Page 36 of The Unraveling

“Jesus Christ,” I say, seeing his dick. “It’s fucking huge.”

I give a laugh, and so does he, but it quickly gives way as I climb back on top of him. He reaches his fingers up to my mouth, and I wet them. He then pulls them away and lubricates the head of his penis before I envelop him.

He’s so hard and big that I have to go slowly, but soon the desire takes me over and I find myself moving on top of him with hunger.

I bend over him and bite his jaw lightly, then kiss his neck. He groans softly against me.

“Jocelyn, god, you’re so…shit.” He goes breathless as I hit him with a new angle.

He flips me over on my back and I let out constant moans as I watch his incredible body move powerfully against mine.

When I get close, I tell him, and when I do, he tells me that he is, too.

We finish at the same time, him pulling out just in time.

Afterward, we lie beside each other catching our breath.

“That was the best sex I’ve had in—” he starts.

I interrupt him by covering his lips with my fingers. “Just say it’s the best you ever had.”

He bites the tips of my fingers and when I pull them away, he says, “I didn’t want to say that. I wanted to seem cooler than that. That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

“Me too,” I lie. It was fucking amazing, I want more. But the best sex I’ve ever had was with Jordan.

“Liar,” he says.

“What?” I feign innocence.

“It’s okay,” he says. “Maybe this time it’ll be the best you ever had.”

And with that, he lowers his mouth to my body again, kissing me from my neck to my tit, to my stomach, and then lower, lower…

His mouth on my clit, I moan as we begin again.

Chapter Eleven

“You’re not supposed to know about the black book,” says Mary Simon.

Arabella gives her a devilish look and sips on her Chablis. I sip on mine and look between them. “What black book?”

Mary throws back her head in a laugh. She reminds me of Kristin Scott Thomas with her posh, gentle accent and piercing blue eyes. She’s probably in her sixties, but you get the feeling by looking at her that she’s gotten more and more beautiful and glamorous with every passing year.

Somehow, Arabella finagled a last-minute meeting with Mary Simon. She says this never happens.

“Darling, I love you, but you must stop telling everyone about it. You could really get me into trouble.”

“Nobody would dare! You’re Mary Simon. They cower in your presence.”

She laughs again and shakes her head. “You’re such a flatterer. Excuse me”—she flags down the bartender—“could we get an order of that—what’s that special popcorn you have?”

“The black truffle and Parmigiano-Reggiano, ma’am?”

“Yes, yes, that’s the one, we’ll have one of those to share, please, thank you, Tommy. And another round for us.”

I exchange a look with Arabella. It’s going well.

Mary Simon is the director of Major Gifts, which means basically that she’s the link between me and the donor who could change my life.

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