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“How does a guy like you learn to cook like this?”
He twisted around to get the bowl from behind him. “My mom.”
She stopped eating. Had she expected him to answer? Maybe. But not something so momentous in such a casual way.
“How old we’re you when she passed?”
“Eight,” he said, stirring his noodles. “Don’t eat too fast. Your stomach needs to adjust.”
“Does that mean no liquor?”
“You want a drink?”
“I like your whiskey,” she admitted. “Makes me think of the first time we kissed.”
Was that the comfort she got in the back of the car all those times she looked for courage?
He leaned in to kiss her. “How much are you struggling?”
“I don’t know,” she said, her focus descending to the food.
“Talk to me.”
He took her bowl and put both aside. When he turned back to her, she swooped in to catch his mouth with hers. They’d be okay. They’d get over it with time. If she could distract him, and herself, they wouldn’t have to discuss it.
He caught her jaw to ease their mouths apart, holding it while with the other hand he combed her hair from his grip, tucking it back with the rest of her locks.
“Do you know how easy it is for me to get laid?” he murmured. “How fast I can fill my bed with pussy?” She tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, holding her there. “One phone call. One text. I can have twenty whores up here fighting over my cock.” He pulled her mouth to his, kissing her hard and fast. “I’ve never been faithful to a woman.” Again, she tried to pull away, but he hauled her back. “Never been unfaithful either. I’ve never committed to one. My relationships are casual. Open. I do what I wanna do when I wanna do it, and I don’t answer to anyone.” Letting her go, he dropped back against the propped-up pillows and slouched his hips, taking his cock in hand. “You want it, take it. I’ll add you to the list of sluts on speed dial.”
He had a direct way of making a point. Scooching closer, her eyes stayed on his though her hand curled around his on his cock.
To be different, to show their relationship the respect it deserved, they needed to be more than sex. For sure he could get twenty whores delivered to his loft. But he’d chosen her to join him in bed. Her alone. Because she was a random slut? No. Because she was something else. What something else? She had no clue.
If they could commit murder together, they should be able to open up to each other, right?
“Last week was sex tapes, foursomes, and riding crop punishments,” she said. “You have an appetite—”
“I don’t need that bullshit,” he sneered. “Think I haven’t had every kink under the fucking sun? Sex was nothing. I didn’t even give a shit about it. Who the fuck cares when everything’s on offer twenty-four seven?”
“Youdidn’tgive a shit?” she asked, squeezing him. “You do now?”
His fingers slid out from under hers to move over them, sliding them up and down his thick shaft.
“Fuck… you’re something different,” he said on a groan, his head dropping back. “Everything was new to you. Shit I take for granted… it was new to you.”
“You liked that?” she asked, switching the angle of her thumb to stroke his head as her pace and strength increased. “You like this?”
Her whispered words came as she kissed his arm and wriggled lower to lick his tip. Even taking him into her mouth, the power of him overwhelmed her. Hard, broad, pulsing against her tongue, the connection to her own strength grew.
“Conn,” she breathed against him, tightening her lips in a kiss to force him through into her mouth.
Another groan and his fingers fell to her hair. “Macushla.”
Climbing over his leg, she settled between them to suck him deep. He didn’t want to push her, didn’t want her hurt, but the tangle in her hair tightened.
Slurping him from her lips, she placed short, wet kisses on his shaft.
“How many women have sucked your cock?” she asked, humming around him. He stroked her. When she blinked up, his drowsy eyes were fixed on her. “Hmm, baby?”
