Page 77 of Night Shift

“Please,” he rasps.

He’s begging.

Apparently, this is a turn-on for me. I’m learning a lot about myself today.

Luckily for Vincent, I’m not about to deny him when he asks nicely.

Thirty

I blame the fact that we’re hidden in the shadows and surrounded by stacks of books, only the patter of rain and Vincent’s heavy pants to break up the silence. It’s public, yes, but it’s insulated. Intimate. Quiet and cozy and magical. There’s really no other explanation for how bravely I tuck the head of his cock between my lips and suck.

Vincent’s body arches, his eyelids fluttering and breath hitching.

“Kendall,” he groans. Then, again: “Please.”

I pull back. “I want to try again. Can I?”

Vincent needs no further elaboration or convincing. He immediately presses back against the bookshelf, bracing himself.

“Stick your tongue out for me, Holiday,” he says. “Keep one hand around it—yeah, just like that—and put the rest in your mouth, okay? You can take it. I know you can. Show me.”

I know it might just be wishful thinking on his part, but something about Vincent’s confidence in me makes me feel like I’ve got this. It also makes the muscles in my lower abdomen tighten and tremble, but that’s a me problem. We can sort out how needy and damp I am later.

This is about Vincent.

I keep one hand wrapped around the root as I take him into my mouth again, my tongue pressed flat to my bottom lip. This time, I’m prepared for the size of him. The easy slide, the slow stretch of my jaw, the sensation of being stuffed. My throat spasms a little, but I force myself to stay calm and hold still. To wait until the need for air outweighs the satisfaction I feel from listening to the noises Vincent is trying to stifle as he lets me do what I want to him.

Because I might be the one on my knees, but what Vincent said holds true.

I’m in charge.

“Good girl,” Vincent whispers. “Knew you could do it. Holy shit.”

When I reach up blindly to grip his hip, he responds obediently.

Vincent moves in shallow, tentative thrusts at first. He’s still scared to hurt me, I think, and I can only take about half of him before it’s too much—but we find a rhythm. He keeps his pace predictable, and I time my breathing. He gets a little more confident with each punch of his hips when he sees I can take what he’s giving. I get more confident too, because he never gives me more than I’ve shown him I can handle. His fingers tighten in my hair again, but this time, he’s not pulling me away. He’s holding me steady. The surrender of control gives me the chance to slide my hands up his legs, over his thighs, and under the hem of his sweater. I’m a little bit obsessed with the way his stomach tenses and flexes under my palms.

I hum around him, just to test a theory, and his cock twitches hard in my mouth.

“Do that again,” he rasps. “Fuck, Kendall. Exactly like that.”

The praise, delivered with such raw and strangled reverence, makes me ache. I hum again, and it sort of dissolves into half-maniacal laughter, because holy shit I did not realize that I would enjoy this so much.

“You’re evil,” Vincent accuses, breathless but smiling.

I pull back, catching his cock in my hand when it slips out from between my lips.

“Do you want me to stop?” I ask.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

With a deep breath, I take half of him into my mouth again and moan. Vincent’s hips instinctively hitch forward to meet me, stuffing another inch of him down my throat, and I think he tries to apologize but it’s a string of unintelligible words punctuated with an equal mix of curses and praise. My eyes water up like crazy, but it’s worth it.

I do, tragically, still have to breathe. I tap Vincent’s thigh twice to let him know. Tapping out is a pretty universal sign, but emotion still flares up in me when he immediately pulls back and gives me the space I need to gasp in air.

I lavish him with grateful kisses and sloppy strokes of my hand.

“We’re such a good team,” I say, my voice a little hoarse.

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