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“Now who’s sarcastic instead of sexy?” I pulled all the way up to ask but kept my mouth right against his cock, making him shudder.
“Oh, I’m sexy, all right.” Using his grip on my hands, he urged me back down. Gentler than he needed to be but firm enough to be sexy as hell. “Keep going. Please.”
I resumed my work, going deep, holding, retreating with intense suction, then repeating until he babbled a sexy stream of filth, muffled curses, and pleas. However, I could feel him holding back, body trembling with restraint, hands tight on mine. The time for his careful control was over, and I needed everything he had to give me. I sucked harder and faster, but apparently, I’d met my stubborn match.
“Come on, Holden. Please. Let go.”
“You want that?” he asked, eyes hooded, mouth slack. “Want me to fuck your face? That’s what you want?”
I moaned my enthusiastic agreement around his cock, working the underside of his shaft with my tongue, hands tensing in his grip, my whole body rejoicing as he loosened the reins on his control. Careful thrusts, rocking gently up to meet my mouth, then more and more. He shifted my hands to one of his, freeing his other to stroke my short hair and guide my motions. Yes. I loved that, and I groaned my approval until he completely took over ownership of my mouth.
“Okay, baby, okay. It’s…close.” He was breathless, mile twenty-six of a marathon, and I was determined to get him over the finish line, going even deeper and working him with my throat. “There. Oh fuck.”
He came with a series of low moans and delicious sounds that had me swallowing every drop. The taste was overtly sexual, earthy and salty, and if I hadn’t come minutes prior, I totally would have blown when he did. I finally released him with a satisfied groan, laying my head on his stomach and letting my eyes drift shut.
“Oh my sweet Lord.” He petted my head with tender drags of his long fingers, a hypnotic sensation. “How did we go from me supposed to wear you out to me boneless and not wanting to move?”
“Me too.” I didn’t bother opening my eyes.
“And how was that the best orgasm of my life, and we still haven’t kissed on the mouth?”
“The best, huh?” I gave him a sleepy smirk, stretching to invite more touching.
“That’s what you focus on?” He chuckled affectionately. At some point, he’d likely leave for his own bed and more comfortable sleeping attire, but I fully intended to enjoy every touch and sleepy cuddle before then.
“We’ll get there on kissing.” I yawned. My string of sleepless nights was quickly catching up with me. I probably wouldn’t even last until he escaped, but I also wasn’t going to deny wanting to kiss Holden. It seemed inevitable that we would be right back here again, preferably more awake.
“We better.” He gave another of those possessive growls of his, cuddling me closer and arranging the covers more on me than him. This was too good to be a one-off. But I wanted to be awake for the kissing, fully present. And why it mattered to me that I gave him my best stuff, I refused to think about. Sex. This was sex. Anything else was unbearably complicated.
Chapter Seventeen
Holden
The wait to kiss Cal was going to kill me. He’d said we’d “get there” like it was an item on an awfully long to-do list of middling priorities. Whereas for me, after round two of the kink-fest, I’d assumed we might be headed toward a nightly thing. Preferably with kissing and plenty of it, but I’d made the fatal mistake of waiting for Cal to ask again.
And waiting.
And waiting.
And now here we were, the start of a new week, and I was in line for an afternoon pick-me-up at Blessed Bean, unkissed and in dire need of more than caffeine. When I’d accidentally fallen asleep in Cal’s bed after the most epic orgasm of my life, my last conscious thought was a wish to wake up together, sneak in that first kiss before coffee. The possibility was enough to make it worth sleeping in my clothes and away from my ultra-supportive mattress. But Cal had already been in the shower when sunlight hit my eyes, and I’d snuck off to my own room to peel off my hopelessly rumpled dress clothes and regret lost chances.
I’d packed him lunch while he’d finished up in the shower, and that had been that, back to whatever normal was between us. I’d wanted to leave repeats up to Cal because I didn’t want him to feel obligated since he was staying with me. Quid pro quo for a place to stay was gross. Thus, I stayed exactly the same level of approachable and friendly, mildly flirty, but not crossing the line. We ate dinner together every night, watched reality dating shows like it was our job, roared through various local flavors of ice cream, and thoroughly enjoyed each other’s company. At least, I thought so.
