Page 49 of The Dating Pact

“You all right, honeybee?” he asked, and I curled my lips over my teeth.

Didn’t he know? Didn’t he realize what he was doing to me?

Evidently not.

He made quick work of my shorts and underwear, leaving me in only my bra and tank top, but even that felt too suffocating, so I shucked them off as well. Naked as the day I was born and on display for the world to see, I lay back on the ground. Fortunately, my land was out of the way, and the driveway alone was one hundred yards deep. No one would be able to spy how Jude’s hungry eyes roved over me, how his fingers gripped my thighs, pushing them open. There was nothing and no one to witness how he licked his lips and splayed out on his stomach on the ground between my legs.

He wrapped his hands around my hips, his palms hot while the blades of grass cooled my back. “What do you like for dirty talk?”

“I don’t know.” I met his gaze over the length of my body, and I probably should have felt awkward that I was naked while he remained completely clothed, but I didn’t.

There was nothing awkward about it.

“I’ve only read it in books. No one has ever done it with me,” I said, and I swore his nostrils flared, but he ducked his head too quickly for me to really tell, and then his mouth was on me. He dragged his tongue up my slit, teasing and light, and I reflexively jerked my hips up at the first contact. He merely pushed me back into position, holding me down, and I didn’t hate it.

Not one bit.

He dragged the flat of his tongue up me again, this time finding my clit, flicking it over and over, and I dug my fingers into his hair, loosening the bun on the top of his head.

“Tell me how it feels,” he directed, his hot breath wafting over me, and I easily complied.

“Warm and soft.”

He hummed against me then dragged his tongue up in long, languorous strokes.

“It feels like when I watch you lick your fork or spoon while you’re eating dessert,” I said, and I’d never before heard the sound he made.

He pressed his face more fully against me, his beard scraping along my innermost thighs, his jaw working up and down as he lapped at my clit.

“It feels like I’ve been missing out,” I admitted, curving my back. He dipped his tongue inside me, but I tightened my grip on his hair, whining, “No, please, no.”

He tipped his head up, eyes hooded, cheeks ruddy. “What?”

“Doesn’t feel good. Need my?—”

I didn’t get to finish my statement because he fastened his mouth to the bud of my sex, sucking, and I hissed out a breath. “Yes, like that.”

He didn’t move, didn’t slow down, didn’t speed up. Stayed exactly like that, flicking and sucking at the most sensitive part of me. Since I suffered with dryness, it always took me a while to orgasm, and I couldn’t without stimulating my clit, but I didn’t need to explain that to him. He’d already guessed.

Nor did he try to slide his fingers into me without lube. I briefly thought about reminding him of the condoms and little blue bottle we’d bought. They were still in the office, but I didn’t want him leaving me to find them.

“Don’t stop,” I panted, circling my hips, holding his head to me. He made a noise, as if telling me he wouldn’t stop, and let go of my legs to reach his hands up to my breasts, squeezing them.

I could feel the edge of an orgasm become clearer and squirmed under him, so much that he pinched my nipples, silently ordering me to stay still. But he might as well have strummed a chord on an overstrung bow for how I arched off the ground, crying out to the heavens.

“Oh god,” I whimpered. “Please, please don’t stop.”

He doubled down, plucking at my nipples and licking at my swollen flesh until I couldn’t take it anymore. My climax erupted. I squeezed my eyes shut, heat spiraling from my belly and spilling out to my arms and legs as I bucked and shook. I went so hot all over, even the sticky July air chilled my sweat-dampened skin.

Jude levered over me, placing one hand on the ground next to me while he skimmed the other up and down my side. “Okay, honeybee?”

I nodded, noticing how his hair flopped to the side, a mess from my fingers. I gave in to a drunken giggle and wiped at his mouth and beard before tugging the elastic out of his hair so it curtained either side of his face.

“I’m okay,” I told him, wrapping my hands around his neck, urging him toward me to kiss his lips. I wanted to make a joke, bring us back to the place of banter and ribbing each other, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t bear to let go of this feeling.

He stared at me, perhaps to make sure I was indeed okay, or in search of something else, an answer to what the hell we were doing.

I didn’t dare ask, fearful of putting a name to the way my chest tightened and my heart thudded a little too fast behind my rib cage. Scared he didn’t feel any of that too.

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