Page 87 of The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck

“It’s one I’m happy to help you with whenever you like.” A corner of his mouth twitches. Like he almost had a happy thought, but not quite. “Though it’s more of a gift you’ve got, when you think about it. And I do think about your tits often.”

“You say the sweetest things. And you do have decent-sized hands.”

“They’re at your disposal.”

I smile at him, but he hesitates. His gaze returns to the elevator walls and doors. All is still. There’s no sign or sound of our rescue and his fists are opening and closing, opening and closing.

He might be used to handling everything himself. He’s had to from a young age. What with boarding schools and news of his parentage and the general chaos that is his life at times. That he didn’t get to go home at the end of the school day must have sucked. I know it’s life for a lot of children, to be away from their family. But still. He doesn’t have to handle it all alone now, at least.

“Ali, have you ever had sex in an elevator?”

His nervous gaze jumps to me. “They’re not really the kind of place I associate with good things.”

“It’s just that if my cleavage managed to distract you for a minute...”

“That’s a kind offer, Leannan. But as much as I enjoy getting you off, I don’t know that now is the right time.”

“I was thinking more of a me-getting-you-off type of situation,” I clarify. “What if I attempted to get you in the mood? Would that be okay with you? Or not so much?”

He thinks it over for a moment. “It would be churlish of me not to at least let you try. Especially since you seem to have your heart set on the idea.”

“That’s kind of you, considering it’s the summation of all my hopes and dreams.”

“Hmm. I thought as much.” His hands haven’t stopped the curling-into-fists thing. But they have slowed down. A promising sight. “Are you sure, Lilah?”

“I can’t see a security camera in here. Can you?”

“No. It’s an old building.”

I drop to my knees with all due decorum and set my purse aside. Thank goodness I’m wearing denim, though the elevator floor doesn’t seem dirty. Some things are definitely more important than getting dust on your clothes. Alistair’s eyes darken as he watches me undo his belt before moving on to the button and zipper of his jeans. Navy boxer briefs wait beneath. There’s something about revealing the metaphorical soft underbelly. His has a dark trail of hair leading down to where I want to go. Guess a distraction is good because his cock is already growing hard. I slide his underwear and jeans down to midthigh, getting them out of the way. It hits me how lucky I am that I get to be this close to him. To be the one who shares these intimacies with him.

“I trust you,” he says quietly. Though he seems to be talking to himself more than me.

His breath hitches when I take hold of him in a firm grip. Holding his cock aside, I press my lips against his torso. Soft skin and firm body beneath. The scent of soap and him. It makes my mouth water. I could breathe him in forever, no questions asked. And the man is no longer fixated on the walls. He watches my every move with absolute focus. Strange how things take on different meanings with different people. Sex seemed more transactional with Josh. But with Alistair it’s like love in motion.

Wait.Did I just use theLword? Because it’s way too soon to be throwing that around. Affection or tenderness or adoration...they all work great. There’s no need to get carried away.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, watching me with a worried gaze.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

The best way to soothe him is soft and easy. At least to start. I trace the tip of my tongue up the underside of his shaft, teasing the raised veins and velvet skin. Touching and smelling and tasting him is a treat to be savored. In an ideal world, I would never take my hands off him. We would always be within reach of each other. And these thoughts are edging dangerously close to theL-word territory again. I’m usually so sensible. Sort of. My heart and mind need to calm the heck down.

Taking the head of his cock into my mouth distracts us both. The salt and musk and heat of him. He widens his stance and lets me have my way. I suck on him hard before teasing the crown with my tongue. My right hand massages his balls while my left holds him steady. Firm stroking motions with my fingers. I really give this blow job my all, a 110 percent commitment to the cause. Nothing matters but him. He makes a noise in the back of his throat, and I take him as deep as possible. Deep enough to make my eyes water. My lips stretch wide around his thick shaft, and his hands find my hair. Which is a much better way to keep them occupied than his previous anxiety.

I suck and stroke my heart out. The way he swells against my tongue is... I don’t know. It’s good and satisfying andyeah. This man can have my mouth when he wants it, and I know he will give back in kind.

“Leannan,” he groans. “Look at you, on your knees for me. Such a good girl and such a clever fucking mouth.”

My hands creep around to his ass and my nails dig in just a little. His hips flex, and his hands tighten in my hair. Every nerve ending in my scalp wakes up at the pinch of pain. Which is nice. And he can pretend he’s in control all he likes, but I’m the one giving him this. We could be anywhere now. He doesn’t care. Or doesn’t seem to mind. His hips rock, pushing his dick deeper, and his eyelids slam shut. Only to open a moment later in panic. “Lilah. Shit. I’m going to come.”

Like that wasn’t the point of the exercise. When he tries to withdraw from my mouth, my nails dig into his ass cheeks. Guess the message is received. Because he comes with an animalistic growl. One I would pay good money to hear on the regular. I swallow over and over. How his face goes slack as his head falls back. A moment of pure peace. In the long term, oral sex is no replacement for therapy. But it works just fine for the here and now.

His chest continues to rise and fall with swift motions. I place a parting kiss on his still-half-hard cock and put his clothing back in place. Without a word, he watches me grab the water bottle out of my bag and take a drink. I can’t read the look in his eyes. Then the overhead light flickers, a grinding sound shakes the elevator, and we resume our descent to the ground floor. Alistair’s jaw is set in place once more, but he doesn’t seem as wired as before.

He offers me his hand and helps me to my feet just in time for the doors to open. We don’t waste any time stepping into the foyer, where a man is waiting. He’s older, has a shaved head and a hefty ring of keys. At the sight of us, he nods once before wandering off down a back hallway. The ring of keys jangles in his hand the whole way.

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