Page 73 of Face Off
I lean closer to her, nose brushing against hers. “Admit it. That was the best orgasm of your life.”
“It was decent enough,” she murmurs, and she kisses me. I cup the back of her head and wrap her hair around my wrist, right there with her underwear. “Got the job done.”
“Sounds like all that talk about hating me was just bullshit, wasn’t it?”
“I like your tongue. And your fingers. That’s it.”
“What about my cock?” I shove my free hand in my briefs and drop my head back when I think about how tight she’s going to be around me. “Do you like that too?”
“I don’t know.” Emerson sits up and swings her legs on either side of my hips, straddling me. She rubs her pussy over the front of my briefs, and I hiss. “Guess we’ll have to find out.”
“Condom,” I say, but it probably comes out like a garbled mess. She’s rolling her hips and I’m seeing stars. Six seconds away from sinking into her right here, right now. “My wallet.”
“You carry a condom around with you?”
“I like to be prepared. You should be grateful—otherwise we wouldn’t be able to do this.”
“That’s not true.” She climbs off me, and I watch the sway of her hips as she walks to my sweatpants. I stare at the shape of her ass as she bends down, looking at me over her shoulder. “We could just not use one.”
I groan. “Don’t say things like that. It’s going to make me want to do this with you again.”
“Too bad.” The mattress sinks under her weight, and she kneels next to me. “Once is all you get, pretty boy.” My cock twitches at the nickname and my cheeks turn pink. “Oh,” she whispers, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “You like when I call you that, don’t you?”
“Yeah. More than I’d like to admit.” I swallow and grab her wrists, pulling her toward me so she’s in my lap. “I do get off on this power dynamic of ours, but right now, I’m the one in control. Take off my briefs, Hartwell, and open your mouth.”
TWENTY-ONE
EMMY
I’ll never tellhim this, but Maverick Millerdidgive me the best orgasm of my life.
My body is still humming, and I feel weightless. Blissed out in and in some transcended state.
“Why are you smiling?” Maverick asks, a rasp that makes my nipples turn to points. “Did I do that?”
“I’m not smiling.” I squirm on his lap and glance down at him, surprised to find him already looking at me. His skin is tinted pink. His hair is a mess, and there is a mark on the side of his neck where I pressed my thighs into him. “You’re delusional.”
He grins up at me and cups my cheeks. “You’re fucking cute. I wish I had my phone so I could take a picture of you right now and make it my lock screen.”
“You just want a photo of my tits.”
“Not totally wrong, but I like this more.” He adjusts our positions so he can reach up and kiss me. “Seeing you happy,” he murmurs against my mouth.
In my twenties, I would’ve fallen for that line.
At thirty, I know it’s a part of this fantasy we’ve stumbled into.
An hour of pretend before we go back to how we were earlier in the night: quips and barbs and two people who could not be more opposite.
“You’ll never get me to smile,” I say.
“But I can get you to come on my tongue. Some might say that’s better than a smile.”
Heat rolls through me at the thought of his hands between my legs. The slick glide of his fingers and the sparkle in his eye when he called meEmmy girl.
I’m not well versed in face sitting, but Maverick deserves an A-plus. A gold star for enthusiasm and delivery and audience participation.
“Satisfactory, remember?” I say, and his laugh is a rumble beneath me.
