by Ana Huang
Blake’s body tightened. “I’m going to come,” he warned. His breath came out in short pants; a faint sheen of sweat glistened on his skin.
In response, Farrah took him deeper in her throat. She wanted to taste him, devour him, love him. She wanted all of him.
Blake’s back arched and his grip tightened as he came in her mouth. Farrah lapped up every drop, milking him dry until he collapsed back onto the bed.
She couldn’t hold back a smug smile as she slid up his body and pressed a kiss to his neck.
“Holy shit,” he groaned. He ran his fingers through her hair and stared at her with so much love it made Farrah’s heart ache. No one had ever looked at her like that before. It scared the shit out of her, but the thought of losing him scared her more. Farrah snuggled closer to him, comforted by the solid feel of his body against hers. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“In French, they use the term la petite mort, ‘the little death,’ as a euphemism for orgasm, so you’re technically correct.”
Blake’s laugh reverberated through her, making her smile. Farrah loved his laugh. It was rich and comforting, like a cup of hot chocolate on a snowy winter day.
She trailed her fingers over his chest and the hard ridges of his abdomen. To her surprise, Blake stirred against her. “How is that possible?”
He didn’t bother hiding his cocky grin. “Stamina, baby. I got lots of it.”
Farrah’s arousal spiked again. She remembered how he felt in her mouth. Now she wanted to feel him inside her, filling her until she lost all sense of time and space.
“Do you have a condom?” She reached for him, her heart pounding with excitement. Finally. She was going to—
Blake grasped her wrist and flipped her over so she was the one lying on her back again. “Not yet. I have a favor to return.”
Unease unfurled in her stomach. “It’s ok. You don’t have to.”
“Any guy who doesn’t is a dick. Do I look like a dick to you?”
“Well.” Farrah flicked her gaze down.
His chest rumbled with more laughter. “We’ll get to that later. In the meantime…” He skimmed his lips over her mouth, her cheeks, her jaw, her neck, her shoulders, and her breasts, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.
Farrah closed her eyes and gave herself up to the sensation of his touch. Still, a corner of her mind remained alert, anxious, worrying and wondering whether this time would be any different.
Blake’s mouth closed around her nipple, tonguing it, while he rolled the other between his fingers. Farrah gasped at the sensation. The ache between her legs intensified, and she dug her nails into his shoulders, leaving crescent-shaped indentations in his skin.
If it hurt, Blake didn’t show it. He sucked hard on her nipple, then released it with an audible pop. He blew on the sensitive, swollen tip, which hardened even more from the cool air. He repeated this process on the other side, alternating between her breasts until Farrah squirmed with need.
“Blake, please,” she begged.
“Please what?” He eased her shorts and underwear down her legs and slid a finger between her slick folds. He groaned. “Jesus, you’re dripping.”
She was. Farrah had never been more turned on in her life. Her thighs were slick with her juices; her sex clenched as if she needed something—someone—buried deep inside her.
“Please. I need you.” Her whimper turned into a moan when Blake rubbed his thumb over her clit. Her hips bucked, seeking relief.
“You have me.” Blake replaced his hand with his mouth.
Farrah’s head fell back. Every scrape of his tongue against her sensitive flesh caused a bolt of sensation to sizzle through her. It was enough to turn her body into one giant nerve ending, raw and pulsing with need; it wasn’t enough to quiet the voices. They whispered in her mind, raising doubts about her body, about whether Blake enjoyed what he was doing or if he was doing it because he thought he had to. About why she teetered on the edge but couldn’t bring herself to step over.
She clutched the sheets so hard her knuckles turned white. She didn’t have this issue when she was alone. Farrah could bring herself to orgasm every time, so she knew it was possible. It just wasn’t possible with a guy.
Maybe it’ll be different with Blake. She felt more connected to him than with any guy in her past, and Lord knew he was talented. The things he was doing with his mouth…
Farrah cried out when he sucked on her clit and flicked his tongue over the most sensitive spot on her bundle of nerves.
It. Was. Incredible. But it wasn’t enough.
She tried to will her body past the finish line. It shouldn’t be hard. She was so aroused she might explode, except she didn’t. She remained on the razor’s edge, held back by some force that didn’t want her to fall. Her body craved relief, yet wouldn’t give it to her.
It was the world’s cruelest joke.
Goddammit.
Tears of frustration leaked from the corners of her eyes. A sob escaped her throat.
Blake stopped. The bed shifted as he moved up to face her. “Are you ok? Did I hurt you?” He sounded panicked.
Farrah shook her head. She kept her eyes closed, too mortified to look at him. Not only couldn’t she come, she was crying (and not from joy) in the middle of what was otherwise incredible oral sex. What was wrong with her?
“Farrah, look at me. Tell me what’s wrong.”
She opened her eyes reluctantly. Concern etched Blake’s features, and his brows drew together into a deep V.
“Nothing’s wrong,” she hiccupped. She swiped her tears away. “I’m sorry. This is so embarrassing.”
The mood was ruined. There was no use denying it.
“Don’t be sorry.” Blake lay next to her and wrapped her in his arms. “Shh. It’s ok.”
“It’s not you. It’s really not. I just—” Farrah sniffled. “I can’t, you know.”
He looked puzzled. “You can’t what?”
“I can’t…come.” She whispered the last word.
A pause, then Blake laughed. “Is that what you’re worried about? Farrah, I know it takes girls longer. It’s ok, we can—”
“No, I can’t come, period.” She kept her gaze lowered, afraid of his reaction. “I mean, I can by myself, but I’ve never been able to orgasm with a guy. Ever.”
This time the pause was more prolonged. “Well, you haven’t met anyone as talented as I am,” Blake joked in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.
Farrah managed a watery smile. “True.” The tears slowed, thank god. “Maybe it’s just oral. If we had sex, it might be different,” she said hopefully.
You hit different spots during intercourse, right? That could be it.
“We are not having sex like it’s a science experiment,” Blake said. “Not yet. Though I would love to see you in a lab coat getup one day.”
This time he got a weak laugh out of her.
“You know that saying: try, try again. We’ll keep trying till we get there. Once we do, we’ll move to the next base.”
Farrah frowned. Great. She was going to be a virgin for the rest of her life.
“Look on the bright side.” Blake kissed her forehead. “You’ll have me, Blake Ryan, at your full disposal. I’m basically your willing sex slave. No other girl can say that.”
“They better not.” Farrah bit her lip. “What if it’s me? What if there’s something wrong with me?”
Old fears resurfaced, threatening to drown her in their turbulent waters.
“There is nothing wrong with you.” Blake’s gaze turned fierce. “You’re perfect.”
“No one’s perfect.”
“You are. To me.”
Farrah buried her face in Blake’s chest, afraid he’d see how much his words affected her. She could feel his heart beating, a steady thump-thump-thump that forced those old fears to retreat.
But in their place came new ones that were even more insidious, because they were grounded in real
ity.
They weren’t fears; they were inevitabilities.
And Farrah knew if she wasn’t careful, they could break her heart.
Chapter Twenty
You can do this. You’re Blake Ryan. Girls do not scare you.
Blake paced his room, his pulse thrumming with anticipation. His stomach churned, and he couldn’t tell whether he was excited or about to be sick.
Probably a bit of both.
Blake had done a lot of scary shit in his life. He’d gotten up in front of a hundred cameras and told the world he was quitting football. He’d flown halfway across the world to spend a year in a country where he didn’t know the language or the culture. He was preparing to open his own sports bar even though he had zero experience running anything resembling a business (thank god for Google). In fact, he finished his first real-life business plan the other day. Market analysis, marketing plan, operating plan, financial plan, management plan…all done.
But he’d never once told a girl he loved her—and meant it. He said it to Cleo, more out of obligation than anything else, and the words tasted like cardboard. Empty and meaningless. Now, those same words burned inside him, screaming to get out.
Blake almost said it to Farrah the night she told him she was ready to lose her virginity. But then, well, that happened. Blake wasn’t upset—though he’d be lying if he said his ego didn’t take a hit—but the timing was off. He hadn’t worked up the courage to tell her to her face again.
In his mind? Yes, a million times. Every time he looked at her, saw her smile, heard her voice, felt the heat of her skin against his, he wondered how he’d survived without her. Twenty-one years of not knowing she existed only to have her turn his world upside down in three months. Yet in those three months, he’d lived more and loved harder than he had in the years preceding them.
There was an entire world outside Texas, and Blake was only now getting a taste of it.
“Don’t be a pussy.” Blake continued to pace, giving himself a pep talk like a crazy person. Thank god he didn’t have a roommate. If someone walked in on him like this, they’d have him committed. “There’s only three weeks left in the semester. After that, you won’t see Farrah again until late next January.”
He stared at the elephant figurine Farrah gifted him after she returned from Thailand. Blake Jr. stared back, positively dripping judgment. Tell her already, you idiot, it screamed.
Great. Now Blake was hearing voices from inanimate objects. He needed to get out of here before he really did go crazy.
“You got this,” he muttered under his breath as he barreled down the hall, nearly bowling Nardo over in the process.
“Where’s the fire?” Nardo yelled.
Blake ignored him. He stopped in front of Farrah’s room. He couldn’t breathe.
Was this a good idea? Probably not. But what the hell. As Drake said, YO fucking LO.
After a final moment of hesitation, Blake rapped his knuckles on the door.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Farrah opened the door. She was wearing her adorable sheep pajamas and one of those goopy white masks that made girls look like horror movie extras.
“Hey.” Surprise flared in her eyes. “Is everything all right?”
Blake’s mind blanked. The speech he’d rehearsed, gone. His ability to speak, gone.
All he could do was stare at Farrah, wishing the floor would swallow him whole.
Concern replaced surprise. “Do you need to—”
“I love you.” The words rolled off his tongue, sweet and rich like honey. It wasn’t how he pictured this going. He had a whole flowery speech lined up (thanks to those rom coms Farrah forced him to watch) before he dropped the L bomb. But heck, it was already out there. There was no going back now.
The rest of Blake’s confession tumbled off his lips, like they were scared they wouldn’t get the chance to see the light of day if they waited too long. “I didn’t expect it or even want it, but it happened. If I’m being honest, it happened a while ago, and I’m only now getting the courage to tell you. You said once every second counts, and I don’t want another second to go by without you knowing that I am totally, completely, one hundred percent in love with you.”
Farrah stilled.
The next minute stretched on for eternity.
Silence wasn’t rejection, but he was going to be sick if Farrah didn’t say something soon.
Someone cleared their throat.
A girl with green-streaked hair appeared behind Farrah’s shoulder. It took Blake a second to identify her as Farrah’s roommate Janice—and to realize she’d heard every word he said.
Fuck.
“Er, I’m going to the library.” Janice looked like she was trying not to laugh. “I won’t be back for a while, so, yeah.”
She was definitely trying not to laugh.
Good luck, she mouthed as she slipped past Farrah into the hall.
Blake’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. Luckily (or not), he didn’t have to dwell on this humiliating turn of events long.
“Um.”
Not the first word Blake wanted to hear after his confession.
“I’m sorry. I need to—” Farrah stepped aside. “Come in.”
He did, even though he wanted to run away. He had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what Farrah had to say.
You idiot. You stupid, stupid idiot. He should’ve kept his mouth shut. At least then, he could’ve held onto the hope that Farrah felt the same way about him as he did her.
Ignorance, as they say, is bliss.
“I need to take this off.” Farrah peeled off her mask and tossed it in the trash. Her skin gleamed beneath the lights. “I don’t know what to say.”
His chest went hollow. “You don’t have to say anything.” Blake forced a smile and tried to convince himself he wasn’t dying inside.
“No. I want to.” Farrah fiddled with her necklace. “When I met you, I told myself I wasn’t going to fall for you.”
Jesus. Her words cut like a surgical knife through Blake’s heart.
“I understand.” He needed to get out of here. “I’m supposed to meet Luke for dinner so I’ll—”
“But I did.”
He couldn’t stay here a minute longer. He needed to go—wait, what?
Blake’s head snapped up. “What did you say?”
“I did fall in love with you.” Farrah’s eyes glowed with emotion. She clutched her necklace until her knuckles turned white. “That place you’re at now? I’m right there with you. It scares the crap out of me, which is funny because I’ve always considered myself a romantic. You know, I love reading and watching romances and when I was in middle school, I read all these bridal magazines and dreamt about falling in love and getting married one day. Not that I’m expecting us to get married because obviously it’s way too soon—I mean, if it happens at all—but this is the first time I’ve been in love and I didn’t expect to feel this way and—”
“Farrah.” Blake closed the gap between them until he could count every lash rimming those beautiful eyes.
“I’m not sure if this is normal and sorry I’m rambling, I don’t even know what I’m—”
“Farrah, shut up so I can kiss you.”
She shut up.
Blake gently pried her hand off her necklace and tangled his fingers with hers before he captured her mouth with his. What started as an innocent kiss, an exploration of this new stage in their relationship, quickly heated up until Blake’s entire body was on fire. His nerve endings thrummed as Farrah swept her tongue between his lips, tasting and teasing.
He was so lost in the heat and taste of her he didn’t notice they’d moved until Farrah pushed him onto her bed and straddled him.
Blake’s jeans constricted painfully.
Her hair brushed his chest as she hovered over him, cheeks flushed, mouth swollen, looking for all the world like she’d stepped out of a dream. His dream.
“I love you,” she said. Eac
h word came out slowly and carefully, like she was testing them out.
Blake brushed his thumb over Farrah’s cheek. Her skin was soft and warm against his. His gaze caressed her face, lingering on the delicate curve of her jaw, the gentle slope of her nose, the tiny mole above her right eyebrow, and the sweep of black lashes framing her deep chocolate eyes.
“I love you too.”
He flipped them over until he was the one hovering over her. “Let’s try an experiment.”
Farrah’s brow furrowed. “What kind of experiment?”
“This.” Blake brushed his lips over hers and reached down to caress her, reveling in her sharp intake of breath as he explored her most intimate folds.
They’d tried multiple times to bring Farrah over the finish line, to no avail. She got close during their last attempt, but no dice. It was a blow (no pun intended) to Blake’s pride. When a girl RSVPed yes, he made sure they came. Always. It was a Blake Ryan hallmark. The fact he couldn’t do that for Farrah galled him to no end.
But for once, his pride wasn’t the most important thing.
Blake kept his gaze on Farrah’s face, taking his cues from her reactions—the way her eyelids fluttered and lips parted when he rubbed his thumb over her clit, the way she arched when he slipped a finger inside her warmth—until his fingers were slick with her juices.
Then he guided Farrah’s hand down to replace his own. He sat back.
Her eyes flew open. “Wha—”
“Touch yourself for me.”
Farrah’s cheeks turned the color of ripe tomatoes. “I can’t.”
“You can. You said you can come when you do it on your own.” Blake ran his thumb over the soft skin of Farrah’s inner thigh. “Show me.”
In his football days, Blake followed a simple learning method: 1) Watch how the pros do it 2) Do it yourself 3) Keep going until you do it well 4) Add your own flair until you do it better.
The method won him two Heismans and three national championships. A girl’s body was more complicated than a football play, but the principle was the same. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t made the connection earlier.