Page 164 of How to Win the Girl

In fact, it spurs me on, one of my large hands sliding from her front to her backside, my forefinger flirting perilously close to her asshole.

I move it back and forth, testing the waters.

When she doesn’t protest, I push my finger inside—not all the way, just a fraction of an inch.

That does the trick.

That pushes her over the edge, and she’s tapping frantically on my shoulders. Fingers grip my hair, tugging.

She’s ready to come.

I suck harder, finger still up her ass.

She has her head tilted back on the tile wall, and her legs quiver—enough that I know her body is about to be wracked with shivers and tingles in her pussy.

Yeah, baby, come for me.

I milk it out of her, loving every second of her release, knowing how difficult it is for her to keep quiet and to stop herself from crying out.

I feel her orgasm on my tongue, pressing it deep inside her, licking her cum and swallowing it.

I suck a few seconds more to draw it out before I pull back, resting on my haunches, watching her breasts heave up and down.

One hand covers her mouth.

One hand covers her beating heart.

* * *

Daisy

He pullsmy thong up because I don’t have the strength to do it on my own; I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to manage walking back into the restaurant. Surely, I’ll need to lean on him for support.

My legs feel like Jell-O.

My vajayjay is a mess.

There’s no way I can walk.

And how the hell am I going to look the server in the eye when he brings us our dinner—if he hasn’t done so already? I look like I’ve been fucked, but I was only fucked with his mouth.

Again.

Twice in a bathroom.

Great record, Daisy.

I fix myself before we unlock the stall and walk to the sinks, Drake kissing me on the forehead and slapping me on the ass before soaping his hands and washing them. He slowly pulls the door open a fraction and peers through the crack to see if anyone is lingering.

He slips out.

I brace my hands against the cold stone counter, staring at myself in the mirror—the same way I’d done the last time he went down on me, feeling an overwhelming sense of deja vu.

Lips puffy. Hair mussed.

Skin flushed.

Even the side of my neck has beard burn—and he’d shaved for our date—the delicious way he smelled turned me on the second I climbed into his truck at the beginning of the evening.

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