“Yes,” I whisper, and I’ve never known the word desperate so completely till this moment. I am desperate everywhere.
He rubs his chin over my shoulder, like he’s stirring up my memory. “My face buried between those pretty legs of yours.”
Groans and curses fall uncontrollably from my mouth. Because . . . that. I want that so much.
Nothing, nothing, nothing in the world compares to the way he went down on me. I can’t even describe it, but the first time he did it he promised I’d love it, and I didn’t just love it, I’d have died for it. He kissed me down there like I was heaven, and he made me feel I’d gone there, too, but even better. I was in heaven, but I was still alive.
“And do I make love to you, too?” he asks.
My voice breaks as I give a yes while he strokes me, his fingers moving faster, sliding between my legs, then over my clit, then back again. A noise comes from my lips. It sounds like a cry.
My God, it’s so good I swear I might cry.
“God,” I breathe out. “Kiss me and fuck me with your fingers.”
His only response is a growl.
He doesn’t turn me around. He doesn’t change positions. He simply presses his cock harder, rubs me faster, then turns my face.
And like this, his front to my back, my face turned to the side, his hand in my shorts, he kisses me hard and fucks me relentlessly with his fingers.
Tightness builds in my belly in seconds. The tension escalates. It grips me as the need to come radiates in my whole body. I grind against his hand, dipping down, riding his fingers as he kisses me like a madman.
I groan into his mouth, then it turns into the start of a scream.
“Oh God,” I say, breaking the kiss. “I’m going to—”
“Quiet,” he instructs, then he slams his mouth to mine again. He steals my kiss, his greedy mouth swallowing the sound of my orgasm. A climax detonates in my body and rattles through me, spreading to every corner.
I shake everywhere. My knees, my chest, my hips.
My feet barely touch the ground as I come on his hand. Kissing and coming, coming and kissing.
And it’s mind blowing.
When I start to float down, he pulls out his fingers, brings them to his mouth, and sucks me off.
I’m dizzy and drugged and so turned on.
He gently spins me around, and shoots me a cocky, lopsided grin. “Have I mentioned how good it is to see you again, angel?”
I sigh happily. “It is good to see you, Tyler.”
He presses his forehead to mine, and that small gesture melts me for him. Butterflies rule my body as he gently kisses my face. “And it’s equally good to make you come again. Don’t forget there’s a whole lot more of that in store for you.” He takes a few steps back and says, “Let me know where to pick you up for the party.”
He turns on his heel and leaves.
My legs are jelly as I walk upstairs to get ready for work.
But I wouldn’t change a thing.
Except my panties. I change those.
15
Delaney
* * *
Later that day, I set a hand on my belly, to quiet the burst of nerves. Little morsels of guilt slip and slide over my skin.
But it’s just an email. It’s not even the email from the private detective. But even so—why do I feel like I’ve done something wrong?
I squeeze my eyes shut, as I grip the bureau in my bedroom, white-knuckling the wood.
Shake it off.
I open my eyes, flop down on my bed, and grab my phone. I re-read Trevor’s note that he sent while I was working today.
* * *
Hey Delaney,
* * *
Hope this doesn’t sound weird, but I saw a six-pack of plastic rings on the ground and thought of you. And, truth be told, the straw I found on my sidewalk the other day reminded me of you, too. Come to think of it, so did the crumpled-up newspaper skittering around outside my office building.
But, I’ll have you know, I cleaned them up and disposed of them properly.
In any case, I had a great time with you the other night, and I swear I’m not just saying that because we share a pet peeve. I’ll be taking off tomorrow for my trip, and I’ll do my best to make sure the contestants don’t shed a tear from my critiques. By the way, do you have a favorite cuisine? Let me know, and I can book a reservation for dinner when I return.
Hope you have a great Girls’ Night Out tonight. No doubt it’ll be a blast.
Talk soon,
Trevor
* * *
I toss the phone to the middle of the bed, grab a pillow, slam it on top of my face, and curse into the downy feathers.
But my pillow tirade solves nothing.
So I sit up, drag my hands through my hair, and try to figure out what the hell to do.
Trevor is such a catch.
He’s so normal.
And fun.
And witty.
And similar enough to me.
And thoughtful.
He’s exactly the type of guy I wanted to date during my last spin of the dating merry-go-round more than a year ago. Why the hell didn’t I meet a guy like Trevor then? Instead, my wanna-get-a-coffee adventures with the opposite sex consisted of a guy who texted me obsessively pre- and post-date, never once using a complete word in his texts, another who confessed to being a big fan of tickling (the date didn’t last long enough for me to learn if he was a tickler or ticklee), and finally a buff, muscular banker who spent our date sharing the details of his workout routine and the bond market. I’m not sure which was more dull, the amount of weight he bench pressed or the amount of money he’d invested.