Page 96 of Fixing to Be Mine

“Fuck, your mouth,” he whispers as his cock twitches against my tongue.

His balls tighten, and he’s already so close to the edge. I don’t let up—I can’t—because I want this. I want him to lose control, to explode in my mouth, so I can taste every sweet drop of him.

I swirl my tongue around the head, teasing the slit, and then I take him deep again, my throat opening wider, like it was made for him. His grip on my hair tightens, and I can feel his thighs trembling as he fights it, but I don’t let him.

“I’m in control,” I tell him, pulling away, lifting a brow.

He smirks and bites that lip as I move back to him, sucking harder and slower until it’s agonizing for him. My lips seal tight, and then his mouth falls open. I feel the first hot spurt of his cum hitting the back of my throat. I swallow it down greedily,my tongue working him through every pulse, every shuddering release, until he’s spent and panting above me.

I don’t immediately pull away. I keep him in my mouth, my tongue lapping at the sensitive head of his cock, savoring the last drops of his cum as they spill onto my tongue. He’s still hard, still throbbing.

I smile up at him, my hands on his thighs. “Guess you can mark it off your list now.”

“Hell yeah,” he says, pulling me to my feet. “You’re fucking amazing,” he whispers against my lips.

“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say. “You’ve given me more orgasms in twenty-four hours than my ex gave me in four years.”

He gives me that cocky grin that always makes my heart race, and I know this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.

“What a piece of shit.”

“Yep,” I say, lips swollen, pussy still throbbing.

The knock returns.

Colt interlocks his fingers with mine. “Don’t meet their eye, whoever it is.”

When we step back into the hallway, hand in hand, his youngest brother, Sterling, is standing there with his arms crossed, leaning up against the wall. He pulls his phone out and takes a picture of us.

“What the fuck?” Colt asks.

“Hey, Beckett and Harrison bet me a hundred dollars each that you weren’t the two banging in the restroom. I needed proof,” he says.

Colt takes the phone from his hand.

“Delete it, and I’ll give you one thousand in cash,” I say, grabbing Sterling’s cell phone from Colt and handing it back to him.

“Seriously? That’s not how bets work,” he says, confused.

“So? You take an ego hit and earn eight hundred dollars,” I explain.

Sterling holds out his hand, and we shake on it. Then he deletes the photo. “Smart woman. Welp, guess I didn’t see you. Have a good night, lovebirds.”

“Just wait until you start dating seriously. I’m gonna embarrass the hell outta you,” Colt tells him, leading me back to the bar, and no one gives us a second glance.

I spot Harrison and Beckett by the bar and point them out to Colt. He takes my hand, darting us away from them as London finishes her last song. We stand at the edge of the room and watch the crowd scream and chant for her at the end. When they head offstage, Colt waves goodbye to her, then leads me out the door.

By the time we make it back to the truck, my skirt is wrinkled and my hair’s a wreck, and Colt looks just as shameless—shirt untucked, collar crooked, lips a little too swollen to be subtle.

He climbs behind the wheel.

I smooth the hem of my skirt, but it doesn’t matter.

Colt glances at me, the corner of his mouth pulling upward. “I don’t know what to say.”

“I don’t either.” I shrug. “I’d do it again though.”

He laughs, full-bodied and totally unrepentant. “Fuck, me too.”

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