Page 23 of Check Me Out

“Never,” I groaned.

And we both laughed until I pointed to the pile of clothing. “That better go in the washer.” His expression saidfuck thatand I was thinking the same, but I also didn’t want the place to smell. Oh, and of course it meant he got a good look at my arse as I flounced past him into the kitchen. I’d thought he might follow—those hot blue eyes said he wanted to—and get his hands all over me when I bent to the machine. But when I returned to the living room he stood in the same place, by the sofa.

“When I said I wasn’t sure…” He had that seriously earnest look again. “I meant, I’m not sure I can cope with casual fun. Yes, it’d be fun—Christ, Iknowit would be—!”

I did some of that preening again.

“—but I like you more than that. I know you’re not always serious. That’s fine, I like your sass. I love the way you sparkle!”

Sparkle?Wow.

“But I want more with you.” He winced. “Is that too heavy? Should I leave now?”

“Don’t you dare! It’s okay.You’reokay.” I instinctively felt the same but it was difficult to surrender the banter, wasn’t it? I didn’t think I’d ever talked seriously to a guy, not like this anyway. Things usually started with a hook-up, meandered into sex, drink, and parties, and…. well, never really moved on from there, until it stopped. Just like with my ex. That had been my MO for years.

This was different. This was scary, I thought, and my gut lurched. “We’ll take it as it comes,” I said. “But, hell yeah, I’m serious about this too.”

He kissed me again, hard and needy, like he couldn’t stay away from my mouth. “Mmm. You taste of lemonade.”

I seriously doubted that, because the Value-Range of drinks was basically carbonated water with a flavour sachet waved at it from six feet away. But it was nice of him to say it like a compliment.

“I should shower,” I murmured in his ear.

“Mmm,” he said again. “I could join you?”

“You have too many clothes on,” I said coyly.

“Easily remedied.” He peeled his soft wool sweater over his head, revealing a delicious stripe of bare belly as his t-shirt rode up over his waistband.

Oh, that was lovely.

“Worst case scenario,” he continued hoarsely. “I can stand outside the shower cubicle and hand you a flannel.”

“Like fuck, you will.” I grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and tugged him closer.

Marcus was laughing, not just his mouth, but his eyes, and even his hands seemed to shiver deliciously across my skin. I slid my hands under his t-shirt and tugged it up and off. His bare skin was warm and flushed, the hair between his nipples ticklish on my smooth chest. The small, brown buds went tight as I ran a fingernail over them. I gasped as he ran his tongue up my neck.

“I’m so glad I met you, Pips. You’re such a delight.”

“Even if it was in the middle of the Great Gazpacho Disaster?” I was fumbling with the zipper of his trousers, eager to feel the weight of him in my palm. “Even if I currently taste of Better-Value lemonade?”

“Especially that. I need something refreshing,” he murmured, and I realised he was lowering himself to the rag rug below us.Oh. My. God. When my desperate, precum-beaded cock slapped against his cheek, I didn’t know whether to apologise or pass out with excited anticipation.

He moved his head so the edge of his tongue caught the drop at my tip.

Ohdammit, it was going to be the excited anticipation!

Down, down he went, licking all the way, his tongue rough and his lips whispering sexy shapes onto my flesh. Then he settled on his knees, his hands bracing on my thighs, and he slid his mouth slowly over my cock.

His lips tightened.

Holy fuck, he knew how to give a blowjob. He held me securely as he sucked and licked and bobbed. I was perilously near coming, listening to his gasps and gulps, smelling the mix of bodywash and gentle sweat on his bare skin, and the citrus shampoo in his hair. Grimacing as I tried to restrain the inevitable, I glanced down at his kneeling body rocking back and forth in front of me.

“Oh.God.Sweetheart.” I wasn’t going to last long.

His eyes flicked up, pupils wide and wild. “I really like you calling me that,” he mumbled through his mouthful.

And that was all it took. The climax rolled through me like the fizz in a bottle of prosecco, and way better than the pathetic bubbles in the YBB Value-Range soda. This was all-consuming, all-rolling, all-roaring. I shuddered, let some embarrassing and inarticulate noises escape, then reached down to grab a generous handful of his lovely, kinky hair. I hung on to that silky, smooth stuff for grim death, I can tell you. A little death, as they call it, though I wasn’t calling anything coherent at the time.

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