Never Sweeter (Dark Obsession #1)(52)

His eyes stuttered closed before she got to that last this—though it was what he did in the aftermath that really made her ache. He just kind of rubbed his face into her belly, as if the idea was so sexy to him, so good, that he didn’t know how to process it. He just needed to be closer for a second.

To bury himself in her, and never come back out.

And when he finally spoke, it backed up that idea.

“Oh, Christ. Oh, honey. You’ve no idea what those words do to me.”

He didn’t even sound like himself anymore.

Lust had stolen his voice, and turned it into a constant low growl.

“Show me, then. Show me what they do to you.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting when she said the words. He’d already admitted how deep his desire went, and revealed what it did to him with actions. But then he sat back on his heels, hands already going to his zipper, and suddenly she understood.

This was what she’d been hoping for.

Him kneeling between her legs, popping that top button for her all quick and frantic. Eyes roaming all over her body as he did it, like it pained him to stop for even this small amount of time. It barely took him thirty seconds to shove those jeans down to midthigh and set that gloriously hard cock free. And it took him even less time than that to show her the best evidence.

He just rubbed over the glistening slit at the tip of his cock.

Then brushed those now-slick fingers over her parted lips.

At which point, nothing more needed to be said or done. It hit her so hard her head just automatically went back, body shuddering under its impact. That was his pre-come she could now taste on her lips. That was what she did to him—she made him leak streamers of that salt-sweet liquid all over himself.

It didn’t surprise her when she pushed a hand under the waistband of her skirt at the thought.

It did, however, surprise her when she added words, as she strummed her swollen clit.

“Jerk off for me. Take that big dick in your hand and make it come for me.”

“Ohhhh f*ck me, are you serious? You’re telling me to do it…to do it for you?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Quickly, I’m really close.”

“You’re so close that you need me to rub one out fast.”

“That a problem?” she asked, voice so brisk it startled her.

It startled him, too, though in a slightly different way.

“Only if you stop there. If you stop telling me what you want.”

“You want more things?”

“I want everything.”

“Lift your shirt, then.”

“Jesus, oh Jesus.”

“Let me see you.”

“Like this?”

He tugged up the material and exposed his hard abs, his taut stomach—though really it was the way he did it that got her. Like a first-time stripper, awkwardly trying to show off. Still unsure of how his body looked to his audience, but going for it anyway.

“Oh yeah.”

“You like that?”

“I love that.”

“What else? What else do you love?”

“This. Your voice. You asking. You telling me.”

“You want me to tell you?”

“God yeah, tell me. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to lift your shirt. Show me those beautiful tits.”

It was the word beautiful that almost made her do it. Well, that and almost everything else. Her excitement had reached some kind of fever pitch, and it robbed her of every rational thought. Suddenly it didn’t seem like a big deal to show him her body, because really, who cared anymore? What did it matter, as long as he kept jerking that slick, gorgeous cock and her fingers kept rubbing her clit and the pleasure kept coming and coming and coming?

In truth, nothing should have mattered in the face of that.

So when she sat up instead and took hold of his cock, she told herself that it was just what she wanted to do. To lick him and suck him until his head went back and moaned words escaped him—oh god, Letty, I’m gonna come, I’m gonna come in your mouth.

And if he forgot what he’d asked for, well, that was just an unintended side effect. It didn’t make any difference to the pleasure she felt as his cock swelled and jerked and spilled all over her tongue. She still gasped as her own orgasm peaked, body tensing, face pressed briefly to the exposed strip of his stomach. It wasn’t even a problem afterward—they whispered and laughed, and nothing more was said about it.

Except in her head, where all the conversations she wished she’d had played out, over and over again.





Chapter 18


She knew the sound was a bad one. But she didn’t fully understand why until Tate made it super clear for her. He moaned in his sleep like a small disgruntled child, one hand dragging her pillow over his face in a way that would have seemed adorable. If it were not for his words. “Tell your buddy to come back at a reasonable time, like noon,” he said, and then the full weight of the situation was on her.

The sound was Lydia, knocking on her door.

“Tate, you have to get up. Tate. Get up. You fell asleep.”

“I know, and I would really love to keep making that mistake for another eight hours.”

“You can’t, remember. You had to be up at six thirty and it’s already seven ten.”