Page 150 of His Surrender

When her hand finds my dick through my pants, the muscles in my jaw tense up for a whole other reason besides jealousy—restraint.

I grip the edge of the table so I don’t end up lifting her up and throwing her down right here.

“Would coming down my throat do it?” she says as she massages me.

I groan a deep, guttural one that vibrates my throat. “Fuck, Aubrey.”

She bites her lip with a smile.

Then both of her hands get to work to free my dick. She grabs my hands off of the table and places them in her hair.

“I want you to lead. Fuck my mouth however you want,” she instructs.

I don’t know where she learned to talk like this, but I don’t want to know.

She takes me into her mouth and her tongue glides down my dick, coating it with her saliva.

“Dammit, Aubrey,” I bite out.

Not because I don’t love what she’s doing, but because no one has ever made me feel so crazy before. It’s scary and addictive at the same time.

My hips push forward, forcing her to take another inch or two. Her eyes fly up to mine, and it looks like she’s smiling while her mouth is wrapped around my dick.

That does me in. I fist her hair and pull her toward me to take more until she gags. Instead of pushing away, she only moans, like it turns her on just as much as it does me.

“Aubrey.” I moan her name as I push her back, then bring her forward with another thrust of my hips.

She gags again and tears begin to drop down her cheeks. Her hands find my ass, and she uses it as leverage to take me deeper.

For five minutes, she drives me insane with her mouth until I can’t take it any longer.

“I’m going to come,” I warn.

She places a hand at the base of my dick and pumps my release into her mouth, taking every drop like it’s her lifeline.

When she pops off me and rises to her feet, I’m fighting each breath as my chest rises and falls rapidly.

I look down at her as I fight not to say three words I never thought I’d be uttering to a woman in this lifetime.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

AUBREY

Idon’t think I’ve ever been so aware of a driveway before.

Dean’s black SUV rolls to a stop in front of my parents’ house, the familiar two-story home looking exactly the way it has every Thanksgiving for as long as I can remember.

White lights still frame the porch from last Christmas because Dad insists they’re “winter lights,” and Mom has tucked giant pots of mums on either side of the front steps.

Nothing has changed, and somehow, everything has changed.

Dean shifts the SUV into park before turning toward me. “So”—he smiles— “ready?”

I glance toward the house, where I can already see silhouettes moving through the front windows.

My cousins’ kids are probably chasing each other through the living room while my uncles are almost certainly arguing over football.

My mom is likely telling everyone to stay out of her kitchen.