Page 129
“But what if he—”
He kisses me again, deeper, and my brain shorts out. One hand slides up my back, under my shirt, palm flat on my spine. The other grips my hip.
“You liked that,” he murmurs against my mouth. “Me telling her off.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“You’re wet in the kitchen because I yelled at my ex.”
“I am not—”
He cups me through my leggings and I suck in a breath.
Okay. I am.
The fabric is already damp. He presses two fingers against me, and my hips kick forward like I didn’t just try to deny it.
“Liar,” he says, then presses his fingers harder, almost penetrating me through my clothes. “Fuck, Blaire.”
I roll my hips against his hand and he groans into my neck, low, the kind of sound he’s trying to keep in.
His hands go to my waistband. “Lift.”
He tugs off my leggings and underwear in one pull, cold air on my skin, granite under my bare ass. He drops them on the floor and doesn’t bother with my shirt. Just spreads my knees and looks at me.
I reach for his belt.
He catches my wrist.
“Simon.”
“I know.” He’s already going to his knees. “You’re not taking me dry on a kitchen counter.”
“I’m not dry.”
“You’re not wet enough.” He says it like a fact, and then his mouth is on the inside of my thigh and I forget to argue. “I’m not hurting you because you’re impatient.”
He kisses higher. His hands hook under my knees and pull me to the edge until I’m sitting on almost nothing, thighs over his shoulders, heels bumping his back. The first lick is flat and slow, right up through me, and my head drops back. I clap a hand over my own mouth.
He does it again. Then he settles in like he has all afternoon. Tongue on my clit, then lower, then inside me, thick and wet. He groans against me when he tastes how ready I already am and still doesn’t stop. Two fingers next, then he scissors them and I twitch so hard the island creaks.
“Simon. Come on.”
He ignores me. Adds a third finger because he knows what he’s working with and he is not going to just shove that massive cock inside me and hope. The stretch makes my eyes water. His mouth stays on my clit, sucking in a rhythm that is going to ruin me before he even gets his jeans open.
“That’s—fuck—that’s enough.” My voice is a whisper and a demand at the same time. I get a hand in his hair and tug. “I’m ready. Get up.”
He looks up from between my legs, mouth wet, fingers still buried in me. “You’re close.”
“I don’t care. I want you in me.”
“Blaire.”
“I will come on your mouth and then I will still want you in me, so skip a step.” I tug again. “Please. I’m fine. I want to feel you.”
He holds there a second longer, curling his fingers on purpose just to watch my face, then pulls them out slow. I make a sound I have to swallow.
He stands, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and I can see the shape of him straining his jeans. Long. Thick. The kind of hard that’s always been a problem.
