I screamed.
He paused, glanced up at my face, and his lips curved into a sexy smile that had more moisture drenching my pussy. Then that smile disappeared.
Because he dropped his head again, and this time he didn’t stop when I screamed.
This time he kept going, tracing his tongue through my folds, drifting up to my clit and sucking firmly. I groaned, arching against him, pressing closer, my hands no longer reaching for his belt but gripping his head, angling him until he found . . . just . . . the . . . right . . . spot.
Teasing, flicking, zeroing in on what made my head spin, then exploiting what he learned, catapulting me up the edge of pleasure until I was on the razor’s edge of exploding.
And then he slipped one large finger home.
I came apart against his mouth, clenching against the blunt intrusion, wave after wave after wave of bliss expanding out through my body, leaving me limp and sated and slumped back on the cushions.
I barely felt Brent remove his hands, was hardly aware of him tugging my dress down, but I became aware when he gently lifted me to my feet.
First, because how in the hell was I supposed to balance on heels—chunky or not—after he’d given me the orgasm to end all orgasms? Second, unless he was putting me on my feet so he could lead me to my bedroom then I was much more interested in being on my back on that couch than teetering on my heels.
He smoothed my dress over my hips, fixing the displaced collar, tugging down the hem over my panty-free bottom half.
Which—hot—was also not the point.
The dress should be coming up, being yanked over my head, not going down and covering up all the parts where I wanted his mouth and teeth and tongue . . . and cock.
“We’d better get to dinner, darlin’,” he murmured, wrapping an arm around my waist.
Dinner?
Did sucking his cock off like a lollipop count as dinner?
Also, apparently living my best life meant transforming into a sex fiend—though I’d challenge any straight or bisexual woman to not become addicted to a man like Brent, especially when said man had just given me the orgasm to end all orgasms.
Yeah. I’d chosen the right time to start living.
Especially when Brent seemed to read my thoughts on my face, or maybe it was the fact that my eyes had dropped to his waist again, to the erection that was still present and pressing against the fabric of his pants.
“Trying to do the right thing, darlin’,” he said. “Trying to show you a good time. Take you out for the nice meal you deserve.” I leaned against him, knowing my breasts were pressed to his chest, knowing he could feel it, that he liked it because his breath caught, and his hands clenched into fists where they rested on my hips.
“Darlin’,” he rasped again, warning this time in his tone. “We should leave now, or we’ll miss our reservations.”
I shifted in his hold, slipped my arms around his waist. “I don’t care about reservations, baby.” I lifted on tiptoe, my eyes staring into his. “I want you to take me in your arms and walk me down the hall to my bedroom. I want you to make love—”
“I can’t.”
I smiled. “I don’t mean that you literally have to lift me. I know I’m heavy. But I want you Brent. I want to make you feel as good as you just made me feel. I want—”
“We should—”
I slipped my hand down, squeezed his cock.
“Fuck!” he grunted, fingers clenching on my hips.
“Let’s go to the bedroom—”
“No!”
I blinked, horror washing through me. “Oh, my God,” I said, jerking out of his hold. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Oh my God,” I repeated on a groan, turning away and shoving my hair out of my face, embarrassment coursing through me. He didn’t want me. “I shouldn’t have pushed. I—I didn’t think. I—”
Warm hands gripped my shoulders, spun me to face him.
“I don’t know what’s going through your head, darlin’. But first of all, you’re not too fucking heavy for me to carry, bad back or not,” he growled, and before I could ask him about the bad back, since that was the first I’d heard of it, he took my hand and placed it over his erection. “And you’re not pushing. Or not pushing me to do something I don’t want. I do want you, baby. I just . . . we should take things slow.”
I bit my lip, let my eyes drift away, feeling suddenly both unsure and also a bit like a hussy.
He wanted to take things slow, and I was the one trying to steal his virtue.
Cool.
And also, maybe I was all about living my best life and jumping in with both feet, but also . . . maybe Brent was just being nice. Maybe he’d realized he didn’t want to hurt my feelings, but actually wasn’t into me—
“Hey.”
I shook my head and turned away again, searching for in what would prove to be a vain attempt for my underwear.
One, because I couldn’t spot them straight away.
Two, because almost as quickly as I’d turned around, I found myself spun back to face Brent again.
“Darlin’.”
Another shake of my head, my eyes burning. “We should just go to dinner, like you said,” I blurted.
“I do want you, Iris.”
Maybe more level-headed and clear-minded I would have recognized the angst in his tone, the insecurity, but I was heading down the road to a full-blown burned my pecan, cherry, and pumpkin pies meltdown and wasn’t capable of discerning anything aside from my burning humiliation at coming on to someone who didn’t want me.
Did that make me an asshole?
Probably.
Especially because my first thought to him saying he wanted me was, Yeah, sure he did and then trying and failing to pull out of his grip, because I’d just told the man who’d turned me down that
