Page 7 of The Start of Someday

His head drops, his mouth closing over one of my nipples, alternating between licking and sucking as his finger strokes along something inside me that has my hips lifting up, my head flying back, my voice crying out his name.

“Jackson,” I say. “Yes, right there.”

And then I tumble over, ecstasy flooding through me in long waves that ripple through my entire body. Behind my ears, along my back, through my arms and out to my fingers and toes. It’s delicious, and everything I’ve always believed an orgasm could be but have never experienced.

I’m barely starting to come down when I see him getting out of bed to cross the room…when I register the curse that falls from his lips.

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have a condom.”

I finally look in his direction and find him standing with his pants in one hand and his wallet in the other, his jaw clenched with frustration.

“You don’t have anything, do you?” he asks.

I shake my head. It’s never occurred to me to carry condoms before, though I now realize how stupid that is.

He shifts where he stands, and that’s when my attention drops to the hard shaft between his legs. When I look back up into his eyes, I give him my own smirk. We might not be able to get down to business, but that doesn’t mean I can’t think of a few different ways to take care of him. Ways I can make him squirm and moan, make him just as needy as he made me feel moments ago.

Jackson watches me as I shift my panties back into place and crawl to the end of the bed. Then I cross the room and take his hand in mine, tugging him over to the fancy arm chair that sits in the corner and pushing him into the seat.

“Just because we don’t have a condom,” I tell him as I twist my hair into a knot at the base of my neck, “doesn’t mean the fun has to stop.”

The hazy look of lust in his eyes and the way he reaches out to grip the armrests tells me he’s exactly where I want him to be. Desperate. Hungry. Greedy.

I drop to my knees, using my hands to stroke along the skin of his thighs and hips, along that area right beneath his belly button.

And then I watch him as I take the flat of my tongue and stroke long and hard along the length of him, loving the way his mouth falls open and his eyes glaze over. He looks drunk on this, from just that one little tease.

He has no idea what he’s in for.

I continue working him over for long minutes, until I can feel him trembling beneath my fingers, until he’s so bristling with need that he digs his hands into my hair, tugging it free from the haphazard knot I attempted.

I open wide and take him in deep, encasing him in the wet heat of my mouth and letting him bump the back of my throat before I suck and slide along his length.

“Fuck,” he says, dragging out the word as his head falls back.

But his eyes return to watching me almost instantly, almost like he can’t resist seeing me on my knees before him. He bites his lip and begins to shift his hips in his seat.

I moan around his dick, enjoying the sparks of pleasure I get from where his hands in my hair are beginning to guide me to what he needs. I want this to feel as amazing for him as his attention felt to me, which is why I never look away, never stop the strong suck and bob, never falter my rhythm.

It’s why I bring my hand up to tug and play with his heavy sack, then take the root of him into my hand, stroking at the area my mouth can’t reach.

“Your mouth…” he says, his touch getting a little rougher, his movements a little more erratic, his body beginning to throb with the beginning of his release. “I’m gonna come,” he tells me, and then seconds later, I feel hot spurts against my tongue and the back of my throat.

He sits there for a long minute after he’s done, his eyes glazed over and his breathing heavy. Then he’s yanking me up off my feet and carrying me over to the bed, the two of us stretching out and snuggling up in the blankets as he presses his lips to mine.

chapter three

Abby

“Something’s weird about you today.”

I glance over at Ruth, my boss, finding her leaning against the front counter with her arms crossed and her gaze intent on me. Instead of continuing to watch her as she watches me, I return my attention to the glass container I’m emptying, removing the items that didn’t sell today.

“There’s something weird about me every day,” I reply playfully, tugging the tray of brownies, seven-layer bars, and chocolate chip cookies toward me and out of the cabinet, then crossing to the back counter to begin wrapping them for tomorrow’s discount basket.

“No, this is different,” she insists. “You’re like…even more cheerful, if that’s possible.”

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