My So-Called Sex Life (How to Date, #1)(49)

“I’ll have my breakfast in bed, thank you very much,” I say, wishing it were morning already.

Another laugh, and I’ll take that too. Bet Max didn’t make her laugh like I do.

“And listen,” she adds, her words getting slurry. “Since we’re doing the only-one-bed-in-the-room trope, this seems like the time for the lay-out-the-ground-rules scene.”

Right. Rules. Friends with benefits need sex rules. “Like how long we do this? Whether it’s a trip-only trope?” I ask.

“Yes. Ticking clock and all. But I’m too tired. Morning?”

“Morning,” I agree.

I’m not looking forward to that conversation. But it’s better we have it. It’s better if we adult.

Seconds later, she’s snoring. The little liar. She does too snore.

Then she’s tugging all the covers off me and wrapping herself into them like a little cover piggy.

Ha. She fibbed about that as well.

I don’t fall asleep right away. I don’t even try. Instead, I just stare out the window, and imagine a new story unfolding.

A feisty woman and a smart-aleck man. He’s got a chip on his shoulder. She’s been hurt.

They meet on a train, and somewhere, sometime after midnight, he uncovers another solution to his plot problem.

If he can win her over in bed, maybe, just maybe, he can subtly, so artfully she won’t even know it’s happening, get her to fall in love with him, day by day, until she’s as smitten as he is.

But when I settle back into bed with the anti-cuddler, she’s turned the other way, wrapped up in the covers and her own sleepy world, and I take that as a sign that the story will be better if the hero stops reaching for the stars.

She’s told him, for all intents and purposes, that she wants to be friends again.

Friendship will have to be enough.





24





THE TRUTH ABOUT SIXTY-NINE


Axel

But I can’t have that ground-rules talk when I wake up—my mouth is rightfully occupied.

Soon, I can barely breathe, but I’m not stopping. I’ll scuba dive without oxygen until she comes.

It’s early in the morning, she’s grabbing my head in a vise grip, squeezing my face with her thighs, fucking my mouth with her pussy.

There is no air, but who cares if I go blue? Best way to die.

Hazel is seconds away from coming on my mouth as I devour her sweet, hot center. Then, with several concentrated, devoted flicks of my tongue, I elicit a glorious Oh god, yes, as she shudders and cries out.

Somehow, she grips my face even tighter as she climaxes. But book heroes are undeterred by little obstacles like insufficient oxygen. I lick her till she gently pushes me away.

“Damn, woman, were you trying to kill me through cunnilingus?” I ask, as I move up next to her.

With a long exhale, she says, “That sounds like something that might happen in one of your sex scenes.”

“Please. The hero would get lockjaw, be unable to argue his way out of a situation with Interpol, and wind up in jail.”

“But of course,” she says, then sighs again as she runs a hand through her hair, savoring her postsex high. I’d like to take that sound and bottle it. Take hits of it when I need a shot of adrenaline, a boost of extra confidence.

“My heroes’ sex injuries always drive the plot.” Like the time the pulled muscle from a shower-bang made it harder for the hero to grab onto the back of a rickety old truck absconding with stolen antiques.

“Didn’t some reviewer once say your sex scenes are weirdly realistic and somehow still ridiculously hot?”

I grin, clucking my tongue. “That’s me.”

She laughs, then she sets a hand on my chest. “But I guess I’m not such a great villain if you’re still alive.”

“Alive and horny. Also, feel free to kill me anytime with your pussy.”

“Sorry not sorry. I just kind of got into it.”

“Kind of?” I ask, arching a brow.

“You really like teasing me,” she observes, then pushes up on her elbows. “While you were down there not dying, I was almost going to ask you to fuck my face at the same time, but then I remembered something.”

“That sixty-nine sucks?”

She beams. “Yes! Sixty-nine is the worst. What is the point?”

“It’s selfish,” I say, stating the obvious. “Just tap out. Tap in.”

“Exactly. Oral sex doesn’t need to be multitasked. I don’t write better if you eat me while I write,” she says.

“Wait. Was that an option? Will you suck my dick while I write? Because I’d be willing to try that,” I offer, like the generous fucker I am.

Hazel smiles wickedly. “Get out your laptop and see.”

I shake my head. “You know what I really want to see?”

She bites the corner of her lip, a sexy, come-hither move. “Me on my knees, taking your cock deep in my throat?”

I shudder. She is going to kill me with sex appeal. I just know it. She’s everything I’ve craved—a feisty, fiery, smart, relentless woman.

But I can’t think about how right she is for me.

I should only think about how right she looks as she slides off the bed, kneels on the floor, and wraps a hand around the base of my cock. Then she licks the head, and I nearly fly off the mattress.