Page 122 of All Twerk, No Play

I opened my mouth … then shut it. I’d been so impulsive before, demanding he be my boyfriend so suddenly that he doubted I meant it. The words tickled my vocal chords, so I grabbed his face, interrupting his Sephora promises to pull his mouth down to mine, channeling all those feelings into this urgent kiss.

He warned against my lips, “The eggs will get cold.”

“Fuck the eggs,” I murmured, sliding my tongue into his mouth to hold back the declaration. He deserved better than some lust-filled confession.

No, not lust. So much more than lust.

He pulled away to slide the pan to a back burner. I worried again about the words slipping out … and knew exactly how to keep my mouth busy. As he flicked off the gas, I dropped to my knees and reached for his shorts.

“You’re going to be late to work,” he muttered.

“Fuck work,” I said, tugging down his workout shorts.

“Never thought I’d hear you say that.” His shocked laughter echoed around the kitchen. “If I’d known you liked bubble bath this much, I would have—”

He gasped, gripping the oven door’s handle as I wrapped my lips around his cock.

Tonight. I’d take him out to a nice dinner tonight, get steak and champagne, and when he asked what we were celebrating, I’d tell him how I felt. Maybe I’d ask him to move in—if he didn’t need his apartment downstairs, then he could focus on his music. We could talk about our future together.

I’d never looked forward to the end of the workday so much.

When I lifted my hands to wrap around his shaft, I loosened my elbows so the towel fell onto the floor, my naked body on display. An offering to the deity I worshipped.

I tilted my head back, opening my throat to draw him deeper as I looked up at him. His half-lidded eyes were locked on my face, his breathing shallow as he watched his cock thrust into my mouth, murmuring words of praise that only fueled my desire.

I love those eyes, that nose, those lips, that jaw …

“Shit, Tor, you’re so—” he gasped when I licked up his shaft, “God, I love your mouth.”

The words suspended in the air between us. His eyes never left mine as his thumb caressed my cheek, and I knew that he was thinking it.

He told me on his mom’s porch that he wouldn’t rush me … but he’d been telling me without words. Every stolen kiss during bootcamp, every coffee with the perfect creamer ratio, every lyric pointing me toward the truth.

Had he been trying to tell me on his birthday? Or at Kate and Paul’s 4th of July party last week? There had been so many moments like this, when the air between us felt thick with promise, then kissed me like he meant something more. Had he been keeping his mouth busy too?

Tonight, I promised myself again, releasing his shaft to caress his balls the way I knew would send him over the edge. He grunted, tightening his grip on my ponytail, as he came down my throat. After a final kiss to his crown, I stood and wiped my thumb along my lip. “Gonna get dressed now.”

I chose Cruz’s favorite sundress—the one with a sweetheart neckline and a flirty hem. He wrapped my cold eggs in a breakfast burrito, then walked me to work while I ate it.

We walked hand-in-hand on the cloudless summer day, the birds chirping and the sun on my pale skin, and everything felt right with the world … and I couldn’t help but wonder: How the hell had this happened? I’d felt magnetically attracted to him right away and worked so hard to keep my distance, but he’d snuck in through the back door.

Oh my god, the back door …

A sound I hadn’t heard in years vibrated in my throat, high and fast.

Cruz stopped suddenly, tugging on my hand to get me to face him. I slapped a hand over my mouth, which only extended the warbling.

“Is that …” his brows shot up. “Are you giggling?”

His disbelief made it worse, my stomach pulsing as it pressed the air out of me in a squeal. Those incredible lips lifted into a joyful smile.

“I was thinking about …” I giggled again, then bit my lip. “Nevermind, it’s nothing.”

“You can’t leave me hanging. Tell me what inspired that adorable giggle, or I’ll worry that I have snot hanging out of my nose and you’re laughing at me.”

“Definitely not,” I said, unable to keep a straight face. “I mean, actually, I’m sort of laughing at you.”

“This isn’t helping,” he said, wiping under his nose.

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