Page 17 of Mr Nice Guy

He lets out a loud groan as hot cum fills my mouth, half his load going straight down my throat and making me sputter. I slowly drag my lips down his shaft until his softening cock falls from my mouth. Then I take a moment to just savor the taste of him on my tongue before swallowing down my mouthful and grinning up at him, my tongue slipping out to slide over my lips. “Mmm…that was tasty.”

“Fuck, that’s an impressive gag reflex,” he mutters, looking a little shell-shocked from the recent experience.

“Um…thank you?” I say awkwardly, clambering to my feet.

He offers a wry smirk. “I guess that’s something you’re well-practiced in too?”

I let out a breath of amusement. “Yeah, I guess you could say that. It’s not always that fun, though.”

Tanner’s brows shoot up. “Fun? You looked like you could barely breathe. I—I didn’t mean to get so carried away…”

“You didn’t. Trust me, it was hot as fuck,” I assure him, gesturing to my cock, which is already hard again after that epic BJ.

Tanner’s eyes widen in obvious shock. “Fuck.”Then he wipes a hand over his face, looking suddenly exhausted. “I don’t know what to be more unsettled about—that you got hard from something that looked like torture, or that you got hardagainabout ten minutes after coming. You really are a baby, aren’t you?”

I cross my arms over my chest and issue him with an irritated look. “I’m twenty-seven, hardly a baby. I hope you’re not about to pull the whole ‘you’re too young for me’ shit, because one…” I hold my hand up and start counting on my fingers. “You’ve proved tonight that you can clearly keep up with me. You’ve probably got more stamina than a ton of guys my age. Two—I’ve well and truly learned over the years that age is completely irrelevant when it comes to sex. You’re not even the oldest guy I’ve hooked up with. And three—this is supposed to be a one-night thing anyway, so what does it matter?”

Tanner’s brows shoot up. “That was quite a passionate spiel.”

I sigh, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve had this issue come up before. Better to head it off at the pass.”

The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Well I don’t think you’re too young. I was just making an observation. And, like you said, this is just a one-night thing anyway…”

I nod. “Right. Oh, and I’m not a masochist.”

He blinks at me. “What?”

“You said you were concerned that I got hard from something that looked like torture,” I remind him. “I got hard from something that turned me on. I’m not a masochist. I mean, I don’t mind a bit of biting or a spank every now and then, but I’m not into full on S&M. Not that there’s anything wrong or shameful about it,” I rush to add. “Just not my thing. I’m more of an equal opportunist when it comes to power dynamics in sex. I prefer to switch things up. Sometimes I want to completely take charge and dominate, and other times I want to be used and just submit to someone else’s power.” Fucking hell, why am I still talking?

Tanner looks a little taken aback at the information I’ve just dumped on him, but then I see realization pass over his features and he nods, the corner of his mouth curving up in a smirk. “Right. I’ve got to say, though, even when you’re submitting you’re still pretty fucking dominant.”

I offer a wry smile in return. “Likewise.”

CHAPTER8

TANNER

I’m having trouble concentrating during RJ’s BCN meeting. It’s Wednesday afternoon and my ass is still tender from the pounding I got from Deacon on Monday night. That’s not entirely unusual. A hard fuck means a sore ass; that’s something I learned a long time ago and it doesn’t bother me at all.

Whatisunusual is that I can’t stop thinking about it. And by “it” I mean Monday night. Deacon’s cock buried in my ass, pounding in hard while his fingers dug into my skin and his lips whispered filth in my ear. And that blow job… I don’t think you could even call it a blow job, really. It was something else entirely. I mean, I fucked histhroatfor Christ’s sake. I’ve never done something like that with a guy before. I’m not sure what possessed me to let Deacon go down on me in the first place—it just kind of happened and it felt too good to stop. And then when he was inside me and told me he wanted to finish me off with his mouth I couldn’t agree fast enough.

Fuck, I can’t believe I told him I wanted to cum on his face. What the hell was I thinking, admitting that to him? Well, I guess that answer’s obvious—I wasn’t thinking. I was suffering from temporary insanity thanks to the pleasure he was wringing out of my body.

But if the insanity was only temporary, why the hell am I still thinking about it? And why do I still want to see that pretty face covered in my cream?

This definitely isn’t supposed to happen. I’m not supposed to reminisce about the guys who fuck me. I never have before, that’s for sure. All that has mattered in the past is how loose and…unwound I feel after a hard fuck. All my tension melts away and my mind seems clearer, and I can just feel normal for a while.

But I don’t spend hours recollecting the details of those hook-ups. I don’t get hard at the mere thought of a guy’s cock. And I sure as hell don’t zone out during meetings trying to work out if it might be possible to set up a repeat.

Ido notrepeat hook-ups. That’s one of the rules my therapist helped me come up when I first started using this as a method of dealing with my anxiety. She wasn’t exactly thrilled with the crutch I’d developed, but was still supportive and helped me to work out a system so that this weird coping mechanism I have doesn’t turn into an unhealthy habit.

I’ve been incredibly diligent about keeping to those rules—only using sex when I absolutely need to, not combining alcohol and sex, not taking anyone home, et cetera…until Monday night when I broke one of the most important ones by hooking up with someone I already knew. Until then I’d been very strict about keeping it to random guys from bars or apps. I’m not sure why Deacon was the exception; I’ve met him a ton of times over the past couple months and never had an inkling of interest in him, although I’ve certainly sensed his interest in me. But when I saw him at that bar on Monday night—long before he spotted me—I knew it had to be him. No one else would do. And with the mood I was in, my rules didn’t seem to matter all that much.

“So what do you think?” RJ asks, looking at me expectantly.

Shit, did I seriously miss his entire spiel?

I spare a quick glance at the other two occupants of the boardroom. Carter looks intrigued, while Marion looks concerned but not unhappy. Okay, so at least whatever RJ said has gone over okay. I decide to just bluff it out and hope I can trust he’s not leading me astray. “I’m behind RJ on this one,” I tell them.

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