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“There’s nothing inappropriate about you,” I hissed, tipping her chin up so her gaze would meet mine.
“Buckle up, Bossman. I’ll show you inappropriate.”
And before I could process what was happening, she’d dropped to her knees and gripped my dick before guiding it between her lips.
And just when I thought things couldn’t get better, Georgia Reynolds gave me the best blow job of my life.
twenty-three
Georgia
I’d never beena fan of the blow job before. I’d avoided it at all costs… but not today. I’d enjoyed it, which was hard to wrap my head around.
I’d come to learn over the last twenty-four hours, that pleasing Maddox Lancaster was a complete turn-on for me. The way he’d groaned and thrust and completely come undone—it was a sight to see.
It made me feel empowered and sexy and wanted.
And here I stood, with this beautiful man who had just returned the favor by dropping to his knees and burying his head between my thighs until I cried out his name and could barely stand. He’d then followed it up by washing my hair.
No man had ever washed my hair before.
He massaged my scalp, and I groaned as he carefully rinsed my hair, making sure the soap didn’t go into my eyes.
I lathered up my hands with soap and proceeded to wash his body as he stood there with his arms crossed over his muscular chest, watching me.
Fling or no fling, this surpassed all expectations.
If it ended tomorrow and no man ever touched me again, I would not complain.
“You keep covering my cock in suds, and I’ll have you drop to your knees so I can fuck that sweet mouth of yours again.” His voice was gruff, eyes hooded as he watched me.
I chuckled and rinsed off my hands and turned off the water.
He wrapped a towel around me before doing the same to himself, and we spent the next forty-five minutes getting dressed and ready for the day.
Together.
We talked, and we laughed, and he stayed in the bathroom after he was done, watching me apply my makeup and blow-dry my hair.
And we were out the door shortly after.
Cross-country skiing, here we come.
* * *
“We’re going too fast!” I shouted as he guided me down the mountain. His legs were on each side of mine, his arms wrapped around me, and if I wasn’t wearing my white ski bibs and matching jacket, I would feel the erection driving into my lower back even more.
I’d insisted we cover every inch of our faces, just in case someone from the office spotted us out here. Cross-country skiing had been much easier, as we were completely alone all day on the trail.
But the resorts here were busy, so this was the plan. And considering it was freezing outside, being bundled up wasn’t a problem.
“Stop whining. We’re barely moving,” he grumped against my ear, which was covered in my favorite white snow hat with an oversized pom-pom.
We’d spent the last five nights together at his house. I’d only left once to go look at a rental house that had come on the market while Maddox had some work to catch up on, and I’d stopped by my place to grab my ski clothes.
The crazy thing was I wasn’t bored or irritated or ready to leave.
I kept waiting for him to call it done, but he hadn’t yet. And we hadn’t discussed it. We’d had endless sex, eaten every meal together, watched a ton of movies, and had our two outings trying out our skis on both a flat surface and a large mountain.
