Page 48 of Sweet Caroline
I’d kiss and lick every inch I could reach. I’d bite her tight nipples—softly at first, then harder. If she told me it hurt, I’d lick them again. Kiss them. So gently. Make it better. And then I’d cover her mouth with mine when I pushed my fingers inside her, swallowing her moans. I’d whisper against her lips how good she was… or how bad—whichever she likes better.
That thought alone makes my dick stiffen even more.
Whatdoesshe like?
Faster. Harder.Fuck.
I try to slow down—try to keep my shit together just a little—but my imagination is having none of it.
Would she like it if I called her a good girl? Would her breath rush out between those sweet, parted lips if I praised her? Would it make her thighs tremble and her pussy clench around my fingers?
As hot as that idea is, it also doesn’t feel quite right. Something about the way Caroline had grabbed my hair tonight had shown a side of her that was almost wild. Animalistic. It hadn’t felt like innocent,good-girlterritory.
The devil on my other shoulder takes the mic and I swallow, barely holding onto control.
Fuck, I bet she’d like it if I told her all the dirty things I want to do to her. Teased her. Edged her. What if I wound her up and turned her into a needy little mess… then told her to let her inner whore out? Would she come apart for me? Would she soak my fingers if I called her a slut?
My ass practically lifts out of the driver’s seat—like I could somehow get closer to her by thrusting upward. There’s a rocket-in-my-pocket joke here somewhere, but it escapes the disintegrated pile of goo that was once my brain.
Oh, God.Tighter. Faster.Fuck me.
It’s all I can do to contain the chaos as heat fans up my spine and sweat prickles my neck. With a shaky moan, I break, spurting in erratic, thrumming pulses as I slow my rhythm and wring every last drop of pleasure from my aching dick.
Chest heaving, I collapse against the cool, wet window beside me and try to come to terms with what I just did. As the waves of my release dissipate, the familiar weight of shame settles into me.
Jesus, that was fucking pathetic.
I haven’t been this desperate to get off in… Actually, I can’t remember ever feeling like this. About anyone. But it was either this or drink, and there ain’t no way.Shit. A wry smirk plays on my lips. Guess if I’m gonna jack, it better beoffand notDaniels.
I roll up the spare T-shirt, vowing to throw on a load of laundry the minute I get home, then hunt around the truck for something to clean up with—relieved when I find a pack of wet wipes in the glove box.
Ten wisdom points for past Miles.
As I drive home in the dark, the lingering stress from the fundraiser creeps back in. But it’s way too late at night to be spiraling about how I was so tempted to drink—or how that shithead Pete Brennan blackmailed me. Especially after what happened between me and his daughter. And after what I’ve just done.
My mind slips effortlessly back to Caroline and a singular pulse of pleasure travels through my body as my thoughts flash back to what she might like. Does she know? If not,fuck, would I love to help her find out. Would she like praise? Degradation? A bit of both? Something even kinkier? Or is she really the sweet, vanilla girl she seems on the outside?
There’s no way. That kiss was…
Fucking hell.
I try to shake off the thought. It doesn’t matter what she likes, because I’m in no position to give it to her. Besides, this is probably just my ADHD in search of the brain chemicals it craves. My therapist, Lydia, explained to me how novelty is a powerful source of dopamine for a brain like mine, making it easy to obsess over the new, shiny thing in my life.
I can’t risk letting Caroline become that new, shiny obsession. My need for dopamine is running the show here, and I’ve gotta shut it down before I fuck everything up.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanks, bro.” I slap Gus on the shoulder, then hand him the paper bag and coffee before slumping into one of the seats around the huge table in the fire station’s kitchen.
My alarm had been particularly grating this morning after only a few hours of fitful sleep, but I’d hauled my ass to the gym anyway. Because fuck if I’m gonna toss my entire routine out the window. After last night, I need normalcy now more than ever.
“What’s this?” Gus asks, peering into the bag. “Aw, a cinnamon roll? Hell yes! Thanks, man.”
I rub at my tired eyes, but I can still feel him watching me.
I was halfway through my workout when I realized I needed to talk this out. Exhausted and off my game, I was tempted to bail on the gym, but I pushed myself to finish up. Then, too antsy to wait until Gus was off shift, I’d hit up Bean Bag Coffee and driven to the station.
“Okay, what’s with you?” He nudges my arm, dropping into the seat next to me. “You’ve got a face like a slapped ass.”
