Page 803 of Deep Pockets

I blink in disbelief.

Did that just happen?

More gushes out.

I instinctively squeeze my eyes shut as the warm liquid lands on my forehead, the other cheek, nose, and chin.

A warm droplet lands on Pinkie and two on the Brain.

Well, now I know what it’s like for the porn stars in those bukkake videos. When Bob wanted to do this exact thing with me a while back, I refused, thinking it degrading. Now I’m not so sure. Maybe if—

“What are you doing there?” Vlad sounds like he’s seen a ghost.

Crap. He must’ve finally opened his eyes.

Keeping my own blinkers shut lest my eyeballs get impregnated, I climb to my feet. My cheeks burn so hot I half expect the Dracula juices to sizzle, like egg whites on a skillet.

“Don’t move.” I hear him rush away.

Is he escaping? Taking a picture? Ordering takeout?

I hear him come back, and a strong hand cradles my head.

Well, that’s nice.

“The water should be warm,” he murmurs.

I dare not peek.

A paper towel touches my forehead.

Oh. He’s cleaning me up. That’s sweet, or as sweet as this can be, given the substance in question.

Speaking of the substance, is it too late for me to sneak a taste?

No. He’d see, and though most guys would find that hot, I’m not sure what the protocol is for when the guy in question is your boss squared.

“I’m sorry,” he says when he’s done with the area around my eyes. Despite his words, his voice is more than a little husky. “I’m not sure how this happened, but—”

“It wasn’t your fault.” I open my eyes and watch as he finishes wiping my cheeks and chin, then looks uncertainly at my cleavage.

“It’s fine,” I say, flushing impossibly hotter. “Go for it.”

His pupils dilate as he dabs the few droplets from Pinkie and the Brain.

I glance down.

He’s zipped up Dracula, but there appears to be a new bulge there.

Useful, I guess, in case we decide to do more testing.

He balls up the dirty towel in his hand. “Just so you know, I’m clean. I got myself tested after the last relationship, and I haven’t been with anyone since then, so—”

“I’m clean too,” I blurt. “And on the pill.”

His eyes gleam. “That’s good to know, but the reason I told you about my medical history was so that you wouldn’t worry about a herpes outbreak on your face. It wasn’t quid pro quo.”

Of course, that’s what he meant. Stupid mouth. First it blurts TMI, now it wants to kiss him. Would he think it gross if I did kiss him? My mouth was spared the fountain of—

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