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“Yeah,” I admit. “Well, doing my job. You know… making you feel like you live alone.”
“I miss fighting with you,” he says. “It was a good stress outlet.”
My shoulders jiggle with silent laughter. “I guess I found a different outlet.”
“Writing.”
“Mm hm, yeah. I often wrote out argument scenes I was too afraid to have with people. I have this leather-bound journal filled with fake arguments. I’d write down what I really wanted to say. But this time, I didn’t have it. It’s in storage, so I went to my laptop to write down stuff and I wrote down… other stuff too.”
“Well, if you write those stories as an outlet and we’re not gonna fight anymore, I’m gonna need an outlet, too.”
I stiffen.
“I like to play,” he says. “And I’d like to play some of those games with you from the story.”
I blow out a breath and gaze straight into his smoldering eyes.
“You write vividly,” he tells me.
I bite my lip, feeling my cheeks heat.
“You’ve got some great ideas; it’s hot as fuck.”
He begins to back up, taking me with him, and before I know it, he’s falling onto the couch and I’m falling, too.
He’s in a sitting position and I’m straddling him.
“You wanna play, Jada?”
I find myself nodding.
Without thinking, I should add, because I probably can’t think. I’m probably in a state of shock.
My heart races in my chest, trying to pound its way out. The room goes a little spinny for a beat.
His hand slides down the back of my yoga pants and underwear, straight to holding my bare bottom.
He jerks me closer so I’m directly on top of his bulge. He’s hard.
He grasps the back of his neck with his free hand to whip his shirt up over his head and then he’s doing something with my hands. He’s tying my wrists together with the arms of his shirt!
I gasp.
Holy shit. Is this happening?
The next thing I know, I’m being thrown over his lap. My wrists are tied and my yoga pants are being pulled down in the back.
Suddenly there’s a clap at the same instant as my skin stings. He’s slapped my ass. I haven’t ever been slapped on my butt. Not once. Until now. It’s a surprising sensation.
He does it a second time and then I’m repositioned back on his lap while he yanks my yoga pants and my plain white cotton bikini briefs down, then off.
“For real?” he asks.
I look at him questioningly.
“These aren’t the panties of a naughty girl.”
I laugh silently. “That’s because I’m not a naughty girl.”
“No?” He cocks an eyebrow.
“Or I didn’t think I was.”
He smiles and shakes his head with an expression of astonishment or something and then there are fingers between my legs.
His mouth attacks my neck, making a trill of shivers shoot up my spine, across my nipples, and sending another surge of wet between my legs. He lifts my bound wrists and hooks them over his head so that the fabric rests at the back of his neck and then he assaults my clit with his fingers. His erection is sliding back and forth across my bare pussy. He’s still in jeans and I’m moving on top of him, rocking my hips a little.
I feel so slutty, and so good.
“Eyes on me, Miss Sweetheart,” he orders.
“I want to feel you. You, Austin,” I whisper, opening my eyes.
Who am I? I’ve never even asked for anything during sex before this. Never. Just stayed silent through it. But here on this couch in broad daylight, I’m leaving a wet spot on the crotch of Austin Carmichael’s jeans and asking to feel him.
Damn, he looks good in these jeans.
His eyes are on me and they’re searching my face. For what? Pleasure? To make sure I’m fully on board with this?
“You good?” he asks.
I laugh.
“Anything happens that you don’t like, you just say it. Don’t be afraid to.”
I shake my head. “I won’t.”
“Good. Gimme that mouth. I think you need one more smack on this fantastic ass before I put my mouth between your legs and finish you off.”
My eyes bulge again.
His mouth spreads slowly into a smile.
Austin Carmichael thinks I have a fantastic ass?
“Got all sorts of dirty talk stashed if that’s your thing.”
“I think it might be,” I say.
He smiles. “Reading your smut file, I thought it might be.”
And then his palm cracks across my bare butt again and I whimper.
I’m so, so wet right now.
He releases my hands from their binds and lifts me up. He carries me down the hall and I feel so exposed, wearing just a bra and nothing else, where he’s in jeans, but then a moment later, I’m on my back on the bed and he’s dropping those jeans and his underwear, and whoa, Austin Carmichael is gloriously gorgeous when he’s naked.
Oh. My. Lord.
“You have any condoms, by chance?” he asks me.
