Page 23 of Operation Annulment
I shiver under his intense gaze. I don’t know what things will be like in the morning. There’s nothing beyond this moment, with all the lights on and him staring up at me like I’m a goddess he wants nothing more than to worship.
He kisses the inside of my thigh, higher this time, before asking, “Is this okay?”
My lips part with a soft sigh, but I’m no longer capable of complicated things like producing words, so I settle for a nod.
His fingers brush over my clit before sliding one into the slick heat of my body, and my hips instinctively roll forward, seeking more.
“So fucking tight. You still with me?”
I bob my head up and down, but I’m burning up. I free my arms from the straps of my dress and reach back to unclasp my bra, tossing it aside with a ragged exhale.
Nate makes a sound of approval before burying his face between my legs like his only purpose in life is to please me.
I arch my back and moan against the hand I’ve clapped against mymouth, shuddering as his beard scrapes over my sensitive flesh. He strokes my tight bud with the flat of his tongue, sending goosebumps racing over my skin and tightening my nipples into hardened points.
My inner muscles clench and flutter wildly around his fingers, and he exhales a soft laugh against my core. “I think she likes it.”
Like it?
The man is a damn sex magician. And his tongue—sonnets should be written in honor of his tongue.
He switches positions and tempos, and with a sudden sinking feeling, I realize the pressure building inside me isn’t an orgasm.
Nope. It’s vomit.
“Don’t do this to me,” I moan, pleading with my body. My palms grow sweaty and numb as the blood migrates south to my stomach.
Nate immediately pulls back with his hands raised and eyes wide with alarm. “I’m stopping. You’re safe?—”
I shove past him and into the attached bathroom, dropping to my knees in front of the toilet as the tequila makes a sudden and violent reappearance.
“Go away,” I groan when Nate knocks at the door several minutes later.
He ignores me and enters the bathroom armed with a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of neon orange liquid.
My dress is still haphazardly bunched around my midsection, and I tug at it before giving up and lowering my face back to the toilet seat. “I’m disgusting.”
“Nah,” he says, offering me the glass before sitting on the tile beside me. “Gatorade. It’ll help replenish the electrolytes you just lost.”
“What are you a doctor now?” I ask with a weak laugh before squeezing my eyes shut and muttering, “Oh, god. I’m never drinking tequila again.”
“First time?”
“Yep. And last.”
His fingertips stroke lazy circles over my back. “Almost every bad drinking story begins with tequila.”
“Ugh, I know that now,” I say, smacking my lips with a grimace. “I sort of hoped I’d be the exception.” I take a couple of sips of Gatorade before lurching forward to retch again.
Nate holds my sweat-soaked hair off my face as my body purges the alcohol and everything I happened to have eaten over the past five years.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you’re probably not going to be the exception when it comes to tequila,” he quips once I’m finished.
After brushing my teeth with a spare toothbrush, I swap my dress for one of his t-shirts and let him help me into bed.
I’ll just wait for him to fall asleep before ordering an Uber to take me home.
His body molds around mine like a warm blanket, and I melt into his embrace with a wide yawn.
