Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77051 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Not hammered. A little drunk.” I straightened in my chair and spread my knees wider, an overt invitation and one he eyed a moment before arching a brow and then leaning slowly forward, big hands landing on my knees. His dark eyes bored into mine, and I could see the question in them before he spoke it.
“You know what you’re doing?”
“Yes.” No. I only knew what I was doing on a primal level, the visceral reaction that occurred when the heat of his hands spread up my thighs and into my groin, the full-body buzz that ignited at the base of my spine and radiated, more powerful than anything I’d had to drink tonight. “You can’t stay the night.”
“Wasn’t planning on it.”
I snapped a hand out, grabbing a fistful of his collar, and yanked until his lips were on mine. I’d wanted to taste them—regretted not tasting them—since the second he’d walked out of Monica’s bedroom.
6
TUCKER
The second our lips touched, it was like a bolt of lightning landed straight in my chest, electricity ping-ponging around my body.
I was kissing Whitt. Patrick Whitt had called me to his house because he was alone on Christmas Eve, and now I was kissing him.
Talk about a mindfuck.
He tasted like whiskey, sadness, and somehow excitement—that feeling you got waking up on Christmas morning, eager to find out what the day would bring.
I dropped to my knees, Whitt leaning closer, spreading his legs wider for me to settle between, while I tangled a hand in his dark hair, tightening a fist around the strands. My first thought was how soft it was, the way it almost felt like silk against my fingers. Everything about him was fancy as fuck, even his stupid hair.
My dick was already aching, telling me not to slow this down, while my brain was saying the complete opposite. This had been coming since the night of the threesome, maybe even before that. I’d make him come, get it out of my system, and then pretend he didn’t exist.
Whitt growled when I pulled back. “Don’t,” he grumbled like he could read my mind.
I ignored him. “You’re positive you want this? I gotta make sure, Whitt, but I promise if you do, I’ll make you come so hard you won’t have another orgasm in your life without comparing it to me.”
“Pfft.” He puffed out a breath but couldn’t hide how his pupils had blown wide.
“I’m waiting.”
He shook his head. “I want this. Come on. I don’t have all night. You keep stalling and I’m going to think you don’t know what you’re doing.”
“Fucker.” I chuckled, hating how easily he could make me do that. That electrical storm of excitement kicked up a notch, all of this because it was Whitt, and I was about to blow his fucking mind.
I fought to bury the nerves sprouting up like pesky weeds inside of me. Sure, I was bi-interested and had hooked up with guys, but I hadn’t given a whole lot of blowjobs in my days, and because this was Whitt, I was determined to ace it. He really could compare every other BJ to me, and I’d sure as shit make sure those came up lacking.
I fumbled with the button and zipper on his jeans. When I got them open, I said, “Lift your hips.”
“Ask nicely,” he countered.
“Lift your fucking hips before I leave you with a hard dick and a bad case of blue balls. This shouldn’t take long. We both know you’re a quick trigger.”
“Fuck you, Tucker. I got off so fast because I didn’t want to be bothered with you.”
Yeah, right. “Lift your hips, and you can shut me up with your dick.”
Apparently, those were the magic words because he did what I said. I tugged his pants and underwear down, tossing them toward the monstrous Christmas tree. Hadn’t they ever heard less was more?
His thick erection already leaked precum on his belly, the head of his dick red. Whitt wasn’t a small guy, definitely bigger than any of the other men I’d fucked around with—his balls heavy with his load—sac tight and pubes perfectly groomed.
“Aww, you manscaped for me?”
“Aren’t you shutting up and sucking my cock?”
“Yeah, I got five minutes.” It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him he had a nice prick, but I didn’t have it in me to compliment him at the moment. I had no business being here, no business wanting him, but the second he texted, I’d said yes, and there wasn’t a chance in hell I was walking away.
My gaze firmly locked in his, I bent forward, licking a stripe up from his balls to his tip.
“Fuck,” Whitt gritted out. “Do it again.”
“Only because I want you to think about me every time you come.” This time, I didn’t just lick him, though. I stared at him, challenge in both our gazes as I took Whitt into my mouth. For his part, he didn’t look away, watching me as I bobbed up and down, getting drunk off the taste of his salty skin.