Summer Heat

by Carly Phillips

  His arm wraps around me like a steel band, stopping me from going any further. “No, baby. I won’t have the strength to stop if you touch me.”

  When I frown in disappointment, he makes it up to me by winding a fist in my hair gently, tugging it. Just enough. The perfect amount of strain and tension, pull and pressure to make my pussy throb in time with my speeding heartbeat.

  That’s when he slides his hands over my ass and lifts me, pressing my core right up against his massive hard-on as he carries me over to the bedroom.

  The new pressure between my legs sends shockwaves of pleasure through me with every step he takes. And he knows it, the evil, evil man.

  By the time he lays me down on my bed, I’m panting and already parting my thighs for him. Smiling in a positively wicked way, he kneels down and grazes his lips against the top of my mound as he says, “Open wider for me, sweetheart. Let me see you before I taste you.”

  Oh, god, I have a hard time believing I’ll ever be more turned on in my life.

  I open wider.

  His fingers gently stroke over the seam of my panties, but instead of putting his mouth on me just yet, he pulls the cloth of my panties tight. And blows on my clit.

  My legs start to shake.

  Eventually, he puts me out of my misery and slides a single finger along my pussy, muttering roughly, “Fuck, you’re wet.” That he sounds ragged and strained is the only balm easing my frustration.

  “Jason, please.”

  Apparently, that word really is magic, because I feel something pretty freaking magical bursting through me when he slowly slides two fingers into me while rubbing my clit with his thumb. The relief I feel is almost overwhelming. The pleasure all-consuming.

  “Jesus fuck, you’re tight.”

  His face dips between my legs and I very nearly pass out when I feel his tongue start lapping away at my wet heat. “You’re almost ready for me to take you,” he whispers against me. “But first, I’m going to suck on you here.” He licks my clit. “Until you come on my face.”

  I feel his lips wrap around my swelling clit as he lifts my legs and puts them both over his shoulders. “Grab onto the sheets, sweetheart, because I’m going to fuck this tight, wet little pussy with my tongue for a little while.”

  His mouth latches onto my pussy and I immediately see stars. It’s all I can do not to black out, the pleasure is so intense. A whole-body mass of sensations.

  Honestly, I’m not sure how much more I can take, how much more I need.

  Thankfully, Jason does.

  He starts pumping a third thick finger deep inside of me before sucking my swollen clit into his mouth, hard.

  And every last one of my thoughts goes scattering into oblivion, his name wrung out of me over and over as I go flying over the edge.

  15

  | JASON |

  WEDNESDAY

  (Time: T-minus zero if I’m not careful.)

  Jesus, watching Summer come apart is without a doubt, the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life.

  And I’m now well and truly addicted.

  Gently cupping her soft mound, I press the heel of my palm against her clit as I move my mouth over to nuzzle the curve of her neck.

  Just as sweet as the rest of her.

  “Ready for round two, baby?”

  Her eyes fly wide open when I slide two fingers inside her. Hell, she’s even tighter now that she’s come once, her pussy walls swollen, wetter and hotter than before.

  Once I have her full attention again, I begin whispering the dirtiest, filthiest fantasies I’ve been having in her ear, detailing it all for her while she squirms. I meant what I said, I want to take her in every possible way, every possible position.

  I want her to crave me as much as I crave her.

  “You’re coming for me one more time,” I tell her.

  At her incredulous gasp that sounds part moan, part grumble, I chuckle and wrap my hands around her ankles so I can pull her to the edge of the bed and spread her thighs apart. I want to bury my face in her until she comes in my mouth one more time. Until I have her wet enough so I can take her without hurting her.

  Not today though.

  But soon.

  Even as I make that vow—which I’m going to goddamn hold myself to if it kills me—the reminder that I’m the first man to touch her this way, that I’ll be the first man to slide into her perfect virgin pussy makes me fucking leak precum again.

  But I stay the course.

  I work my tongue in teasing little circles round her clit, forcing her moans to a higher decibel, wilder, less restrained than those quiet, breathy little moans and whimpers she was making earlier.

  This is what I want. To break Summer of that tameness she uses to keep herself in check.

  She’s the same way on the jobsite. Tempered at all times, even when I know there’s a whole bunch of cute craziness teeming inside of her.

  This is going to be my new hobby. I’ve decided. Some guys golf. Me, I’m going to spend all my free time making Summer come as often as she’ll let me.

  And I tell her as much as I stroke my tongue over her hot, swelling clit.

  Her hands all but shred the bed sheets. “Oh my god, Jason, I’m going to…”

  A fucking flood of her juices fill my mouth and it takes everything I have not to come in my fucking pants. I keep lapping at her, holding her firm while her clit pulses against my tongue.

  When her body goes boneless, I trail soft, gentle kisses up her torso, making my way back up to her lips.

  “I should go,” I say quietly against her mouth as I tuck her in under her blanket.

  “What?” She looks like she’s swimming in quicksand as she tries to summon the energy to get back up.

  She is not successful.

  Which makes me pleased as fuck.

  “You can’t just…” She gestures weakly in the air between us as if she can’t find the words.

  “Eat your pussy?” I supply and her cheeks blaze red.

  “And then leave,” she says with feeling. “You just keep giving me these…these drive-by orgasms without letting me do anything to you.”

  I chuckle. Christ, this woman and her friggin’ cuteness. “Sweetheart, I’d love nothing more than to stay and let you have your wicked way with me, but I have to leave for the airport. Business trip, remember? China? For one week?”

  “Oh, right,” she sighs disappointedly. “Wait,” she glances over at the clock on her nightstand, “shouldn’t you be at the airport already?”

  “I’m going to have to book it over there now.”

  “Do you need a ride?”

  I smile. “No, I always park my truck at the airport so I can go straight over to meetings and things as soon as I land.”

  “Oh.” She tilts her head at me curiously. “Do you travel in your own billionaire jet? I never asked you all the other times you flew out.”

  Laughing, I shake my head. “No. I always fly commercial. Can’t justify the cost of a private plane. Especially not for these international flights. Plus, there are more cities and flight times if I go commercial.”

  “Makes sense,” she says. “I’ve never gone anywhere outside of the country. Really, I just have my passport for government contracts.” Now that she’s no longer in her post-orgasmic haze, she’s back to her usual chatty self and winding all that long, gorgeous hair back up in a quick knot atop her head that leaves a few locks sticking up every which way.

  It’s fucking adorable.

  She props her chin up on her knees to watch as I re-buckle my belt and straighten out my clothes. “Is your plane going to have those personal pod seats?”

  “In the first-class section, yes, but I’m flying business class. With how much I have to travel, the difference in expense adds up. I could fund ten more full college scholarships a year with the money.” I shrug. “So I do.”

  She smiles. “God, you really are a saint.”

  I puzzle over that. “Who calls me a
saint?” Stoic grouch is much more appropriate.

  “I do. To anyone who asks. You’re easily the most giving person I know.”

  “I’m not a saint, Summer.” I’m not sure why I want her to be clear on that, but I do. “I occasionally splurge on things. At each of my different cabins, I’ve got way more modes of transportation than a person needs—a couple of motorcycles, ATVs, boats, that sort of thing.”

  “You have cabins? As in plural?”

  I can’t help but smile over that. Summer is just such a refreshing change of pace. Most women I meet already have a stalker file of all my assets. “I’ve got three cabins in the U.S. The one I spend the most time at is actually not too far from our jobsite.”

  “Oh.”

  She’s like a curious little kitten, this one. And there’s another question brewing in there, I can see it. “Go ahead and ask. I’ve got a few more minutes.”

  “No, it’s none of my business.”

  I just wait her out. From my experience, questions don’t exactly stay bottled up in Summer for very long.

  She breaks a second later. “Okay, I was just going to ask why you don’t stay at your cabin if it’s close to our jobsite.”

  Instead of answer right away, I ask her a question of my own, “Would you stay at the cabin? If it were closer than the penthouse?”

  “Actually,” she chuckles, “I’d probably pick the cabin even if it were farther away.”

  A woman after my own heart.

  “I would too. In fact, I used to stay at the cabin more than my loft in the city…that is, until I discovered my new tenant was an adorably sexy insomniac who had this cute habit of knocking on my door in the middle of the night.”

  She blushes. “Sorry about that.”

  I drop a kiss on her lips. “Don’t be. I’m not.”

  My phone chimes and I really can’t ignore this last alert. “Sweetheart, as much as it pains me to ‘dine and dash’ on you.” I grin as her cheeks burn an adorable bright red. “I really do have to head over to the airport. I’ll have my cell phone throughout the entire trip so call me if you can’t sleep. As long as I’m not in a meeting, I’ll answer.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she says softly.

  “I don’t ever make offers I ‘have’ to, just ones I want to. Trust me, talking to you will likely be the highlight of my days there.”

  I pull her in for one final kiss, and make one parting request before I go…

  Request, demand—tomato, tomahto.

  “No touching yourself this week unless you’re on the phone with me. Deal?”

  16

  | SUMMER |

  SUNDAY

  (Time: 8:35 a.m.)

  All week, Jason held firm on his demand.

  So far, we’ve video-chatted five times during his trip, and in each call, he’s made sure to talk me through at least one orgasm, usually two.

  As a result, interestingly enough, I found myself sleeping better than I ever have in my life.

  Today though, I’m determined not to fall asleep on him right after coming my brains out.

  It’s Sunday morning for me, meaning it’s late at night in China. Perfect timing. I text him to see if he’s gone to bed yet.

  My cell rings almost immediately.

  “Hi,” I answer the video call, doing my best to quell my nervousness.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” He sounds tired. Which has me rethinking my grand plan for the call. That is, until he asks, “Are you wearing your strawberry panties this morning or the pineapples?”

  I shake my head. “No panties this morning.”

  That makes him look loads more awake on the screen. “Yeah?”

  “Mmm hmm,” I reply casually. “Speaking of which, I’ve been meaning to ask. You remember how you told me that I couldn’t touch myself without you on the phone?”

  “Yes,” he says, his tone now intense.

  “What if I did…touch myself? Before you called. Would there be say, a consequence for said hypothetical action?”

  His eyes flare with heat, and his chiseled jaw goes granite hard.

  Oh wow, this is getting fun.

  “Did you touch yourself, Summer?” he asks in a deceptively calm voice.

  Instead of answer, I angle my phone camera lower.

  “Fucking hell.”

  Good lord, I love it when he starts losing control.

  Knowing my face is probably as red as a lobster right now, I keep the phone pointed downward, on what my fingers are currently doing.

  The sound of his belt hitting the floor is pure music to my ears.

  “How many drive-by orgasms have you given me now, you think?” I ask, breathless, but determined.

  “A few dozen at least,” he murmurs, sounding wholly distracted. “Always the best part of my day.”

  Really, the man says the sweetest things.

  “Well, I want my turn to do that for you,” I say as I slip two fingers deep inside of me, to show him just how wet I am already.

  His resulting groan rips over the phone line.

  “You don’t have to say anything,” I say. “Just…watch.”

  Since acting isn’t even a remote forte of mine, I rely on all the hot, vivid memories I have of Jason making me come to help me through this.

  Highly effective plan, I discover.

  I shut my eyes and can almost feel his hands running over my breasts, teasing my nipples to stiff peaks as he whispers his trademark wicked dirty talk in my ear.

  I imagine it’s his fingertips instead of mine touching my wet slit, his slick fingers sliding in and out of me.

  Before I know it, I’m lost in the fantasy of his tongue stroking my swelling clit, alternating between sucking it hard and grazing it with his teeth.

  The sound of his harsh, strained breathing over the phone line has me rubbing my clit harder, faster, until my entire body is nearly shaking with pleasure. In my mind, he’s stroking his cock to the same rhythm, with the same urgency. And holy hell, that image has me close to coming already.

  But…without Jason’s dirty talk, it’s just not the same.

  “Fuck yourself with your fingers, baby. Get yourself ready for when I get back.” His voice hardens to a tense growl. “Imagine it’s my cock sliding in and out of your slick, hot pussy.”

  When I open my eyes to see him pumping his cock on the screen, I ask softly, “Just my pussy?”

  “Fucking hell, Summer. Are you saying you’re going to let me have your mouth when I come home? Tell me.”

  “Yes.” I’m reduced down to one-word replies.

  Jason has no such problem. “That’ll make me come, sweetheart. Are you going to let me come in your mouth? Or in that tight pussy?”

  I’m unable to answer. Because the very thought of him coming anywhere inside me has me shattering into pieces, my orgasm so intense I scream out his name as pulses of wet heat rip through me.

  He groans.

  I’m out of breath, but not too far gone to ask him a question of my own. “Are you going to do all these dirty things you keep telling me anytime soon?”

  His voice sounds on edge, but still unwavering. “I told you, we don’t have to rush this. We can wait. Your first time is a big deal.”

  “And I’m ready,” I say, a hundred percent certain.

  His breathing sounds labored. “Fucking hell, I’m so hard it almost hurts.”

  “Because you’re thinking about taking my virginity?”

  “Jesus Christ, stop, Summer.”

  After all the torture he’s put me through, I can’t help but smile.

  Which prompts a groaning chuckle from him. “You’re evil, woman. And I’m going to make you pay as soon as I get home.”

  “Promises, promises.”

  Suddenly, his smile goes wicked.

  And now I’m a teeny bit worried.

  “Remember how you asked me what consequences there’d be for touching yourself without me on the phone, baby?”

  I fee
l my breathing start to thin.

  “Since you asked so nicely, I’ll tell you,” he says, his voice lowering to a deep, sexy, commanding timbre. “After I make you come in my mouth at least two times, more likely three, I’m going to rub my cock all over your hard little clit until you come all over me. Then, and only then, will I let myself come.” His harsh, rumbling tone turns positively primal. “All over your wet slit…to mark it as mine.”

  Oh my god.

  “But before I come,” he growls, “I’ll have you take me in that sexy mouth of yours—so you’ll be able to taste yourself on me. Taste how fucking sweet you are, why I’m so damn addicted to making you come.”

  By this point, I’m a trembling mess, strung out like an addict overdosing on vivid, dirty, overstimulating sex images.

  And that’s when he just…stops.

  Just like in every phone call we’ve had this week, the maddening man simply takes in a deep, shuddering breath and zips himself back up without joining me in post-orgasm land.

  The stubborn ass.

  I’d been so sure I’d be the one to give him a drive-by this time.

  “I told you at the start of this week,” he says, as if reading my mind. “I’m not coming again until I’m there with you. Which will be in roughly…” He checks his watch. “Thirty-eight hours.”

  17

  | SUMMER |

  TUESDAY

  (Time: Exactly thirty-eight hours later.)

  Jason isn’t simply eating my pussy, he’s downright feasting on it.

  And after two crazy intense orgasms in a row, he’s effectively turned my legs to Jell-O. I’m ready to collapse. But instead of taking pity on my poor, exhausted pussy, he simply relocates me, laying me down flat on the ottoman like a virgin sacrifice, before spreading my legs wide and dipping his head back down to continue right where he left off.

  “You have only yourself to blame, sweetheart,” he says simply before leisurely sucking my clit into his mouth.

  Feeling my legs start to tremble in earnest as he increases the pressure and starts in on round three, I babble, I plead, I argue that there’s no way in the world I’ll be able to come again.