Page 39 of Big Boss
I raise an eyebrow. “For what?”
He stares at me for a moment. “Honestly Erica. You need to choose better lovers if you don’t even know about the aftercare part of sex.” He runs his eyes across my body, and I fight the urge to squirm.
“I’ll take good care of you, okay? Let me show you how it’s supposed to be.” And with that, he’s up and striding off to the bathroom again, the muscular movement of his perfect ass leaving me breathless.
Or it’s the post-sex high. Becausewow.
I’m a woman who can definitely self-administer orgasms with as much efficiency as needed. But the heat and closeness of having this man next to me made everything infinitely more intense.
A masturbation orgasm doesn’t even compare to the sensations this man retrieved from my flesh. And even though everything about it was messy and visceral, I couldn’t get enough.
I want to do it again, as soon as possible, with the man who’s returning from the bathroom with a washcloth in his hands.
First he wipes his cum off my chest, and I’m oddly disappointed in the sensation of not being covered in the tangible proof of his pleasure.
But the washcloth is warm, and he peppers my skin with kisses afterward. Plus, I’m more than willing to try to convince him it’s time for another round.
Donovan makes his way down my body, leaving kisses and the ticklish sensation of his hair dragging along my skin as he heads to my aching center.
The warm washcloth is slow along my thighs as he heads to my aching core.
Donovan’s mouth is even slower though, leaving me writhing in the aftermath of his vicious tongue and lips.
“Hurry up,” I hiss at him through clenched teeth.
“Mmmm.” His voice rumbles against the tender skin of my inner thighs, and I want to scream already. “I’m surprised to hear that you want me to go even slower.”
I lift my head up and stare daggers at him, but it’s no use. He has his eyes closed, and all I can make out in the dim bedroom is the shape and shadow of his long hair as he bites his way along my tender skin.
“I’ll kill you—” My voice cuts off as he finally places the washcloth across my sex, then peppers it with kisses.
“Mmmm. Will you?” His voice is the lazy, indolent drawl of a man who has always gotten his way and knows he’s going to get his way with me again.
“I swear I’ll spit in your coffee every morning from now on if you stop.”
His laugh does things to my insides, making me feel all squishy and shy even though his face is currently inches away from my throbbing, recently deflowered pussy.
It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. We were just supposed to do it this once, and give me the time to feel safe with someone for the first time, ridding myself of the burden of my V card. Then we were supposed to go back to our friendship. The bro-mance.
But it feels like things have changed between us. And I know it’s definitely true when he freezes, mid-seduction, and leans up on one elbow.
He holds the washcloth in a tightly clenched fist.
“Erica? Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”
A ripple of embarrassment washes over me from my hair all the way to my toes. There must be some blood after all. “It’s fine, Donovan. Don’t worry about it.”
His eyes widen at me, and he throws the washcloth down. “I don’t know what kind of assholes you’ve known in your life, but I don’t want to hurt you. At least not without your express consent and distinct interest, that is.”
His teeth slide along the inside of my thigh, and I squirm against the sensation.
“It’s not like that. It’s just how things go. You know.”
Now Donovan Tate is staring at me with absolute violence in his eyes. “Erica,” he says softly, “I don’t know who hurt you before, but it’s unacceptable to me that you’re hurting now.”
He moves above me, his hair trailing along my body. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs against the tender place at my temple.
I feel like my heart might crack in half. How dare he be this tender and delicately affectionate man, instead of the strong one taking charge of the two of us?
