Page 10 of The Landlord
She can suffocate me, drown me in her juices, or scratch me, and I'll thank her.
"You taste so fucking good," I growl against her, then thrust my tongue inside her.
Fucking yes.
Her thighs clamp around my head, but I don't stop. I alternate between fucking her with my tongue and sucking on her clit, my hands gripping her thighs to keep her spread for me.
When I feel her beginning to tremble, I slide one finger inside her while focusing my mouth on her clit. She's tight, so tight around just one finger. The thought of how she'd feel around my cock makes me groan against her.
"Oh God. Damien, I'm going to?—"
"Come for me," I say, adding a second finger and curling them to find that spot inside her. "Let me feel you come on my fingers, my tongue."
She shatters with a cry, her inner walls clenching around my fingers as I work her through it, licking and sucking until she's shaking with aftershocks.
Only then do I pull back, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as I look up at her. She's a vision—cheeks flushed, lips parted, eyes glazed with pleasure.
I've just crossed a line I can never uncross. Landlord and tenant, neighbors, whatever we were before—it's all changed now. And it feels so damn good.
She reaches for me, pulling me up for a kiss. I let her taste herself on my tongue, groaning when her hand brushes against the bulge in my jeans.
"You said the real thing is better," she whispers against my mouth. "I think I should be the judge of that, don't you?"
Her hand cups me through my jeans, and I nearly come right then and there like a teenager. I want nothing more than to strip off the rest of our clothes and bury myself inside her.
But something stops me. Maybe it's the fact that I want this to be more than just sex. Maybe it's because I want to do this right.
I capture her hand, bringing it to my lips. "Not until I take you out on a proper date."
4
ALYSSA
Istare at Damien, my mind struggling to catch up with what just happened. His words—"Not until I take you out on a proper date"—echo in my head as I sit half-naked on his coffee table, my pajama pants around my ankles, my body still trembling from the most intense orgasm of my life.
He just ... with his mouth ... and now he wants to date me? Did I somehow wake up this morning in an alternate universe where a man like Damien wants a woman like me?
Am I dreaming? Is this some kind of cosmic joke?
"You want to take me on a date?" I manage to ask, my voice hoarse. "After ... that?"
Damien smiles, and it transforms his usually stern face into something devastatingly handsome. His stubble is glistening—with my juices, oh God—and somehow that's the detail that makes this all feel real.
"Especially after that." He steps back, giving me space to pull my pants up. "I want to do this right, Alyssa."
My hands fumble with my clothing as I try to process what's happening. This grumpy, gorgeous giant of a man who just gave me a mind-blowing orgasm with his mouth, and now he's acting like a perfect gentleman? The cognitive dissonance is giving me whiplash.
"There's a right way to do this?" I ask, my lips quirking up. "Pretty sure we're already doing things out of order."
He chuckles, running a hand through his disheveled hair. "Fair point. But I'd still like to take you to dinner. Tomorrow night?"
I stand up on shaky legs, tugging my sweater back down. "You're serious."
"Very." His gray eyes hold mine, all traces of humor gone. "I've wanted to ask you out for weeks."
My heart does a somersault in my chest. "You have?"
"Since the day you moved in." He takes a step closer, and I can smell myself on his breath. It should be embarrassing, but it's strangely intimate. "So? Dinner?"
