Page 82 of Worth Every Risk

The familiar fizzing pressure grows at the base of my spine. I curl upwards, peeling my spine off the carpet so I can grab fist-fulls of his hair with one hand and push his head deeper between my thighs. My other hand rests on the carpet behind me, levering me off the floor as I ride his tongue, taking my pleasure from his mouth.

“Oh, God, I’m close… so fucking close…” I throw my head back as I thrust my pussy into his face, my moans mixing with the wet slurping sounds as he eats me out. The arm I'm using to prop myself up begins to shake, the lactic burn too much.

Matt gives a long, hard suck on my clit, pushing me right over the edge, and all of my senses blaze in a bonfire of orgasmic bliss. I’m nothing but ecstasy and Matt Hawkston between my thighs.

I can’t hold myself up as my orgasm crashes through my body, my thighs trembling around his ears. He tilts my hips up, an arse cheek cupped in either hand as he devours what’s left of me, pushing my orgasm right to the edge, punishing every last tingle from my clit and cunt.

When I’m nothing more than a boneless, quivering mess, my breaths heaving, he lowers my limp body. My legs shake violently.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, his handsome face drawn into such an expression of concern as he eyes my quivering thighs, that I almost laugh. The dark stubble over his chin gleams with my juices.

“The tension. The orgasm,” I murmur, as my legs continue to shake violently. “So, so good. You’ve made my ears ring.”

He laughs. “Thank fuck. I thought I’d broken you.”

I cover my eyes with my forearm. “You have.”

A door slams.

I jerk to an upright sitting position, pulling my knees in to restrain the shakes. “What’s that?”

Matt’s eyes are wide with alarm as he gets to his feet, pulling himself up with one hand on the back of the sofa.

“Mr Hawkston?” comes a deep, male voice. “I’m going to head home now.”

Matt slams a hand to his forehead. “Fuck. My driver. Charlie’s home,” he says. “I forgot he was coming back tonight.”

“Dad?” Charlie yells.

I scrabble for my clothes, pulling on my t-shirt. My heart is hammering. This is horrendous. At least Matt’s fully dressed.Thank God.

Matt grabs my jeans and knickers off the floor and throws them at me. I catch them and begin to haul them on. Matt kneels to help me, the two of us behind the sofa.

“Hurry up,” he hisses, as my foot gets stuck in the hem of the jeans.

“I’m trying,” I whine, pulling out of his reach. His haste isn’t helping anything. I have half a leg in when the door opens.

“Dad?”

Matt springs upright, swiping his hair off his forehead. His other hand, hidden from Charlie’s view behind the sofa, presses a flat palm to the air, signaling me not to move. I must be losing my mind because the wordless command sends a fission of sexual energy through my core.

“Welcome home. Good journey?” Matt sounds so cool that there’s no way Charlie would suspect anything if he hadn’t popped up from behind the sofa like a Jack-in-the-box. I wish I could see Charlie’s face, because then I’d have some idea of whether he’s surprised or not.

“Traffic was bad,” Charlie replies. His tone is level; no indication he thinks his father’s actions are weird or out of place.Phew.

Matt walks around the sofa, and I can no longer see him. I’m trying so hard not to make a sound that I’m barely breathing. I run through a list of excuses for my presence on the floor behind the sofa, but come up wanting. The sofa shunts towards me, a nightmarish hulk of designer fabric on the move, as one of them—Charlie?—slams himself down on it, and I cower.

“I haven’t eaten,” Matt says. “Have you?”

Charlie makes a sort of grunting sound. “No.”

“Let’s go out?”

“Only if we can get fusion at Los Mochis.”

“Whatever you want.”

The sofa creaks and I assume Charlie’s standing again. I hold my breath, waiting for them to leave the room. A few minutes later, I hear them walk out the front door. An acute sense of abandonment bites into my skin. I might be fucking Matt Hawkston, but he’s not taking me for fusion food at Los Mochis, wherever the hell that is. He’s not taking me anywhere but his bedroom. His sauna. His fucking drawing room floor.

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