Page 86 of Sweet Caroline
“You like how I taste?” My voice is ragged.
“Mm-hmm.” She wiggles an arm up between us and catches my hand, holding it as she licks my fingers clean.
“More,” I command quietly, scooping up another bit from her chin and pushing it between her lips.
She slips her fingers over mine, sucking my cum off us both. Wiping up from her chin and over her plump lower lip, she holds my gaze as she sucks her own fingers clean, getting every last drop she can find into that gorgeous, perfect mouth.
“God, that’s so fucking hot.”
Her slow grin makes me want to kiss her.Needto kiss her.
Fuck it.
I shift down and she lets out only the barest squeak of uncertainty before she melts into the long, slow kiss, wrapping her arms around my neck. We’re sticky and sweaty; I can taste myself on her tongue, my veins still pulsing with the memory of spilling onto her lips.
Her words echo in my head. “Bad. I wanna be bad. Please.”
Well, fuck. Same here.
This girl makes me want to do nasty, raunchy, utterly depraved things to her—then hold her close and nuzzle into her hair, talk with her, take care of her, wake up with her, make cringey jokes with her, and have slow, sleepy morning sex with her.
When our lips part, I find the remote and turn off the plug.
Caroline lets out a contented little sigh and I smile down at her. She returns it when my stomach rumbles a protest, a sudden pang of hunger cutting into my thoughts. Those arcade fries are a distant memory.
“Uh, what are your thoughts about post-coital snacks?” I ask.
“Coitus? Is that what we just did?”
“Uh, I guess not, technically,” I say on a laugh. “Post-sixty-nine snacks? Post-facial snacks?” I gaze down at her, brushing the hair out of her eyes.
“Facial? Sounds like I’ve been to the spa or something,” she says with a shy smirk.
“Shit, yeah, sorry. You probably wanna…” I look around the room. “Can I get you a wet washcloth or something?”
“It’s okay. I got it.” She glances toward the bathroom door. “But, after we clean up, yes, post-orgasmic snacks.” She gives a playful poke to my chest. “Gotta feed the beast.”
“Is that me? Am I the beast?” I let out a low, rumbled growl and, when she nods, I gnash my teeth, diving for her neck as giggles squeak from her throat. Snuffling and snarling against her skin, I relish in the way she squirms under me, carrying on untilmy playful nips turn into kisses and our laughter yields to soft hums against each other’s lips. The moment settles in my chest, simmering and warm. I draw back and look into her eyes.
Shit. I’m falling for this girl.
I tear my gaze away and let her out from under me—though I can’t help but catch the little peek of bright blue still nestled between her ass cheeks as she heads to the bathroom. When she closes the door, I fall back on the pillow and blow out a huge breath.
17
CAROLINE
I’m hovering outside my father’s home office, trying to steel myself for whatever he wants to talk to me about, when his housekeeper quietly emerges carrying an empty whiskey bottle and a small bag of trash.
We exchange polite smiles as she gathers her cleaning supplies, and I absentmindedly reach for my necklace—Grandma’s dragonfly pendant. As I work my fingers over the fine gold chain, my eyes fix for a moment on the last drops of amber liquid in the bottom of the bottle, remembering countless nights Fletcher came home after working late to paw at me, his breath hot and reeking of scotch. Not wanting to reject his advances, I’d lean into it, going through the motions even if I wasn’t really in the mood. I’d never orgasm those nights, but Fletcher didn’t seem to mind and it was over soon enough, anyway. I’d told myself it was fine, but Miles was right. It was anything but fine. And, until recently, I had no idea what I’d been missing.
Miles.
My heart squeezes a little, remembering how he’d insisted on going home last night. How he’d taken the spoon from my graspin the dark kitchen, set it gently in the sink, and held my face as he kissed me like he didn’t want to leave. I’d clung tightly to his waist, knowing I had no right to feel disappointed that he wouldn’t stay the night. Maybe it was the vulnerability of having tried something so new and so intimate with him. But I couldn’t ask him to stay, no matter how much I was dreading being alone.
When I realize the cleaner left Dad’s door open a crack, I peer in. He’s at his desk, poring over some papers with a glass of whiskey in one hand.
Reminding myself to stop fiddling with my necklace, I rap tentatively on the office door.
