Page 35 of Triplet Babies for my Ex's Best Friend

She takes me into her mouth, tasting every ridge and contour and every beat of my pulse through her throat.

The tight wet of her mouth is almost unbearable. She’s not shy, not careful, or even civilized in the way she takes me in, all the muffled choking sounds and spit and the fierce pressure of her lips.

I palm her skull, her hair tangling in my fist. She sets a pace that’s half revenge, half devotion, right on the subtle edge of violence.

My entire body is strung wire taut, every muscle cabled behind my skin, desperate to stay upright against the onrush of sensation.

She pops off, gasping, strings of saliva stretching between us, and all I see is her eyes. Wild, bright, a depthless hunger.

She opens her mouth wider, letting me see the pink wet of her tongue, the way it stretches as she licks the head, the way her eyes never leave mine. It’s an implicit command:don’t look away.

She moans, rolling my name around her tongue as she works me deeper, and the vibration nearly undoes me.

I fuck into her mouth with a slow, inexorable motion, hips rising from the chair as the urge builds. She takes it, every inch, jaw flexing, saliva dripping to stain the front of her blouse.

I’m nothing but friction and pulse and the sound of slick, obscene devotion as she devours me.

It’s sudden. All at once, an electric urgency tears through me with zero warning.

I grab the edge of the desk, white-knuckled, and shoot into her mouth, wave after wave, until I forget where I am, who I am, what I’m meant for except this.

She swallows every drop, not flinching before she wipes her lips with the back of her hand, smiling in a way that says:you hired the right woman and you know it…

CHAPTER SEVEN

Addy

This is a mistake.

I know it’s a mistake.

I’m fully aware, intellectually, emotionally, spiritually, that moving into the home of the man I had a wildly questionable, deeply unprofessional, extremely memorable one-night stand with is, objectively, a terrible idea.

And yet…

“Don’t forget to pack your boots,” Luci says through my phone, her face filling half the screen as she squints at me.

I drop onto the edge of the motel bed, my last few hours in Motel Sadness, thank goodness, and prop my phone against the lamp that flickers like it’s considering retirement.

“I cannot believe this is happening,” I say, scrubbing a hand over my face. “I cannot believe I’m willingly walking back into that situation.”

“You’re not walking back,” Luci corrects. “You’re walking forward. Into a penthouse. With a billionaire. And a child who likes you. And a dog who apparently worships you.”

“That dog would worship a sandwich,” I say.

“And yet, he chose you. Reflect on that.”

I snort.

She leans closer to the camera. “Also… the billionaire part.”

“I’m not doing this for the billionaire part,” I say immediately. “I just need a paycheck.”

“Of course not,” she agrees, nodding solemnly. “You’re doing it for the character development.”

“I hate you.”

“You love me.”