Page 55 of Wicked Pickle
“Whatever I want.”
She sucks in a breath. “Yes.”
Good. She seems ready to comply. Willing.
I strip off my T-shirt, rocking back as the fabric forces me to move my mouth from her body.
Might as well get it all out of the way.
I toss the shirt and unfasten my belt, the skull chain jingling.
She moves her arms to look. That got her attention.
I feel her gaze on me, for what it’s worth in the dark, as I bend down to untie my boots. Then I shuck everything in one go.
“What should I do first?” I kneel on the bed, hovering over her.
“Get a condom?” she suggests.
I lean over to my beside table and withdraw a long strip of them. “Handled.”
But I don’t put in on, not yet.
“How—how long since last time for you?” Her voice is tremulous. I get what she’s asking.
“A few weeks. I won’t stick it anywhere unprotected, if you’re worried.”
“Should I be?”
I shrug. “Life is a big-ass roulette wheel.”
“Yeah. I get that. But there are some questionable elements at your bar.”
I lean down to flick my tongue across a nipple. Her back arches. “There are.”
“It’s been a long while for me.”
“Mmm-hmm.” I switch to the other nipple. She’s going to keep talking, it seems.
“Are you going to tell me the last time you stuck your cock in a stranger or not?”
That’s the Symphony I remember.
I grasp her chin, my face over hers. “Does it fucking matter?”
She stares into my eyes for a beat. “With you wearing a condom? Actually, no.”
I slide away from her. “Good. Now, get on your knees and face me.”
She scrambles to move.
“Good girl. Lights are going on. I want to watch this.” It’s not a question.
I go for a small lamp by the bed. Her skin glows, her breasts heavy and full, her belly smooth, thighs soft. I want to bury myself in every part of her.
I move away from her to stand by the bed. “Come here. Crawl.”
She does so, her blonde hair falling across her shoulders, obscuring her face until she looks up.
