Page 27 of Never Say Yes To Your Boss

He doesn’t do one of those crushing kisses. My hands are still on his warm, scruffy cheeks, and he leans in, and I basicallyguide him to me even with my eyes closed. He takes his sweet time, and all I can smell is him. I know he’s getting close because I can feel his warm, minty breath on my cheek, and then he grazes his lips over mine. Yes, grazes. He barely touches me, but that quick scrape of the softest lips makes me whimper, and then all bets are off because I’m threading my hands through his hair, dragging his face to me, and vacuuming his lips into my mouth. Alright, so I have a little more tact than that, but the lip-crashing thing happens now. I throw my arms around his neck and wriggle up against him, needing to be closer. Closer. Still not close enough.

The fire that sweeps through me burns hot and fast like the kindling was already laid, all the paper scrunched up and the driest possible sticks waiting for the first strike of the match.

“Thank you for being so nice to my family,” I gasp out as I take a nano-break to catch my breath.

Darius sweeps his thumb along my bottom lip, making me ache all over in response. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“No, I do. Thank you for everything.”

“Is it okay if I kiss you again?”

“Yes. Please. Please do that, Darius. I want you to kiss me so much more than I want a peanut butter and jam sandwich. Speaking of which, by the way, are you down here because you couldn’t sleep because you’re hungry too?”

His eyes darken, his pupils eating up the chocolate parts until they’re almost black. “Yes, Everleigh,” he says thickly, darkly. “I’m absolutelystarved.”

He kisses that word into my mouth, feeding it to me with his tongue along mine. I whimper and slam my body up against his, and he responds by grasping my hips and lifting me onto the prep table. Oh, I see how this is going to go. He’s all super nice, which wasn’t unexpected in normal life, but in the bedroom, he’sprobably all dark and mysterious, and yes, please, god, yes, I want that. I want him.

I want him so badly that my hands are already working my pajama bottoms off. Darius is helping me, which is a good thing because I’m becoming hopelessly entangled in the fuzzy fabric. He peels them off of me, exposing the plain, slightly ugly set of black cotton panties I have on below. What? I don’t wear freaking lace to bed. I’m not sure I wear lace, period. Because I’m a boring, comfortable, cotton type of girl. What’s wrong with that?

Darius sweeps his hands up my legs, sending showers of sparks scattering through me. He nudges my thighs apart, and I spread them for him. I’m apparently much easier to open than that cursed jelly. “What are you doing to me, Darius?” I ask that with my head thrown back, leaning hard on my arms with my hands splayed over the stainless steel surface, which was cold but is now warming up with the heat of my body.

“I’m going to worship your sweet pussy with my tongue, my lips, and maybe my teeth. Is that okay?”

I thrust my chest out and roll my hips off the table, lifting up and letting them slam back down. “Yup. Yup, that’s okay, but uh…teeth?”

“Don’t worry, you’ll like it,” he utters, a raw spoken promise that sends shivers up my spine. I love the way his voice just changed. As if staring at my panties, my thighs, my spread legs, and the rest of me that’s already so freaking ready for this has made his breath hitch, his throat raw, and his tone darken up, moving over for the night to take its place.

I open my eyes when nothing happens, and the first thing I see is the giant bulge at the front of Darius’ jeans. Okay, so I don’t think he’s changed his mind. Maybe he’s not sure about how I want this. Or howmuchI want this. We don’t really know eachother that well, and we kind of agreed on a friend zone within the zone of our kind of inconvenient marriage of convenience.

I tear off my own panties, which isn’t as sexy as it sounds because doing it while sitting down isn’t easy. I have to lift one butt cheek and hip, then the other butt cheek and hip, and shimmy and slide, but then they’re finally off. I kick my legs up, intending to launch them onto the floor, but they fly up in the air and go sailing overhead in a shocking arc before landing on one of the hooks on the pot rack above our head.

“Well, shit, I don’t think I could do that again if I were trying—oh god. Oh my god, wow.”

I lose all capability of speech as Darius lowers his head and pulls me forward on the prep table. My legs are already spread around his broad shoulders, and then his tongue, his mouth, and even his teeth are working me like he promised. I can’t keep myself upright, so I fall back on the table. Darius tucks my legs up, setting my feet on his shoulders so my back isn’t bent at such an odd angle, then his mouth seals over my clit and back to the sweet, amazing torture he was doing before.

I let out moans that half the household can probably hear and let him do wickedly wonderful things to me that no one has ever done before. I’ve had a little bit of experience with sex, but just like the basic stuff. I’ve had a lot going on in my life, and it didn’t leave room for dating, but whenever it did, I always seemed to be a jerk magnet who gravitated toward guys who wanted to have five-second sex and then jump up and leave as soon as they were done.

Anyway, I’m not thinking about that now. I’m not thinking aboutthemnow. That’s the past, and the past doesn’t matter. Only right now matters. Only Darius and his sinful mouth, the teeth he scrapes over my clit, shocking the hell out of me and making me feel like my soul is going to crash through my skinand literally ghost my body, and his tongue, which smooths the sting of his teeth, matters.

I’m not quiet, and he’s also not quiet, and the fact that anyone could walk in on us here in the kitchen should make me want to stop, but it doesn’t. It’s two in the morning. What are the odds that someone is going to get hungry and come in here looking for a snack? Right. Don’t answer that.

Darius scrapes his teeth along my inner thigh, nipping me gently, and I stop caring about what time it is or snacks or anything other than the path he kisses back to my center. He does something with his tongue, curling it around my clit before sliding lower, and then,oh my god,he fucks me with it. Like, inside. I can feel myself clenching around him, and I can feel the rush of wetness pooling between my thighs. There’s probably a puddle under me on the table. I should be embarrassed, but instead, I twist up, shoving off my elbows and bowing my spine so I’m sitting up again. I bury my hands in Darius’ hair, which is so thick and soft and such a delight to grasp onto, and wriggle my hips forward so he can have more.

I want him to have it all.

He stops, and I think I’ve done something wrong, but then he looks up at me and lets me see just how wet his lips and chin are before he goes back to what he was doing. He wanted me to see it. To see how I’ve coated his face with my wetness and to see the dark twinkle of delight in his widely blown eyes, which are the color of inky dark midnight.

He thrusts his tongue inside me over and over again, and then he reaches up and pinches my clit. It’s more shocking than it is painful, and it’s like being spanked on the most acute pleasure spot I have. I don’t have time to brace myself before a hard climax comes out of nowhere. The orgasm sucks me into blackness as deep as Darius’ eyes. I let it break over me, and yup, my soul totally ghosts my body while I enjoy the insane pleasureof it. I also don’t slam back into my body for some time, which is just fine by me.

When I struggle back to consciousness, I find Darius kneeling back and looking at me, a wolfish grin splitting his handsome face.

“If this is what giving you a massage gets me, then please, let me give you one more often.”

“Sassy,” Darius teases as he stands up. He smooths two fingers over his bottom lip, then sucks them into his mouth. My clit pulses again, watching him lick me off of himself. He spots something beside me, and I turn and see a jar of peanut butter. Immediately, I get on the filthy train of thought path.

Darius twists the lid off the jar, dips a finger in, and brings it to my lips. I don’t hesitate to suck his digit into my mouth, and it’s the best peanut butter I’ve ever had. “Fuck the jelly. I want you and a peanut butter sandwich.”

He laughs and dips his finger into the jar again, feeding me another finger full of peanut butter. I don’t care that it’s kind of kinky or that my mouth is sticking together. I’d eat the whole damn jar off of him if I could.

---