HAPPY RELEASE DAY, IMMATERIAL DEFENSE!
September 25th
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READ THE FIRST COUPLE CHAPTERS
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Once upon a time…
there was a woman whose life had been blessed from the moment of her birth. She wore beautiful gowns and went to fancy balls and danced with handsome princes.
And hated every second of it.
For though none but the woman knew it, these things of beauty were not real but imagined. And the reason she understood this was because she wasn’t real either, having been unmade in a single moment in time…by an enemy she had once trusted…in a way that left her body wounded and her soul scarred.
And so, while the fancy balls and dances went on, the woman did not. For she had finally learned the truth of the world—no one was safe and no one cared, and all the happy times before had been naught but fantastical lies.
Sadly, she feared that no one would ever believe her, and she felt alone beyond imagining. Even sadder than that was the day she gave up trying to make people hear her, when she gave up on people altogether. And even sadder still was the day she gave up on herself.
Thus, the woman began a new life apart from all others. Though outwardly, people still believed her to be beautiful and blessed, inwardly, she knew it wasn’t true. Even while surrounded by admirers, she was alone, for she knew they were admiring someone who wasn’t real, whose truth could not be seen by their eyes. And though her appearance and wealth continued to bring compliments and accolades, she saw what none other could—that for the rest of her nonexistence she would be invisible to all.
Chapter One
~Sara ~
Oh crap. This was bad. Not like bad-sex bad. In fact, what we had just done was nothing like bad sex. Which made it bad in the too-good-sex way. And everyone knew that too-good sex with a guy you barely knew was bad.
Because if the sex was that good the first time, you’d want to see what it would be like the second time and the third…and the twenty-third. And then, even if he turned out to be the world’s most horrible person, you were already attached. So you couldn’t just forget about him.
Because, well, yeah, he was an asshole, but he had so much potential, and you believed him when he told you that he couldn’t call because he’d lost his phone and that you should ignore the tan line in the shape of a wedding ring on his finger. Because, sure, obviously, meeting you had made him realize that he was finally ready to move on from his wife’s sudden and tragic death that you’ll find out later never happened.
Riiiight.
Just because the guy knew how to give you multiple orgasms.
Yep, at some unfortunate point in our biological development, women decided that if a man cared enough to figure out what they needed to get off, he cared about the person attached to the vagina.
All of last night and this morning until a few minutes ago, I’d been really close to forgetting that. It was easy to tell myself that each orgasm was unique and having more than one was fine as long as different…tools were used each time.
Honestly, it had never really been an issue before. Let’s be real, all men were not equal when it came to being good with his hands, or his mouth, or his cock. It was completely normal for men to have different areas of expertise.
So, the biggest problem with the man passed out next to me, with his long eyelashes and a body too perfectly formed for even a long-dead, gay Italian to have sculpted, was that this man was really good with all of his tools.
And he had a remarkably large tool belt.
Thankfully, the second I’d felt another orgasm gearing up while he was using the same tool that had given me my last orgasm, I shoved his face away, closed my legs, and I ran into the bathroom, yelling “intermission” before slamming the door shut. After a couple of minutes of forcing myself to think of baseball and oatmeal raisin cookies, I came out, we switched positions, and I made sure his mouth didn’t go lower than my belly button again.
Damn, he had a fantastic mouth. And lips. And…
I needed to leave.
In a second.
It would’ve been so much easier if he wasn’t so warm, and his chest wasn’t so comfortable.
The jerk.
Crap. I hadn’t been tempted to sleep over at a guy’s house in over a year, never even closed my eyes or cuddled after all the tools had been put away. But as this guy pulled me into his side and sleepily brushed his lips across my forehead, using his chest as a pillow and letting the beat of his heart lull me to sleep seemed so natural. So desirable. So perfect.
I should’ve known this time would be different. I’d spent an incredible night with a beautiful man whose name I didn’t know. If anyone ever found out, I’d be almost as embarrassed as I was all night being too chicken-shit to ask him if it was Dylan or Declan. What can I say? The bar where we’d met had been so loud all I heard was that it started with a D, ended with a N, and had two syllables.
We’d started talking, and before I knew what was happening we were on our way to his place. Then we were kissing, hands were rubbing, and hips were moving. Once the hips started moving, I was pretty sure the acceptable time to ask someone to repeat their name had come and gone.
All the more reason I needed to leave. Yep, if I stayed any longer, I’d be in serious trouble. Plus, regardless of what his name was, he was dangerous in an emotional way.
Emotional danger was the worst. Because physical injuries heal a lot quicker than emotional ones do.
So as soon as I caught my breath, I slid out of his bed and went foraging for my clothes.
“What are you doing?” he asked, sitting up.
“I’m going home. It’s past my bedtime.”
Damn, he was gorgeous. His spiky, light brown hair looked even better than it had before the last few hours of full-body wrestling we’d done. A small dimple dented each of his cheeks, even when he wasn’t smiling. I could feel a purr of longing start in my stomach. Okay, fine, it might have started a little lower than that.
I slipped on my undies and then my pants. I wanted to go over and kiss him one more time, but that would risk him pulling me back in for another round.
“Huh. So, what’d you use me for?”
“I—” I didn’t look up. And I didn’t answer his question.
Then he was in front of me, his hands on my waist. “Is this the first time you’ve done it?”
I laughed. “Wow. Was I that bad?”
“The sex? No, the sex was fantastic. Phenomenal. Every time. I meant, is this the first time you’ve buttoned up your pants?”
“I don’t get it.”
“Look at me.”
Ugh. If someone could reproduce the low grumble of his voice and put it on a ten-minute loop, women wouldn’t need vibrators anymore.
“Sara, look at me,” he repeated when I hesitated, then smiled when I raised my chin and made eye contact. I’d forgotten how tall he was. And oddly, how far from tall I was.
“Well, there has to be a reason you would be so focused on your jeans that you couldn’t even bother to look at me. So, buttoning your pants… It’s pretty easy once you get the hang of it. I’ll show you.” He brushed my hands out of the way and buttoned my jeans, holding my eyes and feeling his way through the process. I tried not to visibly shiver every time he brushed my bare skin.
“Don’t worry. You’ll get it eventually. And then you won’t even have to look.” He pulled me toward him. “Now, kiss me.”
I shook my head and ran my lip through my teeth. “I probably have terrible morning breath.”
“This is a continuation of last night. You have to sleep to have morning breath. So, kiss me already.”
I did, lightly, until his lips demanded more. My arms stayed by my sides, stuck there immobile—the only thing with any control whatsoever it seemed because the rest of my body responded to his every touch. His tongue slipped inside my mouth, and his arms wrapped tightly around me, lifting me up onto my tiptoes.
He pulled away slightly and lowered me to the ground. “You’re right. You have terrible morning breath.” His smile was wicked. “That was such a horrible experience I’d like to do it again. Right now and then intermittently throughout the rest of the day.”
Oh no, that couldn’t happen. “Actually, I need to go.”
He released me, sighing. “If I asked you for your number so we could see each other again, would you give me a fake one?”
I shook my head. “I’d just say no.”
“Fuck, that’s harsh,” he said, running his hand through his hair. “A guy could take that personally, you know.”
“You shouldn’t. You were great, and you seem like…” a smart, sweet, and generous guy who I connected with almost immediately. Not to mention a few other adjectives that proved how easy it would be to get attached if we spent any more time together.
“Is there an end to that sentence?” he asked, already cringing as if I actually could say anything bad about him. “I seem like a…?”
“Like a really great guy.” Wow, that was one of the most inadequate descriptions I’d ever used. “It’s nothing personal, I swear. I don’t give my number to anyone.”
“Huh. So, either you’re already involved with someone, or you have serious issues. Which is it?”
“I’m not already involved with someone.”
He grimaced and then went to his dresser. “Well, if you ever want to be, give me a call.” He took a business card out of his wallet, wrote something down on it, and handed it to me. “It’s not my card, but my number’s on the back. Call me.”
“Me and my issues?”
“We all have issues, Sara. And we all have ways to cope.”
I wondered what his were. All I knew was that they were nothing like mine. Guaranteed. “How do you cope?”
“Self-destructively. I’m really good at it. Last night, for example, I went to a bar looking for an amazing woman who would want nothing to do with me in the morning. All so I could spend the next few days pounding my head against the wall, wondering what happened, and where I went wrong. Totally successful endeavor, by the way. In fact, it’s probably better you don’t give me your number because I’m going to be busy telling myself what a fuck-up I am until…at least Thursday or Friday.”
I curled my fingers around his card instead of giving it back like I’d planned. “I don’t do the relationship thing.”
“Obviously.” He held up his hands and motioned to himself. “’Cause if you did, how could you possibly pass this mess up?”
“Maybe we could just…” I shrugged. Damn it. He was ten times as gorgeous as anyone I’d ever been with, had an incredible body he knew exactly how to use, and a sense of humor I could definitely get used to. Shit, for the first time in forever, I’d actually enjoyed our conversations between bouts of sex more than the bouts of sex themselves. At a couple of points, I’d caught myself thinking about getting to know him better, maybe even letting him know more about me. All of which added up to more complications than I could carry.
Another hookup would be dangerous, regardless of how much I wanted to.
“Okay, I think I got your hint,” he said, nodding. “Well, Sara. It was nice to meet you, it was great to fuck you, and I wish you, your issues, and your coping mechanisms long and happy lives.”
“Same to you. I’m gonna…I mean, I could…” Situations like these were exactly why I liked rules. Rules limited my options. Sometimes they even got rid of them altogether. I don’t give out my number. I don’t share too much about myself. I don’t—
“Look,” he said. “If you want to leave, leave. If you want to stay, then great! Because I’d love you to stay. Shit, if you need a coin to toss, I’ll give you one. But I’m feeling slightly insecure right now, so I would appreciate it if you could make a decision without any more of the mixed signals.”
He was right—my actions defined mixed signals. It seemed like that was all my mind could manage right now. What needed to happen was a decision. The same one I always made. In the past year, at least.
“Bye.”
I ran. But I didn’t close the doors behind me. If that was my subconscious’ way of hinting that I didn’t want those doors to close, it could go to hell. I knew what I wanted, and it wasn’t him.
Not really…I didn’t think.
No. It wasn’t him. It wasn’t any of them. The only person I could count on was myself. I was the only one who could keep me safe. I was the only person I could trust.
When I got to the sidewalk, I took out the card he’d given me and smoothed it on my leg. Some guy who was a music executive of some kind. But on the other side, there was a name and a number—Declan. Declan. It was a nice name. Nice guy. A nice guy with a nice name who I would never see again.
Besides, Declan was wrong—one-nighters weren’t coping mechanisms. They were distractions, something to relieve the pressure and blow off steam. Two people getting what they wanted without the inevitable hurt that trusting someone led to.
Did my friends think I had trust issues? Hell, yes. Trust, intimacy, you name it. But I saw myself as a realist. No one should trust anyone. That was a fact.
No one saw pain coming, or it wouldn’t hurt so much when it happened. You wouldn’t feel humiliated and spend weeks in shock, living in a blurred reality. That wouldn’t happen if you were prepared, stayed vigilant, didn’t look for things that weren’t real. The only thing you could trust was that people were liars and did whatever the hell they wanted to do without concern for anyone else.
I hadn’t been prepared once, and it had almost killed me. A mistake I’d never repeat. Ever.
Chapter Two
~ Declan ~
“Well, that could’ve gone better,” I mumbled as I flopped back onto the bed. What the hell had just happened?
My mind ran through it all again as if it were a movie. A movie I’d been waiting to see for years and knew I wanted to see again before it was even over. But then, in the last few minutes, the whole fucking thing had turned to complete shit, and all I could do was lie here—alone—and wonder how everything had gone from perfect to nothing in the blink of eye.
I knew how messed up I was, but it usually took until at least lunchtime for a woman to figure it out. I’d never had a one-night stand that only lasted one night. Leave it to me to want someone who couldn’t even wait for one night to be over before she ran for it.
Yeah, that hurt.
I needed unconditional love. Stat.
“Kitty.”
Unfortunately, the guy I was subletting the place from didn’t even allow pocket dogs, let alone eighty-pound fuzzy monsters like mine. But thankfully, the couple who lived next door owned their own place, and he was constantly going out of town for work. So, since Rebecca was a dog lover who wasn’t comfortable being alone at night, I ended up with a perfect babysitter.
I kept Kitty at my place during the day, but not having to fight her for the covers all night was nice, too. And it had definitely come in handy last night because, as much as I loved my dog, seeing her spread out on my bed didn’t even compare to seeing Sara spread out there.
I threw on some pants and a hoodie and went to the apartment next to mine.
As soon as Rebecca opened the door, Kitty pushed past her, jumped up, and gave me a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss as if she hadn’t seen me in months.
“Thanks for watching her,” I said, using my sleeve to wipe drool off my face.
Rebecca smiled sleepily. “You don’t have to thank me all the time. I’m getting more out of it than you are.”
“Actually, I think Kitty’s getting the best deal. Aren’t you, you big golden pile of fluff?” I shoved her paws off my chest. “You should get one of your own, Rebecca, so you don’t get lonely after we move to LA.” That was the plan, anyway. One I couldn’t see a way out of. Go on tour for another couple of months and then end up back in Los Angeles, hopefully to sign a recording contract with one of the big labels.
Unfortunately, I’d grown up in Southern California and had no desire to live there again. I think Kitty hated it, too. She didn’t want to hang out with all those prissy little purse dogs in their fancy sweaters. She needed a place where she could have lots of friends—dogs that she didn’t have to lie down to be low enough to smell the asses of.
Plus, while the band was doing well, it wasn’t as if Self Defense was a household name or anything. And any money we made had to be split four ways, so the chance of me being able to rent an apartment in Los Angeles with a Kitty-sized yard was slim. We’d only been living in San Francisco for a couple of weeks, and she was already running out of interesting corners to sniff.
“I wish,” Rebecca said. “I think I’d get a poodle mix like Kitty. I love that she doesn’t shed all over, and whenever Blake is home, he doesn’t complain about his allergies.” She went into her living room to grab Kitty’s newest favorite toy off the ground. “Sadly, he’s a…cat person”—she whispered, smiling—“so I can’t get a dog until after we break up.”
I grimaced. “Things are that bad?”
“Things are great…when he’s here.” She tossed the squeaky toy down the hall for Kitty to attack. “I just feel like he’s holding something back, you know?”
I’d been living here for a couple of weeks and had met Blake once, so I only knew what Rebecca had told me about him. But Rebecca was really great and Blake seemed like an ass, so I nodded.
“Dang, I think she’s gotta go.” I whistled for Kitty as I walked back to my apartment. “Thanks again, Rebecca. See you later.”
I should’ve taken her out for a walk, but I was still barefoot, so I let her out on my balcony. A four-foot square of fake grass was nowhere for a self-respecting dog to do their business, but Kitty forgave me. That’s unconditional love for you.
I went into my bedroom to give her some privacy and sighed when I saw the mess of sheets on my bed. It had been a really great night. I hadn’t had that good of a night in a long, long time. Or ever.
Fuck, I wished I’d gotten her number.
I lay back down and took a deep breath, hoping to capture Sara’s scent again. Kind of flowery but not too much. Very womanly, the kind of smell that made a cock go from zero to sixty in three seconds. I breathed it in until Kitty jumped onto the bed and blew dog breath right in my face.
“Now that is morning breath.”
She shoved her nose into my cheek and then nudged me until I got up again.
“Alright, alright. What will it be today, girl? Kibble or kibble?” I followed her wagging tail into the kitchenette of my temporary home. “Think Sara would have stayed if I’d fed her, too?”
Typically, Sunday was the band’s day of rest and recovery. So, I had no plans with the guys or to spend any time at the basketball court with my best friend pretending the NBA was still a possibility.
Great, I had all day long to obsess about last night and wonder where I’d gone wrong. It had been a long time since I’d brought a woman home. Who knew what had changed in that time. How many orgasms did they expect nowadays?
As soon as Kitty dug into her breakfast, I went back into the bedroom, stripped down, and grabbed a towel. With so many memories of last night still fresh on my mind, I did a lot of disappointed sighing. The longest and most regretful sounding one slipped out as soon as I stepped into the shower.
Four hours ago, I’d been in this exact spot, standing behind her and watching the water rain down over her shoulder onto her breasts…
Chapter Three
~ Declan ~
Four glorious hours ago…
Shit. I really liked this girl. More than should be possible at this point. It was hard to believe I’d only met her a couple of hours ago. But as soon as I’d seen her onstage with her friend, doing a truly regrettable karaoke rendition of Aretha Franklin’s “Respect”, I was smitten. It probably had to do with the way she seemed both confident and embarrassed at the same time. Or her commitment to every wrong note she’d sung. Or maybe it was the way her expression completely shifted when she saw me leaning against the bar and our eyes locked until she seemed to realize she was singing the “Sock it to me” part of the song directly to me and burst out laughing. Whatever the initial reason, things had only gotten better since then.
“Are you sure it’s okay?” I asked.
“Mmm…” Sara moaned happily. “There’s no such thing as too hot.”
Normally, I would’ve agreed — when it came to both women and water. But we’d taken a break from the bedroom to come take a shower that would cool us off. Unfortunately, I already knew there was little I could refuse her. If she didn’t want us to cool off, I’d happily keep things hot.
I leaned down to kiss her neck, my hands reaching around to cup her breasts.
Absolutely perfect breasts, by the way. The woman had breasts I wanted to be holding when I took my last breath. Full but not too big, in perfect proportion to the curve of her waist and her round little ass. Nipples that had stiffened with the first light brush of my finger and had stayed that way ever since, as if not a second went by when she wasn’t as turned on as I was.
I was far from a virgin. In my twenty-four years of life—nine of those having been after losing my virginity—I’d had my fair share of one-night stands. But besides already hoping this would turn into more than that, I’d never experienced anything like this before. Feeling like I understood someone so quickly. It was as if we’d jumped ahead to when two people really knew each other’s bodies without having lost any of the excitement of being with someone new. Knowing someone would take care of you and give you what you needed, but not being able to predict when or how they’d do it.
The feeling went beyond the physical. When I’d walked into that bar, I hadn’t been looking for someone to bring home. But as soon as I saw her, I knew I was supposed to be there, looking in her direction at exactly that moment. And she was supposed to be looking in mine.
So far, she seemed as close to perfect as people ever got. Sexually, she was everything I could ask for, plus a little extra that I never would’ve dared request.
We hadn’t had hours and hours of conversations, but it didn’t take long to figure out she was smart, honest, funny, and open-minded.
Yep. Tonight was filled with firsts. For instance, I’d never had to think about physics when I was with a woman before. But since Sara was so much shorter than I was, physics demanded that I pick her up to get inside her. It would’ve been easier if we were facing each other, but then I wouldn’t get to see her ass move every time I thrust. I put one hand on her waist and slid the other down to her thigh, preparing to lift her up.
“Whoa!” She laughed, stretching her toes out to reach the tile.
Of course, that’s when I realized the impossibility of doing what I so desperately wanted to do. The temptation alone had me holding the majority of her body weight—not that there was much of it.
I blew out a breath, knowing I should put her down. Because, unfortunately, I wasn’t smart enough to keep a condom within reach of the shower. Granted, it had never been necessary before, but a guy should be prepared for all of his sexual fantasies to come true at any moment. Lesson learned. I’d never make that mistake again, even if I had to wallpaper the whole place with them.
Fuck. My cock slipped between her cheeks and slid lower as if it were a heat-seeking missile. Nope. Not going to happen. Because life was unfair.
“Hello?” Her voice had a tinge of frustration in it, which was pretty much the last thing I wanted her to feel tonight. “You still back there?”
“Huh? Oh yeah. Sorry.” I was also sorry I had to set her down. I’d been so busy enjoying her curves and her softness pressing up against my very hard cock, I hadn’t heard what she said the first time. “Although, in all honesty, I think you should be apologizing to me.”
“Oh, do you now?” She turned her head to the side so I could see one half of her smile. “And what should I be apologizing for exactly?”
“For having such a remarkably distracting ass.” I used both of my hands to squeeze it. You know, just in case she forgot where it was. “Yep, this ass is almost as interesting as the rest of you.”
“Isn’t interesting usually a bad thing? Like when you have nothing nicer to say?”
“Not for me. In fact, I just came up with a whole list of nice things to say about you. A long list. If you need an ego boost, I can write it down for you.”
“I’m good, thanks. Are you a list person?”
“Not normally, but I made an exception for you,” I said, right before I decided my lips would be better used on her neck rather than forming words. Actually, a list of all the different ways I wanted to take her was a great idea. Then I wouldn’t forget any of them and have to cry myself to sleep every night until we got together again.
“So, what’s this, then?”
I blinked to regain control of my eyes and keep them open long enough to figure out what she was talking about.
Damn it. She was pointing up to a small, waterproof slate stuck to the wall with a pencil clipped to it.
“Um… That thing? It’s…” I reached past her and slammed my hand over the lyrics for a new song I’d written there earlier. “Well…it’s nothing really.”
To anyone other than me, my random, brain-dumped ideas for new songs would read like the emo scribblings of an angsty teen carving his latest poem into his desk in homeroom. So I really, really didn’t want Sara to read it.
Hopefully, I could rub away the pencil marks with my thumb without her noticing.
“Nothing, huh? Weird. They looked more like words to me, but for all I know, they’re hieroglyphics. I guess being abnormally tall is useful sometimes, huh?”
“You think six two is abnormally tall?” I grabbed her waist and started tickling her with all ten fingers until she begged me to stop.
“I surrender,” she said, still giggling. “You win.” She paused.
“Now you have to take it back.”
“I just did. It’s not my fault if you’re too abnormally tall to hear me.” She cringed before I’d even touched her. So, I decided to try another tactic, raking my fingers up the nape of her neck and pushing her wet hair out of my way.
“I do some of my best thinking in the shower.” From then on, every word I said was whispered into the shell of her ear or the warmth of her neck. “Not right now, obviously, but when I’m alone. I use the slate to jot down notes or ideas before I forget them.”
“You have terrible handwriting,” she said breathlessly. “What does it say?”
Even as she tilted her head to give me more room, I knew she was only pretending to hand herself over to me. Instead of leaning into my body, she held herself upright, as if she were afraid to give up too much control. So I curled my hand into a fist and used her hair to slowly dip her backwards far enough to take her lips with mine. Eventually, I let go of her so we both could replenish our oxygen levels.
“By not telling me, you’re making my need to know go ballistic. So, thanks for that.”
“Fine, I’ll tell you.” Moving my eyes back and forth as if I were actually reading the text, I leaned forward, pushing her up against the wall. “It says, ‘Someday, I want to meet an intelligent, beautiful, sexy-as-fuck woman who enjoys karaoke.’” I grabbed the pencil from its clip and wrote DONE in all caps right across it.
“For the sake of my pride, I’m going to assume that refers to me.”
“Your pride is correct.” I hadn’t brought a woman home in a long time, and I’d never had one in this apartment.
“In that case, enjoy might be too strong a word for how I feel about karaoke. I’ve just always been a sucker for that song.”
“How does that last part go again?” I hummed the “sock it to me” section until she elbowed me.
“Shut up! Believe me, it’s a lot harder than it looks. I didn’t see you up there in front of that…medium-sized crowd singing, did I?”
Little did she know. “You’re right. You couldn’t pay me to have gone up there.” But not for the reason she thought.
“Good. Then no making fun of me or my taste in music.” She took the pencil away from me and stood on her tiptoes to write something. She could barely reach the bottom of the slate. “Take pity on me, tall man?”
I lifted her up by the waist and held her so she was high enough to see. She stood on the thin edge of the bathtub and leaned back against my chest to stay up. If my erection weren’t getting in the way, I wouldn’t have needed any help holding her. But while my cock was definitely rock-hard, I couldn’t exactly set her down on it without getting into trouble.
“Oh shit!” she said melodramatically. “This thing is magical!”
“Really?” I wasn’t about to admit that, for a second there, I’d thought she was talking about my cock. Luckily, I realized she had actually been talking about the slate before I said anything truly stupid.
I waited until she slid down and was standing solely on her own before reading aloud. Her handwriting was a lot better than mine. “Someday, a gorgeous, sexy-as-fuck man will take me back to his bed and torture me with his tongue.”
“See? It’s magical.” She dropped the pencil and turned around to face me.
“Whatever’s written on it will come true, right?”
“I hope not. That one’s mine, and I’m not into men.” I reached behind her to turn off the water, swept her up into my arms, and slid the shower door open with my elbow. “You need to get your own.”
As we passed the door, she grabbed a towel off the hook, threw it over both of our heads, and tried to get some of the water out of our hair. Luckily, the room was clean enough that I didn’t trip and drop her until we reached the bed. Once I’d set her down, I watched her giggle as I dried myself off a little more.
“Oh my God,” she said, smoothing her hair back and cupping the end in her hands. “I’m soaking wet!”
“Damn, woman. I don’t think I’ve ever heard anything hotter than that.”
She tilted her head and smiled. “I was talking about the water in my hair.”
“No, you weren’t.” I shrugged. “Well, maybe you were, but I’m choosing to believe you meant it in exactly the way I took it, so you might as well just go along with it.”
“Shut up and give me that towel.” Laughing, she caught the end that I flicked at her and tugged, pulling me up onto the bed at the same time.
“Damn, you’re strong…and greedy.” I pulled the towel away from her. I started with her toes, then her feet and ankles, rubbing piece by piece before using my lips to make sure each bit of her was dry.
She propped herself up on her elbows and watched me with wide eyes, occasionally giggling and jerking when I hit a ticklish spot.
By the time I’d worked my way up to her knees, I’d stopped bothering with the towel. “Tortured by my tongue, huh?”
She swallowed and nodded almost nervously. When I lowered my head between her thighs and brushed my lips over her center, she moaned and flopped back onto the pillows. Oh yeah. She was definitely soaking wet. My lower lip dragged behind, my mouth opening as I started to explore her with my tongue.
R-E-S-P-E-C-T
Nothing like having a great song in your head while you’re doing one of your favorite things.
I ran my tongue up her slit a few times, silently laughing to myself every time she let out a disappointed sigh as I moved back to where I’d started. When I decided she’d had enough teasing, I used my tongue and a couple fingers to focus on what I could do so that she’d never be disappointed again. With my other hand, I held her down, making sure none of her squirming let her get away from me.
Any guy who didn’t offer to get a woman off this way was a moron. Oral sex was the best way to really learn what a woman needed to get off.
And with the right woman, it was the only time a man could ever truly control her.
She’d been pulling my hair and speaking incoherently for a while before I got her hint and looked up at her.
“You’re so good at that,” she said breathlessly. “But you need to come up here now.”
“Why? Am I boring you?”
She laughed. “Hardly. It feels incredible. But I’m a few orgasms ahead of you, so I think it’s my turn.”
“Nope.” I kissed her again before shaking my head. “I’m not done down here yet. You’re not done down here yet either.”
“But—”
“I’m going to get back to what I was doing now. If you need me for anything, or if you want me to stop for a better reason than feeling guilty about letting me make you feel good, let me know.”
Sara said a lot of things about God, cursed like a sailor, and did a hell of a lot of moaning, but she definitely didn’t try to stop me again.
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