Page 80 of Hammered (Dad Bod Contracting 1)
“What if I want to prove something?” I ask. “Maybe this is my way of saying I’m sorry for hurting you.”
“I thought you’d gotten what you wanted,” he admits. “You acted like you didn’t give a shit, like you were just done and ready to go.”
“That was all bullshit. I was a mess.” I tug at my wrists, trying to free them. “I wanted…more.”
“So did I,” he breathes, still not quite letting go of me yet.
I gaze up at him. “This whole thing, everything about us, Jesse…it’s new. It’s different. And I like it. But it’s scary.” I wiggle my wrists, and he lets go. “I’m not proving anything to you, right now—I’m proving something to myself.”
He breathes shakily. “When you got in your car and drove off, and then didn’t answer me, I thought you were done with me, with this whole thing.”
I pull his jeans down so they’re around his ankles, and then push his plain white T-shirt up. It’s sweat-soaked and smells like him, and the scent drives me wild, for some reason. I lick my lips and feel a tremor of eagerness run through me. I want this. And more than anything, I want to show him how much I want him. He tears the shirt off and tosses it aside, and slides his underwear down. He’s hard, bobbing with his shallow breaths.
God, he’s even more beautiful now than he was that night.
I glance up at him as I reach for him. “Jesse?”
He grunts an affirmative, as if he’s forgotten how to speak. “Uh—yeah?” He blows out a harsh breath, and tries again. “What, Imogen?”
“Don’t—don’t stop me.”
“No promises.” He grins, and I return it.
I stroke him, slowly, savoring every exquisite inch of him sliding through my hands. This time, I take all the time in the world to just touch him, exploring his length and thickness with my hands. When he’s clenching his jaw and breathing hard, I lean forward. Lick my lips.
The windows are open, and a bird chirps. The music still grinds from the Bluetooth speaker sitting on the counter. I can hear voices filtering up from the lower level, both through the floor and the window. It’s broad daylight, and I’m in my boss’s unfinished house, and I’m about to…
I keep my eyes on him as I lower my mouth over him. He grunts as I take him into my mouth, and then he groans as I sink him as deep as I can take him. I stroke him with both hands as I slide my lips back up his length, fluttering my tongue against the slick, veiny side. Down, licking, stroking. He hisses, and then buries his hands in my hair, tangling tight but not attempting to guide what I’m doing.
“Jesus, Imogen.”
I gaze up at him, and he’s…well, he looks like he’s in heaven, in an agony of ecstasy. As if what I’m doing feels nearly too good to bear. So I keep doing it. Licking, suckling, tonguing him, stroking. Long, slow, deep, and then short and shallow, using my tongue as much as possible, swirling it around the head, tasting the pearls of essence leaking out of him.
“You have to stop,” he growls.
“Mmm-mmm.” I hum the negative.
He reaches for me, and I snag his wrists, guiding his hands back to my hair, not slowing the rhythm of my bobbing. When he knots his fingers into my hair with a curse through grated teeth, I smile around him, meeting his eyes with mine.
“Oh fuck, Imogen. What are you doing to me?”
I let him free of my mouth just long enough to murmur, “Exactly what I want to, Jesse.” I take another slow, deep mouthful of him, and then back away again. “Now shut up and enjoy it.”
“You want this?”
“Mmmm-hmmm,” I murmur the affirmative, breathily. Because god, do I want it. He was in such tight control last time, until the very last second. This time, I want him to be in my control. Not about manipulation, but about knowing he wants to give that over to me, so that I can do this for him. It’s exhilarating, and scary. I almost wish I hadn’t locked the door, just to make it a little scarier.
I like the way he’s responding, the helpless tilt of his hips, the breathless groans as I slide my mouth around him, the growls in his chest as I stroke him and tongue the tip.
“Imogen, I’m—” he huffs, hips flexing involuntarily. “I—god, I’m gonna come…”
“Mmmm-hmmm?”
“Fuck—right now.”
He isn’t lying, either. I’m not ready for it—he surprises me even as he warns me. The sudden rush of it, the snarl of his voice, the musky taste and the flood of salty tang in my mouth, and his thickness sliding through my lips, and the wild cry as he releases, a strangled, helpless, almost mewling sigh as he releases and releases.
