Page 78 of The Masks We Wear

But unlike our farewell in the green room, there’s no finality to it. This feels like an introduction.

The one of many.

He breaks our kiss, and my mouth mourns its loss, but it only lasts a moment. His warm lips trail down my body, his lashes fluttering across my skin like butterfly kisses as he descends.

Shivers wrack through me as I watch him, anticipation coiling low in my belly. I writhe beneath him, thrusting my body into his until he takes one large hand and holds me in place.

I groan my disapproval, and he smiles against my thigh. He gently removes my panties and gives me a warning. “Try not to move.”

Spencer’s face disappears, and a second later, I throw my head back into the pillow, his warm mouth shocking my nerves into overdrive. His tongue moves quickly, prying my pussy open and finding my throbbing clit immediately, forcing my back to arch.

A growl rips from the depths of his throat as he grabs both sides of my ass, pulling my body closer toactuallyfeast on. One hand reaches up, pulling my bra down, letting my breast tumble out. He rolls the pebbled nipple in his fingers with surprising expertise while his other sneaks down below his mouth and slides inside my soaking channel.

My eyes flutter shut, unable to look any longer, and a long moan spills from my mouth.

“You taste too fucking good,” he groans.

His fingers curl while his tongue continues its assault, moving in rapid circles until stars light up the inside of my eyelids. My muscles tense, lightning bolts of pleasure spreading through my body, from the tips of my toes to the ends of my hair. Every inch of skin tingles until finally, with one last suck of my sensitive bud, the orgasm rips through me. My back arches from the bed, and my hips move of their own accord, chasing Spencer’s mouth as my pussy tightens around his finger, drawing it deeper inside.

It’s not until I’m greedily gulping air that I realize I was holding my breath. He laps at my orgasm, draining my cunt of every drop until I finally come down, and my eyes trail along my bare stomach to a grinning Spencer.

He pulls his fingers from my pussy with an audible squelch and samples each one, closing his eyes as if it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted. After he’s done, and a blush has worked its way up my entire face, he threads a hand under my back and scoops me up like a doll, placing me at the head of the bed. I grab the top sheet, sliding it over the both of us as he settles in beside me.

Realization starts to sink in, and my pulse increases, screaming the millions of ways this will explode in my face. My body vibrates from the erratic thoughts, and a horrible chill takes over.

None of this is what I expected. It wasn’t angry or aggressive. It was passionate, and specifically just for me.

Why would he do that?

As if he can read my mind, he kisses my bottom lip twice. “Stay with me. Whatever’s going on up there, ignore it and just be here in this space with me.”

I nod, and the softness of his voice pushes away the stress, at least for now.

Spencer rests in the crook of my arm, draping his own across my waist to pull me closer. The temptation to play in his hair is strong, so I decide not to fight it, threading my fingers in his soft locks.

He glances up and kisses the tip of my chin before laying back down and sighing. “Do you remember that time when it was raining, and I came over, and we stayed up all night in the treehouse?” His voice is low, still filled with sex, as his hand trails up my naked stomach. Every spot his fingertips touch lights the skin on fire underneath, and suddenly my core is aching all over again.

I bite back a laugh. “That was every day for half our summers. You’ll have to be more specific.”

He huffs through his nose. “Good point. But this time was different. You asked if I’d been crying.”

There was only one time that ever happened. We were in sixth grade, and the storm outside was one for the books. When Spencer sent me the text, asking to meet, I didn’t hesitate. I think a piece of me knew something was wrong.

His eyes were red and puffy—a look I wore more than I ever let on. So when he told me he wasn’t upset, I knew it was a lie. I didn’t push him, though. Instead, just brought out my laptop, and we watched a movie he had been begging to watch for weeks. When he fell asleep, I cried, cuddling him until I didn’t have any tears left.

“I remember.”

He pinches my nipple softly, and I gasp. “I lied.”

Nodding, I tug his hair to make him look at me. “I know.”

He flips over, resting his forearms on either side of my head. His chocolate eyes search my face, and I melt under the golden flakes swirling in them.

“It was when we found out my mother’s treatments weren’t working, and she was advancing to near moderate stages of Alzheimer’s. It was still early, but they knew it wouldn’t be long.” He presses his lips to mine.

Once.

Twice.

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