Page 16 of The One Bed Rule
I pull away long enough to say, “I want it in my mouth.”
And it’s only a few more seconds until I feel his release building beneath my fingers. Seth gives me a final warning before I feel it spurt into my mouth, coating my throat. He shakes and jolts as he comes and I moan into his dick because it’s hot. It’s making me all needy and wet.
I’m about to swallow when he growls, “Wait. Show me.”
This is a new one, I think as I gather his salty release on my tongue and open my mouth.
“You’re fucking unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” he says and I swallow him, feeling it slip down my throat.
I feel empowered, like Seth is someone who can match me—giving me what I need but letting me be the leader when I crave it.
Laying next to him, I watch his chest rise and fall as he comes down from his climax. It feels like something I do all the time. I curl into him, not trying to fight it.
“I’m serious,” he grumbles, putting a finger under my chin and kissing my lips—the same ones that had his release on them just a few seconds ago. Hot. Again.
“I know.” I smile at him, soaking in the praise.
Fourteen
Seth
There’sfrostontheinside of the windows—the generator kicked on but it’s still freezing in here. It’s almost 7:30 AM and the sun is still trying to break through the clouds as it rises for the day. I peel myself from Claire, quick to pull the blankets up and around her.
Grabbing a long-sleeved shirt from my bag, I throw it on and make sure to unlock the door so I don’t need to bother with a room key. Slowly, the door shuts behind me and I’m careful not to make a ton of noise.
I’m in my socks as I pad down the stairs, waiting for the clues that anyone else is here or around this early. There’s nothing.
I’m standing in front of the espresso machine, which is much nicer than I thought it’d be. Filling it with espresso beans, it seems like it will automatically grind and let me pour a shot in just a few minutes. I’m not a fiend like Claire, but I’ve been around my fair share of coffee machines. Sometimes in my lineof work, you have to stay up for days at a time, and caffeine is the only way around.
While the espresso works, I go to the kitchen, finding a container of skim milk—which is how I know Claire takes her coffee. Well, her cappuccinos, to be exact. The espresso machine has a milk frother and I use it to steam the milk and create the foam.
It’s weird how easy it was to wake up and immediately want to do something for Claire. Part of me is wildly aware that her birthday plans were ruined, so if there’s something I can do to make it not suck so bad, why not?
Plus, Abigail was always big into birthdays. She loved to bake, show up with breakfast on a tray, and grin like she hadn’t been in the kitchen for hours already. I loved her like that: flour on her nose, and a look on her face that was just itching to see if you liked whatever she put together. Everyone always did—she was an amazing cook.
Even now, she makes me better. Even after all this time.
The milk is ready and I pour it over the espresso shot. The foam is thick and fluffy, reminding me of the clouds during the summer. I go to work on another shot of espresso—this time, I fill a kettle with water, boiling it for my americano.
The smell of the coffee, the richness of the beans, wafts through the space. I rest my hands on the outside of the kettle and let it warm my fingers. I get lost in the bubbling of the water, waiting for it to boil, when someone walks in.
A hand flies over Jess’ mouth, muffling her shriek. “Oh my goose neck. You scared me.” She tries to whisper but it’s damn near a speaking volume. Her hand rests on her chest, like she’s trying to catch her breath.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. Just making some coffee.”
“No need to apologize, I’m the one who’s on edge.” Her hands rub her arms over her long-sleeved shirt, like she’s trying totrap the warmth. “Obviously,” she looks around the room, “the generator has been hit or miss. And, the roads are so horrible that our chef won’t be able to make it in.” She peeks around me to look into the kitchen. “I’ve got pastries and some fresh fruit for you, but if you want to use anything in the kitchen, you’re more than welcome.”
“We should keep checking on the fridge and freezer. Like, make sure the generator is working so we’re not about to eat spoiled food,” I suggest.
Her face is soft before her brow furrows, the way your mom does when you offer something you know she won’t take. “Wewon’t be doing anything. You’re the guests. I’ll keep an eye out on things like that.”
Pouring the hot water into my espresso, I nod. “Sure. But if you do need anything, please don’t be afraid to ask.”
Jess hands me a small tray for the two coffee mugs, and I carefully set them on there, before taking it with both hands. Carefully, I walk it up the stairs, looking ahead and not at the liquid in the mugs—a trick I’ve heard helps to reduce spilling.
When I reach the door, I carefully grab the handle, doing my best to balance the mugs, and push it open. Immediately, I set the tray down on the bistro table, not wanting to press my luck any further. In the bed, Claire stretches as her eyes pop open. She sits up, almost in a panic when she realizes I’m not in bed with her, but she quickly relaxes once she finds me.
“What are you doing?” she asks, wiping her eyes.
