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“Get on your knees.”
She does. Instantly sinking to the floor as her tongue sweeps her bottom lip.
“You start,” I tell her. “We’ll take it from there.”
My pants hit the floor and I groan as she wraps a hand around the base of my cock. Her touch is soft and she uses her grip to guide the tip to her mouth, wrapping her lips around me, her tongue flat on the underside of my dick.
Perfect.
I don’t know what Chloe is worried about. It’s pretty hard to fuck this up. It’s pretty much un-fuckup-able.
She swirls her tongue around the tip of my cock as I wrap my hands into her hair, her eyes flicking up in question. I grunt instructions to continue and she bobs her head up and down, working the rest of me with her fist. Her eyes remain on mine and this could not be any better. I’ve had women give head like a porn star, but they weren’t Chloe. Sitting on her knees with her lips stretched around me while looking me straight in the eye.
But then she stops, sits back on her heels and looks at me from beneath her lashes. “Tell me what else to do,” she says. “Tell me how to make it better for you.”
“It’s perfect, Chloe.”
But she shakes her head no before I’m finished speaking. “Tell me. Just one thing,” she adds when I don’t answer her quickly enough.
“Give me your hand,” I tell her and she looks surprised for a moment but does. I wrap mine over hers and guide her to cup my balls, squeezing her hand gently. She catches on and takes over from there. Her hand is so fucking soft as she cups them, gently massaging as she takes me back into her mouth and wraps her other hand around my shaft again.
I’m not going to last.
Perfect 2.0.
And when I tell her I’m going to come and she sucks harder?
Best. Day. Ever.
I fall onto the bed after, white spots still impairing my vision while Chloe crawls onto the bed beside me and lies in the crook of my arm while my heart rate returns to normal.
“Five stars,” I say, remembering what she said to me in Vail, and she smiles against my chest. And then I make sure that smile is replaced with a gasp and a lot of moans as I return the favor.
Gasps and moans and toe-curling and an ‘Oh, my God, Boyd, I don’t think I can come again,’ later, I’m moments away from suggesting we move this into the shower for round three when she sits up.
“The dryer stopped.”
And with that she’s out of bed and putting her clothing back on.
“I should go,” she says, as she stuffs her arms into the sleeve of her shirt. “I have lesson plan stuff.” She slides it over her head and lifts an ankle to slip those ridiculous non-pants on over her foot. “And I need to dust.” The other ankle goes through and then she’s pulled the leggings to her waist and dashed into the laundry room. I get out of bed and pull my jeans back on sans underwear and follow her. She’s not even folding her clothes, just stuffing them straight from the dryer to the basket. “I can walk. Or take a cab.” She turns to see me standing in the doorway, her eyes on my naked chest. “Or walk,” she repeats.
“I’ll drive you,” I tell her. “Let me get a shirt.”
“A shirt would be good,” I hear her say behind me and I can’t help but grin, glad she can’t see my face. This girl is a mess of conflicting emotions, but good things come to those who wait. And Chloe is a good thing. A forever kind of thing.
Twenty
Chloe
“You cannot be serious.”
“I am.”
“You need another favor?” It’s two weeks after the Vail trip and a week since I saw him last—when I did laundry at his house. And other stuff. “Don’t you still owe me two favors?”
“So I’ll owe you three, which is a big deal. You could cash in three favors for one really big favor.”
Yes. Yes, my mind does instantly detour into the gutter.
“I don’t know,” I mumble.
“Chloe. I’m not even making this up. I really need your help.”
“What is it? I’m not getting on an airplane.”
“Meet me at the book store down the street. At 18th and Walnut.”
“The book store?” I ask, my voice dripping sarcasm. “Really, Boyd? Are you being serious right now or is this one of your weird come-on lines? ‘Oh, Chloe, I’ll do your laundry,’” I purr into the phone in a sexy voice. “‘Chloe, I have an emergency at the book store. Hurry,’” I add in the same tone. “Please, Boyd,” I finish, my voice back to snarky.
He laughs, his voice a throaty chuckle over the phone, and I can picture his smile as he does. I wonder if he shaved today or if he’s sporting the day-old scruff look. “No, this is legitimate. Hurry up.” Then he hangs up on me before I can object again.
What a weirdo.
But I put my shoes on all the same. And check my reflection in the bathroom mirror while I’m brushing my hair. And sure, I freshen my Chapstick and put on a little mascara. But I’d put on mascara for a run to Starbucks. It doesn’t mean anything.
I exit my building and head down Walnut. The book store is all of three blocks away so I’ll walk. I wonder what Boyd wants and why he is hanging out in a book store late on a Saturday afternoon. I am not having a quickie with him in the history section, if that’s what he’s thinking. Absolutely. Am not.
Less than fifteen minutes after he called I’m in the store. I don’t see him anywhere and I could text him and ask where he is, but I’m sorta curious about what he’s up to. So I’ll poke around a bit first and see if I can’t find him without alerting him that I’m here yet.
I almost miss him, because he’s not alone. I finally find him at a table at the in-store Starbucks. And he’s sitting with a boy who looks like he’s about nine or ten and what appears to be homework spread across the table.
“Hi,” I say and two sets of eyes flick up to meet mine.
“Yo, is this your girlfriend?” the kid asks, appraising me. “She’s hot.”
