Page 115 of Valentine Nook
“Hmm. I don’t know. Let’s see, shall we?” His fingers scratch through his beard as he thinks. After a brief pause, he says, “Am I in heaven, or is there an angel in my bed?”
I don’t know how he keeps a straight face. It’s literally my job to control my reactions, and I’m struggling to do so.
“Actually, this is my bed.”
“Ah, true. Okay, well...” He taps a finger against his lip. “Nope, that won’t work . . .” Leaning over, he peers at my dress on the floor. “Nope, already there.” His cheeks puff out with a long breath. “This is tougher than I thought.”
“Oh, buddy, it’s a good thing you’re pretty.”
“Yeah, how pretty?”
“Pretty enough for me to do this.” My hand slips under the comforter until I reach bare skin.
I softly graze along his shaft, and he lets out a quiet groan as I cup his balls and squeeze gently. The feel of his cock thickening in my palm sets off a throbbing deep in my pelvis. An intense tugging that instantly floods between my thighs.
I love the way Lando reacts to my touch and the way my body revels in the power I hold over him. It’s nothing I’ve ever experienced before—the insatiable need to make him feel good because it makesmefeel good.
“Fuck,” he hisses. “I must be really fucking pretty.”
“You are.”
His cock is velvet and steel, smooth and straight. If it were possible for dicks to be called beautiful, Lando’s would be. Gripping the length, I slowly pump.
“Ahhh . . .fuck, Hollywood . . . that’s sogood.”
His words spur me on, and I want to bring this guy to his knees. Literally. I want to watch his face as he comes with my name on his lips.
His balls tighten as he gets closer. My fist moves quicker,and Lando groans louder. I’m so caught up with making Lando come that it takes me a second to realize he’s groaning from frustration, because someone’s banging on the door.
“Ignore it. They’ll go away,” I whisper, twisting my palm over the flat end of his dick, covering myself in precum.
But when the banging becomes loud enough to compete with the sound of the rain, the mood is officially killed.
“Hol.Hol. You there? Lemme in.”
“I’m going to kill her,” Lando snarls, and his eyes screw tight.
Bang. Bang. Bang.“I need to pee.”
My grip eases, causing another round of protests from Lando. “No, baby,please. Don’t stop. I’m so close.”
“Babe, your sister is outside.” I jump out of bed and grab the blanket again. “We’ll pick it up later.”
“Tell her she’s disinvited to lunch.”
Rushing down the stairs, I open the door to find Clemmie standing outside, bedraggled and soaked to the skin. There’s not a dry inch of her, and when she drops four large shopping bags on the floor and pushes past me to the bathroom, she leaves a trail of tiny puddles behind.
I lug her bags into the kitchen and deposit them on the counter. How did she even manage to carry so many when they’rethisheavy? Tossing a tea towel on the floor to mop up the water, I run upstairs to get her some dry clothes.
She’s switched on the coffee machine when I get back down.
“God, I’m so sorry. Something about the rain makes me really need to pee.”
“Here.” I hand over a pair of my brother’s sweatpants, which I packed by accident, and a couple of cozy sweaters I bought online last week. “Your legs are longer than mine, but these should be okay.”
“Wow, thank you. That’s really kind,” she says, pushing the shopping bags across the kitchen counter. “I brought lunch.”
Clemmie strips off and switches her wet clothes for dry ones while I examine the contents of the bags—an array of vegetables, a chicken, a side of beef, a leg of lamb, lemons, fresh herbs, several bottles of wine, and three tubs of different-flavored ice cream.
