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She hums. Her hands skim my waist. Inching lower.
“Yeah?” She draws back to meet my eyes.
“Are you trying hard enough?” I look down pointedly.
Her cheeks redden.
“Maybe take off your shirt,” I suggest. I step back. “Or get on your knees…”
To no one’s surprise, she does both. Her shirt, the skimpy bit of fabric, hits the desk. She’s got tiny tits. Which is good for some guys, but me? Not so much. If Melody had tiny tits, I think I’d be into it. If she was blue, I’d be into that, too.
But I refuse to think about Melody. I reach out and palm the girl’s breast, and she fucking moans like she’s climaxing. It’s fascinating, at any rate. I drop my hand, and she goes for my pants. Unbuttoning my jeans.
I grab her wrist and make her palm my dick through the denim.
“What do you feel?” I ask in a low voice.
“You’re…” She’s getting redder. “Not hard.”
“You should do something about that,” I suggest.
Her tongue swipes across her lower lip, and she pushes my jeans and boxer briefs down. My cock is still a good size when it’s flaccid, and she takes it in hand. Her other cups my balls.
Not even a fucking twitch.
She leans in and wraps her lips around the head, sucking and swirling her tongue around. She’s making noises that grate on my ears; her grip isn’t right. It’s just all wrong.
I grab her hair, forcing her to take me deeper. Proving a point, even without looking at my songbird. Even soft, I hit the back of her throat, and she gags around me.
Nothing.
“Pathetic,” I finally spit, unable to hold it in any longer. I drag her off me, practically tossing her to the floor next to the desk. “Your mouth can’t get me hard? Clearly you haven’t been with a real man before. One that doesn’t get turned on by parlor tricks. Get out.”
She stares at me from the floor, unmoving for a moment. And then she bursts into action. She scrambles to get her shirt back on and stammers something toward Melody. Or me, I don’t know. I don’t move until I hear the sound of the condo door slamming. Only then do I look at Melody. I take in her white-knuckled grip on the arms of the chair.
I look at her, at her thighs pressed together and the anger on her face.
“Take your shirt off.”
She shakes her head. “Fuck you, Rhodes.”
24
JACOB
Ismile. I like a challenge. I welcome it, and I approach her without fear. She leans back in the chair, tipping back to keep her eyes on mine. I slowly take off her glasses and fold them, setting them aside. Then, with one finger, I trace the collar of her pretty white blouse.
And then I rip it open.
The buttons pop off, falling to the floor and scattering. Her breasts greet me, barely trapped in a plain, beige bra. I tug the cups down. It frees them, but the underwire keeps them lifted toward me.
A present, exactly like I first envisioned.
Her gaze drops to my stiffening cock.
“Only you do it for me, songbird. Don’t you ever fucking doubt that again.”
I slide my fingers into her hair and draw her forward. She comes, bowing toward me, and I don’t even have to tell her to part those full lips of hers.
