“Good girl,” I whisper in her ear, then kiss my way down one of my favorite parts of her before moving further south.
Her ample cleavage pushes up with each breath she takes, thrusting her chest toward me as I come to kiss the top of each breast. I’ll come back and worship these later because they deserve the attention, but for now they’re covered in clothing that I couldn’t give two shits about. I fucking hate clothes. They’re thebane of my existence.
Dropping to my knees, I push her dress up, gaining access to the apex at her thighs. Jordan’s hand comes to the top of my head, pushing through my mop of brown hair as her hips push towards my face.
I grin. My Fireball is wanton and needy. I fucking love it. “Mmm, something you want, Jor?” I wonder out loud, teasing her as my fingers run over the scrap of lace covering her pussy. I don’t even need to pull the red fabric away to see how wet she is for me. It’s completely drenched.
“Liam,” she whines, and I freeze.
Women know before I bring them home that my first name isn’t to be used in the bedroom. The only name that should fall from their lips, if they want to moan one, is my last name. King. Inflated ego or not, it’s all I tolerate.
“Please Liam,” Jordan whimpers, pulling my face towards her hips. “I need you.”
Swallowing, I blink a few times, turning my head up to gaze at Jordan. My name on her lips is a declaration of all the things that will happen tonight, and the sound rushes straight down my spine to my balls. Fuck. “Say it again.”
She doesn’t hesitate. “I need you.”
“No,” I shake my head. “The other part.”
Her head falls forward, lips parting on a shaky breath. Jordan’s eyes darken as she utters the words, “Please Liam.”
I both love and hate it. Nothing has ever sounded as right as my real name on those glorious red lips. “Again.”
“Please Liam. Please.”
The begging has my dick throbbing. If she keeps it up, I’ll come just hearing her breathy little pleas. It has nothing to do with my name on her lips. Nothing. At least that’s what I’m going to tellmyself.
The scrap of fabric is down her thighs in the next moment, and my mouth is on her. The sweet, decadent taste of her has my eyes rolling into the back of my head. Fuck. I knew it was going to be good, but I didn’t know it was going to be this good. She’s unlike anything I’ve ever tasted before. Like the richest dessert exploding across every taste bud in my mouth.
Jordan cries out above me, her hand tightening in my hair as my tongue moves from her clit to her center and back again, flattening against the little bundle of nerves. Flicking my tongue over it, I guide one of her legs over my shoulder, my other hand sliding up her leg to the inside of her thigh.
I don’t even have a finger inside of her when she yanks on my head.
“Liam, wait.”
She might as well have said “stop” or “no” for how fast my hands come away from her thighs. Leaning back on my heels, her leg falls from my shoulder, and I look up at her. I may love women, and sex, and I may be rough when it comes to all of that, but words like that are never up for interpretation.
“What’s wrong?”
Biting down on her lip, she goes from meeting my eyes to letting her head fall back against the wall where I can’t see her expression. That won’t do, so I rock back and bounce to my feet, bringing a gentle hand to her chin. “Tell me what’s going on, Jor. Whatever it is, it’s okay. It’s just us.”
Her face is flush with desire. Or embarrassment. I’m not sure which at this point. “I… I just…”
Wrapping her arms around my neck, she pulls me closer, her mouth searching. I indulge her for a moment, letting her lips brush across mine. The neediness hasn’t left her kiss which has mepulling back. I may only fuck a woman once and then move on to the next, but I’ve learned over my years that for each of those experiences to be successful, communication is key.
Our eyes meet before hers quickly dart to the side, avoiding my gaze. In that quick glimpse, I realize that it’s embarrassment that colors her cheeks.
“It feels good,” she starts, pauses to bite on her lip, then continues, “but it’s okay. It’ll take too long, and I know it can’t taste very good. Your mouth… it just won’t get me off.”
My eyes narrow at the breathtaking beauty in front of me. The one normally full of confidence. The one that has to constantly tell men to get lost in the middle of a dance floor. The one who could have any man she wanted in the busiest nightclub in Vegas. Of all the things she could have said, that was the last one I expected. She has no idea how she tastes. Or that I don’t give a fuck how long it takes for me to get her off. What the fuck did her ex do to her for her to think that?
If I weren’t me, and we didn’t have a bond where she’d told me everything over the last few months, would she be telling me this now? Or would she be standing over me, faking an orgasm just to get it over with?
There’s a choice for me to make. I could try to convince her otherwise, which I full on want to do. But I realize this isn’t about me. This is about making her as comfortable as possible and getting her out of her head. Because right now that’s where she’s living, and it’s the last place I want her. For her own well-being, and selfishly for mine.
Bending to touch my forehead to her temple, I grip her hips in my hands, giving them each a tight squeeze. “Good girl,” I murmur to her. “Now tell me how to get you off. Tell me what you want, Jor.”
Slowly, her head turns, and I lift mine just enough to meet her stare. There’s hesitation and uncertainty in her crystal blues. She has no idea what to tell me.
