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His beer pauses halfway to his mouth. “Impressive?”
“You impress me,” I admit in a breathy voice that doesn’t sound like my own.
He rolls his head along the back of the couch until our gazes meet. “Will you let me eat your pussy?”
I sputter, wasting perfectly good oxygen. “W-what?”
“You heard me.”
“Probably not correctly.” If I had more than one sip of beer, I’d be willing to put a hefty wager on hearing things. “Who just asks something like that?”
“Someone impressive.”
“You’re taking my meaning out of context.”
“Does it matter?”
No, not if the tingles spreading from my lower belly are any indication. The traitorous dry spell I’m stuck in insists on mocking me. “Will I let you…?”
“Eat your pussy,” he finishes.
“Right,” I exhale on a squirm. The hungry minx I haven’t properly fed in years won’t be silenced. She rises to the surface with snapping jaws. “Um, what girl wouldn’t?”
“I’m only asking you.”
For some stupid reason that makes me feel special, which means I should probably leave. “You actually want to… do that?”
Jake’s hooded eyes follow the flush racing up my neck. “Do what? Say it for me.”
I clench my eyes shut. “Eat my pussy.”
His hat is pulled low, but I can see the restraint fraying in his gaze. “Fuck, you’re sexy. And yes, I want to. Very much so.”
“Really? I didn’t think guys—”
A loud rumble in his throat stops me short. “You only need to worry about me.”
“Do you expect me to reciprocate?” My gaze trails to the bulge in his jeans, putting strain on the zipper. This isn’t completely new territory for us. Our history didn’t travel that far south, though.
He slices a hand through the space between us. “Absolutely not.”
I scoff and cross my arms. “That’s one way to make a girl feel warm and fuzzy.”
“It’s just honesty. I don’t want anything in return.”
It’s baffling that I haven’t denied his request. I should say no. That’s the logical response. But I find myself wanting to be very illogical. Especially when this man is involved. “Why?”
“Too many complications.”
“But you doing something extremely intimate to me isn’t complicated?”
“Nope, it’s simple. I’ll take off your pants, eat you for dessert, and make you scream my name. But not too loud.” He points upstairs before pressing a finger over his lips.
As if a reminder of where we are and who I’m with is necessary. “I’m not the vocal type.”
“We’ll see.” His eyes flash, accepting a challenge I didn’t intend to make.
That’s when I notice I’ve been absently scooting backward on the sofa. My shoulders are flush with the pillows. “Are you sure this is a good idea?”
