Page 149 of Tell Me Something True

And that had his orgasm barreling toward him like a freight train. He slid his hand from her chest around to her nape, caging the back of her neck. Holding her still.

“Swallow it,” he demanded on a rough groan as pleasure surged through him. “Every drop.”

He came long and hard, shooting his release into her mouth over and over, her throat working frantically as she obeyed him, her expression eager, as if her only purpose was to please him, but she couldn’t keep up with his rough movements, with the amount of his release, and when his cock slipped out from between her lips, spent and glistening and still half-hard, cum dribbled out of the corner of her mouth.

Gulping in air, hand shaking, he swiped it up with his thumb then slid his thumb between her lips. “Every drop,” he murmured huskily.

Looking up at him, her breathing as ragged as his, she caught his thumb between her teeth, swirled her tongue around it, then sucked it clean.

The moment he dragged his thumb from her mouth, she licked her lips as if it had been the best thing she’d ever tasted. His cock twitched, like it wanted to start over from the beginning and do it all again.

Hopeful of the little fucker to think it wouldn’t need at least an hour to recover after coming so hard he was still seeing stars.

Arrogant of it to think it’d get another chance when Tabitha reached up and tugged on his wrist still wrapped around her hair.

Blowing out a breath, he gently unwound her hair from his hand. Before he could offer her help, she rose to her feet on her own.

Watching her, he tucked his cock back into his pants. Zipped and buttoned his jeans while she smoothed her hands over her hair.

He could have told her not to bother. She looked like someone who’d been on their knees with a dick shoved down her throat and a hand in her hair. Her face was flushed, her lips swollen and red, her lipstick smeared. And even with all the smoothing she was doing, her hair was a poofy, mussed mass of golden waves.

Scrubbing his hand up and down the back of his sweat-dampened neck, he opened his mouth to say something that would prove her trust in him wasn’t unfounded.

Anything that would make her want to stay with him, just a few minutes longer.

Only to mash his lips together when she walked toward him, reaching past him for the door handle.

Like she was done with him.

He moved aside and she unlocked the door. Turned the handle and pulled, then stepped out into the hall.

“Wanting you doesn’t kill me,” he blurted without thought, the words hoarse, like they’d been ripped from his throat.

She stopped, but didn’t turn, just stood in the empty hall, her gaze ahead, shoulders tense.

“It doesn’t kill me,” he repeated, then took in a breath. Let it out slowly. “It scares the shit out of me.”

She faced him, the corners of her mouth pulled down in sympathy. “I know it does. I know what it’s like to be afraid. I know what it’s like to be scared of the people who were supposed to care for me. Of strangers and the dark and raised voices and lifted fists. I know what it’s like to be terrified to trust someone. To be open and honest and show them who I truly am, imperfections, mistakes, faults, and all.”

“I know all of that,” she continued, quietly ruthless in a way he hadn’t realized she was capable of but admired the hell out of just the same. “For a long time, those things were all I knew. But then I realized I deserve more than to hide behind those fears. That I’m strong enough to face them, even if I never conquer them. I’m brave enough to try and to keep trying because I’m worth the effort. I deserve to be trusted. I deserve a second chance. I deserve forgiveness. And I will never again be with someone who can’t, or won’t, give me those things.”

Chapter 29

“Miles,” Tabitha said late the next afternoon after finding him on her doorstep. “What are you doing here?”

Her eyes were narrowed. Her tone flat. Her body angled to make it clear that yes, she was blocking any attempt he might make at entering her cramped, too-warm apartment.

She, too, could be cool, distant, and rude when warranted. And it was absolutely warranted.

She’d meant every word she’d said last night. Had been so freaking proud of herself for speaking her truth. For standing up for what she deserved.

For walking away from him when a big part of her had wanted to stay.

But even after she’d marched to her car, high on indignation and fueled by righteousness, even after she’d gotten back to her apartment, even after knowing, with a bone-deep certainty that she was right, she’d still thought of him.

Of how he’d looked when he’d come in her mouth, his expression fierce and raw and animalistic, as if his pleasure bordered on pain. And just because she could still taste him on her tongue, sharp and salty and musky, and her scalp was still tender from where he’d gripped her hair, her throat sore from taking him so deep, did not mean she wanted him to show up at her door.

Although, if she had magically made him appear, she’d done a damn good job.

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