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His touch gets harder.
His groans get louder.
He rocks his hips, thrusting into my mouth.
I press my tongue against the base of his tip. Relax my throat.
He rocks into me again.
Again.
There.
His hand knots in my hair.
His cock pulses.
My name falls off his lips as he fills my mouth. He's salty. Sweet.
I swallow hard.
He looks down at me like I'm heaven sent.
I push myself up. Climb into his lap.
He wraps his arms around me and holds me like he's never going to let me go.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Walker
I stretch my arms over my head as a yawn escapes my lips. I can't remember the last time I was tired from staying up talking.
There's something intoxicating about Iris. I want to wipe away every hint of pain in those gorgeous blue eyes. I want to destroy whoever or whatever caused that ache.
She deserves a life without hurt.
She deserves the entire fucking world.
I finish checking out my customer, give him the usual aftercare speech, head straight to the single cup coffee maker in the back. It's mediocre, but I need the caffeine.
"Oooh, make me one please," Leighton calls out from her spot at the counter. She presses her hands together—well, her Kindle is between them, but close enough—and shoots me puppy dog eyes.
"You ever get tired of begging?"
Her lips curl into a half smile. "You read my journal too?"
"You don't have a journal."
"That's what you think." She winks. "French Roast. Please. I'll love you forever."
"You won't now?"
She laughs. "Who knows?"
"You're lucky I'm in a good mood."
"You're always in a good mood."
