“Jack,” I say breathlessly, jerking his hair hard enough to make him hiss. “I’m almost there, I just need—”
“And when you did,” he continues, voice full of wicked promise, “I got on my knees and licked up every drop. I made you come again and again until I was hard and ready to get back inside your tight little—”
My orgasm rips through me, delivering a tidal wave of sensation that leaves me gasping for air. I shove my hand in my mouth out of habit, trying to quiet the embarrassingly loud noises I’m making. I haven’t come this hard... ever. Knocked right out of the thoughts colliding in my mind.
“Hey, none of that,” he murmurs, voice suspiciously tender as he pulls my hand away from my mouth. “We’re alone. On a boat.”
“I don’t want to traumatize Gator.”
His eyes narrow, as if he doesn’t quite buy my lie, but he pulls his fingers out of me. I toss my hair over my shoulder, hoping my flush isn’t that visible, as I reach for his jeans. Quid pro quo, yes, but really, I just want to see his cock. He’s too tall and broad for it not to be spectacular.
“Your turn.”
Now he reddens, coughing slightly. “No need.”
“Oh,” I say, eyes widening when I realize what he means. I fiddle with the zipper on his jeans. He hisses, hips jerking. “Wait, really?”
“Winfield.”
“No last names in bed.” I flap my hands in bewilderment. “I’ve never had a guy come in his pants just from touching me.”
He looks at the ceiling, as if begging some heavenly deity for patience. “Don’t.”
“Frankly, I’m shocked. You didn’t even lick me.” His pained groan makes me giggle. “Poor guy. Is there anything I can do to make it better?”
Before I can suggest licking him clean, or any of the other filthy thoughts running around my brain, he sticks his slick-covered fingers into his mouth. I stare, dumbfounded by the weirdly erotic, focused way he’s lapping up my essence. He pulls me closer by the ankle, and before I can escape, he drags the fingers down my cheek, marking me with his spit. For reasons I don’t want to look into that closely, my heart starts to race.
His smirk is lazy, self-assured. “Be flattered I’m that hard up for you.” He slides off the bed, grabbing a fresh set of clothes from the tiny corner wardrobe. “Although next time, I might not hold back.”
With that, he disappears into the bathroom. I stare at the shut door for a minute, skin prickling at his parting words. Next time. I like the sound of that, however complicated it might make things in the end. I squeeze my legs together. If that was him holding back, what’s it like when hedoesgive in?
By the time he emerges, I’m in pajamas. His hair, so messy from my fingers, looks relatively neat. I squeeze past him so I can pee and brush my teeth.
When I return, he’s sitting on the bed, petting Gator’s fluffy belly. His sharp gaze lingers on me.
I wipe my mouth in case I left toothpaste on it. “What?”
He slides off the bed. “Let me grab a pillow and I’ll head up to the deck.”
I guess he doesn’t do post-coital cuddles. It’s for the best—I can only imagine what my imagination will conjure upwithhim in the bed—and yet the thought of him alone on the deck while I’m cozy in the cabin sends a twinge through me. This hasn’t felt awkward so far, probably given the fact we’ve been spending so much time together anyway. But something tells me if he leaves, the distance will feel greater tomorrow.
“You should stay.”
“That wouldn’t be a good idea.”
“Why not? Friends can platonically share a bed.”
“Is that what we are now?”
“Your fingers were just inside me,” I remind him. I plop on the bed, adjusting my nightgown. His eyes follow my motions. The back of my neck prickles, and I bite back a smile. “I’d say we’re friends.”
He doesn’t have the decency to look even a tiny bit embarrassed. “I can sleep on the floor.”
“Just so I can scream when I wake up in the middle of the night and trip over you?”
He gives Gator a look, as if he’s expecting my precious toe bean baby to sympathize with him instead of me, his mother, the one who saved him from a terrifying life on the streets. Gator just meows.
“I mean, I guess—”
