

She shoots me a sexy smile. “All these things I want to do are in my head. Now I want to try them out. With you.”

“We can try anything you want, but I didn’t bring condoms tonight.”

She pouts but then picks up the pace, curling her hand tighter. “Tell me how you like it.”

“A hand job?”

“Sure.”

“Haven’t had one in ages. But it helps if you get it wet.”

She lets go of me for a second and dips her fingers between her legs. Holy f*ck. She’s lubing me up with . . . herself. I push my head back against the couch pillow, blown away by this girl. Returning her hand to my erection, she spreads some of her wetness on me. “Like that?” she asks, breathy and sexy.

“Yeah, that’ll do just fine,” I say, as I thrust up into her palm. I can’t even remember the last time I had a hand job. At a certain point in life you just graduate to f*cking and sucking. But the way she grips my dick—twisting her wrist, sliding up and down my shaft—sends hot sparks through me and makes me wonder if I’ve been missing out.

On hand jobs . . .

Or maybe I’ve just been missing out on her. Because the way she looks at me, her eyes roaming between my face and my dick, as if she’s appraising her work and checking for a reaction, makes me want to let go with her, too. To give in to whatever she wants to do right now. Let her touch me anytime, anywhere.

“Tell me how you like blow jobs so I can give you what I was fantasizing about,” she says as she sits up, nudges my thighs, and then kneels between my legs. She doesn’t let go of my cock the whole time, and I’m really f*cking thankful for her commitment to the task at hand.

I groan as her thumb catches a bead of liquid from the head of my dick, then spreads that over me, mixing her arousal with mine. It’s so hot what she’s doing. Makes thinking hard. “I like a lot of tongue,” I say, trying to collect my thoughts. “I like it when you wrap your lips nice and tight, but lick as you move up and down.”

“Mmm. That sounds delicious,” she whispers on an upstroke, her eyes blazing with desire as she watches me.

“I like a lot of suction, if you can.”

She draws an excited breath. “And deep? Do you like it deep?”

Electricity radiates in my body with that word. Deep. “Fuck, yeah. I want to hit the back of your throat,” I groan.

Her hand keeps busy, moving faster now, like a tight, hot tunnel. I thrust up into her fist, gritting my teeth as desire climbs inside me.

“And what about this?” she asks, then brings her other hand to my balls and cups, playing with them.

“Love that,” I grit out. “Love it when you lick them, too.”

Her hand flies faster, head to base and back. “But you don’t like hand jobs?”

“Now I do. I really f*cking do,” I say, groaning as I f*ck her hand. I might have to reconsider my position on mouths being better, because Harper’s hand is blowing my mind. But when my eyes land on those red, naughty lips of hers, I’m sure what I want. “Know what makes a hand job really great?”

“What?” she asks, her voice so damn eager.

I grab the back of her head, meet her gaze, and tell her. “When you put your mouth on it.”

In an instant, her lips wrap around the head of my dick, and I moan. A long, hungry moan that feels like it lasts forever. She follows my instructions, making her lips tight, and flattening her tongue. She takes me deep in one swift motion. Pleasure crackles all through my body, barreling down my spine, racing through my veins, and lighting me up everywhere.

It’s like a sneak attack. An ambush orgasm. I don’t even have time to give her a heads up. I just come hard in her throat in mere seconds.

“Fuck, Harper,” I grunt, and she sucks me tight until she swallows it all. She gives me a long, lingering lick, then lets go with her mouth. But bless her wicked heart, she keeps her hand on my dick, and gives one last stroke, making my whole body jerk as I groan once more. She grins, looking like the cat who ate the canary’s whole clan.

I drag a hand through my hair, words coming out choppy as my body hums with the aftereffects of the best hand job with a blow job finish I’ve ever had. “Or . . . yeah . . . that works, too. That’s another way I like blow jobs,” I deadpan.

She clears her throat. “Does that mean I can call you Prince Come Quickly?”

I smack her ass, chuckling. “I won’t be earning that title again. Besides, you got me all worked up with those magic hands of yours.”

She makes an abracadabra gesture.

We both laugh even harder, and she snuggles against me. Damn, this feels pretty fantastic, too, Harper curled up by my side. We stay like that for a few minutes. When her stomach growls, I brush a hand across her soft belly. “Let me take you out to eat.”

She says yes, and dinner out with Harper seems a perfect way to top a damn near perfect evening.





21





“We did the order all wrong.” Harper shakes her head and sighs heavily.

“The food order?” I ask as the waitress walks away, her notepad in hand. We’re at an Italian restaurant a few blocks from my house. It’s busy, even on a Sunday night, as waiters scurry by, arms laden with plates of pasta.