Page 64 of The First Cut
Dipping his head, he takes a deep breath. “You smell fucking delicious.”
Before I can say or do anything, his mouth is on my pussy, hot and demanding as he sucks and licks me into a frenzy.
“I’ll never get tired of your taste. A man could get drunk on the essence of you.”
He slips two fingers inside me as he starts lashing my clit with the tip of his tongue. I shake my head from side to side, the sensation overwhelming as I feel the heat clawing away inside of me, demanding its release.
When my legs start to shake, he wraps his arms around my thighs and yanks me closer to his mouth. I fight to hold on, even though I’m already teetering on the edge of orgasm. I don’t want it to end. I want to stay in this moment forever, where nobody exists but us two.
But then he grazes my clit with his teeth. The sweet, sharp edge of pain throws me over the edge of oblivion, earning him a hoarse cry of pleasure as I come all over his tongue. A series of aftershocks wreck my body as I come down from my high, the feeling of euphoria waning as he drinks me down.
He lifts his head. “Now that I’m fed, let me feed you.”
Too boneless to argue, I let him help me sit up as he moves to the fridge. Finding it mostly empty, barring a few condiments and some brown substance that once identified as lettuce, he closes the door with a huff before moving to the cupboards.
He gets tenser the more cupboards he opens. Eventually, he turns to me. “You need to start locking the door. Someone’s been coming and helping themselves while you’ve been gone.”
When I don’t say anything, he frowns before the penny drops.
“Nobody has been here, have they?”
“Other than Driller, I can’t say for sure, but I doubt it.”
He huffs out a laugh, but it sounds anything but amused. “I was standing here, thinking people were dicks for not at least picking up the basics for the fridge, knowing we were coming. I didn’t expect to find the cupboards bare too, except for a few cans of soup.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” I refuse to be embarrassed, knowing I had no control over the situation.
He stalks back over to me. “This is why you’re so thin.” It’s a statement, not a question.
I reply anyway. “I’m not worried about my weight, if that’s what you were thinking.”
He smooths his fingers down my face softly, even though I can feel the hum of anger buzzing underneath his skin. “Never again, Lola. It fucking guts me that nobody bothered to check in with you. And don’t try to tell me they did. I know that’s not true.”
He runs his fingers through his hair before he comes to a decision. Pulling his cell phone from his pocket, he hands it to me. “The Code is 6754. Find a restaurant nearby, pick what you want, and we’ll order in. If you write me a shopping list, I’ll send one of the prospects out to grab it all.”
I feel my eyes getting wet. I’m being stupid. It’s only food, after all. But saying that comes from a place of privilege. Being starved does more than physically hurt you. It’s mental warfare, too. All you can think about is food. All you can see is food. You get to the point where you’re convinced you even smell it, as if food had been placed down right in front of you.
“What do you want?”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll eat anything.” And the smirk he gives me makes me wonder about the rumors surrounding his name. “I want you to choose—order whatever takes your fancy. Hell, order the whole restaurant if you want. That way, you’ll have leftovers if you get hungry later.”
Before it’s even a conscious effort, I wrap my hand around his neck and tug him down to me so I can kiss him. I rarely initiate anything between us, sometimes finding it hard to let go of the resentment over my situation. But then he keeps doing things for me, sweet things that batter at the protective wall I’ve built around myself.
He doesn’t hesitate to return the kiss, his hands moving to my hips as he yanks me closer.
The movement reminds me of where I’m sitting and what’s leaking out of me. I pull away and sigh. “I really need to clean this kitchen before I can even think about food.”
“Stubborn.” He lifts me off the counter, laughing when I grumble at the feel of his cum running down my thighs.
“You clean the kitchen. I’ll clean myself up,” I call over my shoulder as I waddle to the bathroom to the sound of his laughter. I quickly pee and freshen up before washing my hands and heading back to the kitchen.
I hear him talking as I approach and realize he’s on the phone so I stay quiet. “It’ll be about an hour. No, they can carry on partying tonight, but tomorrow they better have their shit sorted because I’m not Khan.”
He listens for a second as I walk in, not wanting him to think I’m standing in the hallway, eavesdropping on him.
He motions for me to move into the crock of his arm as he finishes up the call. “Well, this is not my problem now. Is it, Byte?”
He hangs up before handing me the phone once more. “Order food.”
