Page 115 of Fakers with Benefits

Rather than answer him, I bent my head and dragged my tongue over his fluttering hole.

“Ngh,” he moaned, but the sound was muted, like he was trying to hold back.

I did it again, then again. Nick’s legs shook and his chest heaved. I stabbed the tip of my tongue inside him.

Nick’s cry was loud and surprised as he clenched around my tongue.

Wanting more of those cries, I thrust as deep inside him as I could, fucking him with my tongue, and shackled his leaking cock in one hand.

“Oh fuck. Ev, that’s… Holyfuck!”

Focusing on my pace and not on how he was writhing for me and how much I wanted to see him do the same on my dick, I made sure to keep him right on the edge of orgasm, giving him just enough to get close, but not tip over and come.

Wanting to see if he was enjoying this as much as I was, I glanced up, my tongue deep in his ass.

Nick was staring down at me with a hand clamped over his mouth and the other holding up one leg.

“Don’t hide yourself. Not from me,” I growled. “Let me hear it.”

Tentatively, he pulled his hand from his mouth.

I attacked his ass with the single-minded focus that served me well in my work, stabbing and licking and sucking on his hole. Nick’s cries spurred me on, and the louder they grew, the closer I got.

When he was a whimpering, blubbering mess, I pulled my face out of his ass. “Flip over.”

He did, nearly kicking me in the face in his haste to get on his hands and knees.

“Don’t move.”

He hung his head and stayed still as I climbed off the bed.

“Beautiful.” I stroked one hand down his back.

He stiffened.

“And you’ll be even more beautiful when I’m splitting you open with my dick.”

He relaxed.

Interesting.

I’d noticed how Nick struggled to accept compliments or tenderness when it came to sex. If he didn’t brush them off, he either tried to rile me up so I’d change my tactics, or he switched to his sensual persona and tried to take over.

Not wanting to make him, or myself, wait, I went to my bedside table and tugged open the drawer. “Shit.”

“What?”

“I don’t have a condom.” I grabbed my bottle of lube and threw the drawer closed.

“How can you not have condoms?”

“Because I don’t bring men here. I have some in the spare bathroom. I’ll just—”

“My pants. In my wallet.”

I retrieved the condom from his wallet and positioned myself behind him.

“Remember what you promised.” He arched his back. “No more Mr. Nice Guy. I want Mr. I’m Gonna Rearrange Your Guts to come out and play.”

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