Page 86 of From West, With Regret

“Now, suck on it. Suck on it like you’re sucking on my cock.”

I tighten my lips around the end, my cheeks sinking in.

West rolls his hips against me again and unzips his pants. He lowers his boxer briefs until his erection springs free. Lifting his hand, he presses his finger into my dimple. “That’s my girl.”

Then he moves his hand low between us to stroke himself, but I stop him, shaking my head in disapproval.

He freezes, and his eyes light with amusement.

I pull the muddler out of my mouth and lower it to my entrance, slipping it along my wet folds. The mint immediately hits my soft, slick flesh, a cooling sensation spreading across me.

Grabbing West’s hand, I guide him to the muddler while I grab onto his thick length, tugging him forward. He grunts, his cock twitching in my grip.

“Fuck me,” I tell him, lifting my chin. “I want you to fuck me.”

He drives the muddler inside me, and I gasp at the feeling. It’s rock hard and cold. Completely opposite to the feeling of having West’s cock or fingers inside me.

I grab his length, but he grunts with the friction against it. He moves the muddler in and out of me, fucking me with it. It’s hard to concentrate when every second I feel closer to coming. Coming all over a drink muddler. He uses his thumb to press against my clit, tilting the muddler at just the right angle, hitting the perfect spot.

My eyes flutter with every motion, and I try to move my hand against him, but I pause when he says in a low voice, “Spit on it.”

I widen my eyes. I’ve never had sex like this before, so bold and adventurous. Being with West is different.Ifeel different when I’m with him.

I do as he says and gather a pool of spit in my mouth before letting it drip onto his erection. His mouth falls open, and his eyes follow the trail all the way down until it hits his flesh. I’m quick to grab onto his length, smearing it all over. I screw my hand around his incredibly hard, thick cock, stroking him slowly at first, but I’m quick to pick up the speed, matching what’s he’s doing to me with the muddler.

“Fuck,” I moan, tilting my head back. “I’m going to come, West.” My muscles tighten around the muddler, and the tingling echo of the mint still lingering on the muddler nearly pushes me over the edge.

“Same.” West growls. He rips the muddler out of me. “Fuck patience.”

The muddler falls to the floor, clattering against the hardwood, and West slams himself inside me, filling me all the way. He immediately feels better than the muddler. Warm and hardyet still soft. Pulling back, he slams into me again, and I wrap my legs around him tighter, gripping onto his back. I claw at his shirt, driving my nails across his tense muscles.

“Yes, West,” I moan. “Right there.”

He steals my mouth, clashing our teeth together in a frenzy. He bites my lip, pulling and tugging on it, grunting and groaning with every thrust.

Heat pools in my lower stomach, and it only takes him a few more thrusts before I’m exploding around him. My body quivers. I can’t control myself. I fall apart around him and then it’s only a few more seconds before he’s doing the same. He stills, twitching against me as his cum spills inside me. Pulling away from my mouth, he rests his forehead on my shoulder. We’re both panting, taking a moment to catch our breath, and I lift my hands to run my fingers through his hair, feeling his heart beating against mine.

“You’re incredible, Dimples,” he mutters against me. His voice vibrates against my still-humming skin. “You’re incredible.”

Then my eyes fall to the muddler sitting on the floor, covered in my wetness. All remnants of the mint are gone. My cheeks heat, realizing I’ve never done anything like this before.

I’m someone else when I’m with Weston Knight, and I fucking love it.

After Westand I clean ourselves up, and the bar, he leads me out of the bar and through the living room, toward the open staircase set in the middle of the room. I’ve never ventured up the stairs before. West’s place is larger than expected and most of the time when I’m here, we stay either in his bedroom or out on the balcony.

I follow his lead, never letting his hand slip from mine. I could hold his hand forever and never tire of it.

Once we reach the top of the stairs, he leads me to a door at the far end of the hallway. Pushing down on the handle, he holds it open for me, waiting for me to walk in first.

My jaw drops, and I stop just beyond the threshold.

Floor to ceiling windows cover half of the room, the city on full display from here. Even more so than the main living area downstairs. My eyes dance around the room, taking in every easel propped in each corner. Stacks of parchment line the tables set against the far walls. Unopened packages of charcoal, pens, and pencils litters the tabletops. All brands I use.

Tears line my eyes, and my vision is distorted. A tear slips from my eye, spilling over as I inhale an unsteady breath.

“Do you like it?”

“West,” I whisper. “What is this?”

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