Page 65 of Rookie Recovery

Holy fuck, I was going to lose it. The feel of his tongue on mine. Rough, and smooth, and soft, and hot. The taste of him. His slick, sweat dampened shirt beneath my fingertips, and the body beneath that.

Oh my fucking god, that body.

“Kitty.” I pushed another gap between us, used my forearm as a brace against that huge barrel chest of his.

“Bowie,” Jamie whimpered. “I need to taste you. I need you … that fucking bowed lip of yours.” He rubbed his thumb against my mouth and licked it.

Down, boy, I mentally told my cock. I wouldn’t get a chub with Jamie so out of it. Not happening.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been thinking about these lips.” Jamie lunged again for my mouth, but I sidestepped him.

“Okay, but you’re drunk and this feels …” Like it shouldn’t be happening.

Who was I kidding?

It felt good. So fucking good. To finally hear the man I’d been obsessed with since I first walked into his office, saying he was into me, too. To feel his lips against mine, his firm grip twisting into my hair, his hard body pressed against mine.

“But I need you, little winger.”

My insides wobbled, my legs trembled as though I was running only on adrenaline. Little winger.

“I neeeeeed you. All of you. You make me feel like a fucking teenager. Let me suck you. I want you to fuck my mouth,” Jamie said, looking down at the ground as if deciding on a good spot to plant his knees.

“This is escalating awfully quickly,” I said.

Who even was I?

I’d have been lying if I said I wasn’t tempted. That I wouldn’t go home and picture exactly that, as I fucked my own hand. But I knew Jamie was only saying these things because he was pissed, and as soon as he’d sobered up we’d be back to miserable, scowly Sargeant Perfect.

But yeah, wrong wrong wrong.

“Jamie,” I said, forcing him to stand straight and look into my eyes, so he knew I was being serious. “I’m not going to let you blow me outside of The Lounge—”

“Then come home with me,” he said, scooping my hair behind my ear.

I blew out a breath. “Okay, I’ll come home with you. But we’re not going to fuck. I’m going to get you into bed. Get you some whatever Americans have in their medicine cabinet to cope with hangovers, some water, and a barf bucket, just in case.”

Jamie didn’t seem like he would puke, but sometimes these things could really catch you by surprise. He actually looked a little disappointed.

“Listen, Kitty, when you sober up, if you remember any of this and you feel the same, I’ll let you do whatever you want with me. Fuck me however, whenever, wherever you like. But this will not be our first time. Our first time’s gonna be fucking magical, and I want you to remember it all. Because I’ll never forget it.”

Jamie stepped into the gap between us again and planted a chaste kiss on my forehead. “Okay, baby. You call the shots. I’ll make you feel real good. But not tonight.”

“Thank you.”

And besides, I thought, our first time is going to be me on my knees for you.

Chapter 9

Jamie

I woke to a ripping headache and, yes, a seventy-pound golden retriever. Sitting on my chest. Licking my damn eyeballs.

I groaned as I rolled over, the expensive, silky sheets of my bed sliding across my bare chest. I gave said retriever a half-assed poorly aimed head-ruffle, then dislodged her with a groan as I reached for my blinking phone on my nightstand.

I had thirty-two unread text messages. Goddamn why?

But there was only one I cared about.

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