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It was more visual memory from the hundreds of soft-core porn movies I’d occasionally caught on late night cable that reminded me what to do.
“Does this feel good?” I asked him, sliding my bottom back on his legs a little further away.
“You have no idea,” he grunted, neck straining as I tightened my grip at the base of him.
I mean, I sort of did, but whatever. Now wasn’t the time to argue.
With my heart pounding in my throat, I kept one hand around him while I slid down his legs. He watched me with those heavy-lidded amber eyes, his breathing getting heavier and heavier until he gasped when I wrapped my mouth around the pinkish-purple tip of his head.
“Sal!” he shouted.
One pointed tongue on his frenulum and one more swift suck, and Kulti was letting out a deep, ravaging groan that I’d remember forever, pouring himself down my throat.
Holy shit.
I sat up completely, wrapping an arm around my breasts as I sat there, taking in his breathless, handsome face almost twenty years after I’d first fallen in love with it. The sun, time and life had made him classier.
The thought weighed my conscience down.
Kulti stroked my arm with one hand. “It’s been a long time,” he apologized, tracing a pattern only he saw on my skin. “And you’re too beautiful for your own good.”
I screwed up my face and snorted a little, not letting myself think of all the gorgeous women he’d been with over the years.
He slid his index finger straight up between my collarbones, a thoughtful look on his features that didn’t make me feel any better. Was he remembering all of the amazing boobs he’d seen in his life? Gross.
“What are you thinking?” he asked, his fingertip curving over bones, tendons and scars.
“About all the boobs you’ve seen before,” I told him honestly, my throat clogging up in anger I had no right to feel.
He glanced up quicker than I thought was possible, his mouth tight at the corners in a frown.
“I know I don’t have a right to say anything about things that happened before we met, but it’s a little hard for me. If something isn’t to par, think about my scissor kick. I’ve heard some guys tell me it’s boner-worthy,” I offered with a smile.
The frown on his face melted right off. “Sal.”
“I’m just kidding. Mostly.” I sighed and shrugged my shoulders. What was I doing? I needed to tell him the truth.
With a sigh, I stood up and pulled my bra on.
Fingers touched my lower back. “What’s wrong?”
What was wrong? Bah. Why hadn’t I told him yet? He needed to know. It made me feel like a fake after everything that had happened. “I need to tell you something.”
“What?”
I started to reach for my shirt when he swung his legs off the couch and stopped me with a hand to my arm.
Sitting up straight, I tucked my hands between my thighs, elbow tight to my sides and focused my gaze on my knees. I tried to think of the words I’d planned since my dad had accused me of being a chicken. Not sounding like a stalker was a lot harder than it seemed, especially when I could still taste him in my mouth.
What if—
No what-ifs. I just needed to do it. I really did.
“I used to have a huge crush on you when I was a kid,” I started, warming him up. “Up until I was about seventeen, there were posters of you all over my room. “ In for a penny, in for a pound. All right. I could do this. Honesty mattered. “I was in love with you. I told everyone I was going to marry you someday.
“You were my idol, Rey. I kept playing soccer because of you.”
I rubbed my hand over my eyebrow, still keeping my gaze forward on the coffee table. It wasn’t like I was telling him something crazy. Every girl I’d ever known had crushed on a celebrity at some point, but… I’d just had his penis in my mouth. I should have told him earlier. I should have told him a long time ago.
