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I’ll let you in on the fucking secret—absolutely nothing I could ask her to do would be as good as letting her surprise me.
She slid her mouth down as far as it would go and back, leaving a coat of moisture behind. The chilled air tingled the skin she unsheathed and shot straight to my tightening balls.
Her hand must have sensed it or something, shooting out to cup them at the perfect pressure, just between timid and crushing, rolling each of them between her fingers like a goddamn sac expert.
My legs started to shake, but I fought it, scared she’d stop to ask if I was okay or if I needed to change positions.
A swirl of her tongue at the tip later, she took me inside again, pushing the flat of her tongue against the underside and tapping it in a rapid rhythm. Up and down she worked me, adding her free hand at the base and mesmerizing me with a frenzy-inducing twist.
My mind raced and blanked at once, knowing the cum was coming and working overtime to find the faculties to actually tell her.
“Baby,” I groaned, finally letting my hand shoot out to grip her hair. I pulled it up with a jerk, but took care not to be too rough or startle her.
Her eyes fucking destroyed me when they met mine, eating me alive with the same intensity as her mouth. She was swallowing my fucking dick like it was her last meal and she’d had a goddamn choice of the whole menu.
I couldn’t hold back anymore.
“Oh shit. Oh fuck. I’m gonna come. Ahhh, God.”
She sucked harder instead of letting go, pushing me to get there faster with a strum of her fingers at my balls.
I didn’t think I usually came that fast, but the surprise had everything fucked. My stamina, my mind—my ability to form complete sentences. Gone.
When the last jerk subsided, she soothed me with her tongue, sliding her loose hand up and down the shaft slowly.
“Mmm,” she moaned again, nearly knocking me on my ass. “You taste good too.”
I would never, ever be able to look at this woman without remembering this moment. Not for my entire life. I was fucking sure of it.
I was equally sure, as one of her greatest fears centered around being able to maintain a professional relationship with me in a work environment, she would not want to hear that.
She got to her feet slowly, but I sped up the process, grabbing her by the hips and slamming her naked body directly into mine. My slowly softening cock rested between our bellies, and my lips sought hers.
I fought the primal urge to eat her alive, though, teasing her tongue with mine in a sweet dance of thank-you instead.
I wanted her to feel cherished and fucking appreciated. Her bottom lip swelled in my mouth with the pressure of my suction, so I soothed it with my tongue immediately upon its release.
She moaned in my mouth, hard and deep and needy, and I took it as my completely ass backwards cue to break the kiss. My hands had already found their way to her ass, and I knew if I didn’t stop now, I’d end up pushing her into something she really wasn’t ready for.
“Go put on a shirt, baby,” I ordered softly, and then offered, “Take a shower if you want to.”
The shy girl was just under the surface, clearing the fog of lust, and I knew she’d much rather succumb to it in the privacy of my room or the shower than have to live through it in front of me.
I pressed a soft peck to the corner of her lips and inhaled the smell of the skin of her cheek with my nose. Subtly sweet like a rose surrounded by apples.
“I’ll finish making breakfast,” I said into her skin before pulling away. “You’re not allergic to anything other than lime juice, are you?”
She smiled slightly before shaking her head.
“Good. I’ll turn the bacon and eggs into omelets, then.”
“Kline?” she asked, ignoring my rundown and sliding her hand up my neck to the juncture of my jaw. My throat tightened and my pulse beat double time as her thumb brushed the line of it.
“Yeah, Benny?”
“Thanks.” One soft kiss to my lips later, she turned and retreated to my bedroom and all I could do was watch as she went, my boxer briefs still twisted around my ankles.
I was fucked—really and truly fucked—when it came to Georgia Cummings.
“Omelet’s ready,” I called through the closed bathroom door after making a quick stop in my closet to put on a pair of jersey shorts until I showered. I was still sticky with the evidence of Georgia’s performance, so I opted to go commando underneath them until I could rectify it—this billionaire’s apartment only had one bathroom.
I expected her to call something back through the door, but she opened it instead, stepping into the doorway and nearly into me with wet hair, a towel around her body.
