Page 25 of Missed Exit

“The answer is yes,” I confess. “With or without the bottle. Your call.”

“No bottle this time,” he says, but he picks it up, anyway. “Let’s take it to the bedroom with us in case we want to use it again later.”

“Later? Somebody’s confident.”

“Trust me, we’re going to be a while.”

“Not if we never get started.”

“Oh, we’re about to get something started, sweetheart.”

14

Greta

Raw Honesty

Lyingonmybedwith my legs spread while Law lowers his face between them, I have to rally my confidence again. The vulnerability of intimacy dawns with inopportune clarity.

I’m not afraid this man is going to hurt me in any way, but still, being on this threshold has me suddenly apprehensive. Officially crossing the line from neighbors to lovers . . . I don’t want to stop it, but the stakes between us will always be higher after this.

He doesn’t plant soft kisses and work up to more.

Just like he doesn’t knock on my door, he charges right into my body, too. And Jesus fuck, does he know how to make an entrance. His hot mouth is definitely welcome.

The back of my head sinks deeper into the pillow as his tongue probes me while the rest of his mouth massages tender places in a way that fingers and devices will never be able to replicate.

If this is what it means to be taken to church, then hallelujah! Your girl’s found religion.

I grasp at the sheets while he teases around my clit. When his tongue slows, flattening to blanket my nerve endings with heightening heat and an obscenely sublime increase in pressure, my hips wantonly rock upward, seeking more.

His mouth takes the cue, closing in to suck my clit for a moment before going back to the tongue lashing and mouth grinding actions that make my head loll from side-to-side. He alternates now, giving my clit more friction each time he returns to it.

The scruff on his jaw lightly abrades my skin like the gentle scratch of sharp fingernails, teetering on the edge of a near-tickling scrape, a sensation that I desperately need to either intensify or stop altogether because it’s pulling me into a frenzied purgatory. The maddening agitation, contrasting with the strengthening smooth, slick caresses of his tongue, ignites a simultaneous burst of sparklers behind my eyelids and in my core. Quick bright flashes sync with the tingling surges of heat rushing from my core, pulsing into my legs, making them quiver before the muscles seize and attempt to squeeze my thighs shut.

His shoulders tense to hold my legs open until I buck and pant my way through the most intense orgasm I’ve had in ages. Possibly ever.

We have obliterated the line between friends and lovers. There is no crossing back over once you’ve flooded his face.

This isn’t a drunken, fumbling quickie that we can both ignore afterwards or decide to laugh off and promise ourselves will never happen again. We are too sober to make excuses, and this is too vividly intentional to ignore.

And we’re just getting started.

He hungrily kisses his way up my body, stopping to lavish my nipples with the same attention he gave my clit. I look down, and the sight of his face at my breast spawns a lusty haze that clouds my vision. It feels far more sensual than I was prepared for.

I can’t deny there’s a connection between us that transcends the physical, but I didn’t expect to feel this level of comfort with him.

His mouth reaches my neck, and he bites playfully at the soft spot above my collar bone, sending a spasm of pleasure across my shoulders. It spreads down my chest, and my nipples perk up again as the phantom sensation of his hot mouth surrounds them.

My pussy hasn’t forgotten the mastery of his mouth either. He left it soaked and clenched, but I feel another round of my juices gush with his body hovering over mine.

“You are so goddamn beautiful, Greta.” His kiss shuts out the world like brocade Victorian bed curtains have been drawn around us. Everywhere else is dark and far away.

The crown of his heavy cock lurches at my entrance. He’s thick and hard, and despite my abundant wetness, the increasing pressure of the stretch as he inches inside me causes the slightest, most delectable pain. I know it will subside once he’s all the way in, but I almost don’t want it to go away.

I think he’s only starting slow because he knows it’s been a while since I’ve taken a dick. He doesn’t need to. I assume he’ll abandon the gentleness soon, but he could fuck me like a savage right out of the gate.

I’m dying for him to use me, to take what he needs . . . to confirm he doesn’t see me as too meek or too fragile to handle him.

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