Page 72 of Perfect Praise

Underneath the water, I wrap myself around him. Our hands are everywhere. Soft places. Firm places.

When our heads break the surface, Locke holds me against him and swims to the shallow end.

He swipes my hair out of my face for me after he’s able to stand.

“Hi,” he smiles.

“Hi,” I smile back.

His kiss on my lips is light. I wouldn’t be able to tell someone what is happening if they held a gun to my head. Are we friends? Are we more than friends? Are we dating? Are we fucking?

The lines are blurred. Then just like that it quickly snaps back into place.

“Will you come with me to a charity dinner on Sunday?”

Right. Our arrangement.

He’s using me too.

If he doesn’t feel bad about it, then I shouldn’t either. Caring is overrated, right? We’re both getting something out of this, complete with amazing bonus sex.

“Of course,” I reply, throwing my arms around his neck. “I’ll be sure to talk an extra lot.”

Locke buries his face in my hair, licks across the skin beneath my ear, bites my collarbone.

“The only thing I want to hear come from your lips right now is my name.”

He walks us to the edge of the pool and wedges me against the wall. He removes my hands from his biceps, but I tighten my legs around his waist. His hands grip my hips hard, forcing me to stop grinding my pussy against his cock.

“Locke,” I whine.

Locke chuckles and bites my lip hard. His tongue soothes the sting. “Not like that, Maren. You’re going to moan it. Scream it.” Like I weigh nothing, he lifts me and sits my butt on the edge. “I stare at you in your little golf dresses all day and the only thing I can picture is my face between your legs.” He bites my kneecap. “Spread and show me.”

When I obey, the deep groan from the back of his throat is so low that I almost didn’t hear it. “Locke,” I whisper, less bratty, more needy.

“Relax,” he breathes into my inner thigh. “Lie back and let me show you how much I appreciate you.”

“Locke,” I beg, now all moan before he’s even touched me.

I gasp as his thumb runs over my clit before he pushes it into me. I lean back on my hands, because Locke won’t accept anything less.

“How could anyone not praise you? So wet for me all the time. Such a good listener. Just begging to be fucked.”

I nod and breathe out. When Locke teasingly licks my clit, my hand wraps around the back of his head to apply pressure, forcing him to bury his face.

He only smirks and lets me—his eyes, latched to mine, are the darkest I’ve ever seen them. It’s like he’s drilled into mine and refuses to look away.

Out of all the places in the world Locke Hughes could be, he’s here, eatingmeout like he can’t get enough, gettingmeoff like he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.

I have no thoughts. I’m mesmerized, watching his tongue work, feeling every one of his enthusiastic groans tremble through my legs. Every feeling I have, I hone in on, trying to experience them all at once, catalog them. I’ll miss it when we’re no longer doing this.

My hips arch repeatedly as I ride his perfect tongue. His two fingers press against my G-spot, and the pressure starting to build is so intense that it’s almost uncomfortable.

“Locke,” I moan, halfway between euphoria and hesitation. My entire body is trying to fight what is happening.

In all my kink googling, I now have extensive knowledge on things I didn’t before, and I know exactly what Locke is trying to do. How I feel right now is exactly how most people described it. Though it intrigues me, the unknown is a little scary, and no one has ever taken the time to get to know my body that intimately.

“Relax,” he says, pulling back an inch.

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