by A. D. Ryan
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, covering my mouth.
Smiling his understanding, Greyston holds out the plate, silently offering me the last slice of Honeydew. I decline with the shake of my head, and he slips it into his mouth before putting the plate in the dishwasher. “We should get some sleep.”
“Greyston, it’s barely even eight,” I argue half-heartedly.
“I know, but it’s been a long day. I’m beat from my flight and paintball, and I’m pretty sure my ability to bestow multiple orgasms on you has exhausted you.” He smirks, and I laugh. Loudly. “Besides, I have to be up early to go over Xander’s contracts with him at the office.”
I’m too tired to argue, especially since the thought of falling into a nice warm bed sounds heavenly. Greyston takes my hand and pulls me from my chair and out of the kitchen. Soon we’re in the hall between our rooms, and Greyston turns to me. “Any preference?”
I shake my head. “Not really. As long as there’s a bed.”
Kissing me once, Greyston leads me to his room and ushers me into bed before joining me. Warmth surrounds me as he presses his body to mine, draping his arm over me and holding me close. He presses a soft kiss to the back of my neck before we say our goodnights, and soon we’re both fast asleep.
Greyston leaves before eight in the morning, waking me only long enough to kiss me and tell me he’ll call when he’s on his way home. I promptly fall back asleep, waking a couple hours later refreshed and ready to face the day.
After brushing my teeth and hair, I do a bit of house cleaning. Okay…so it’s not the house, per say, that needs to be cleaned so much as Greyston’s bedroom. Who knew that two people being reunited after only a couple of days could wreak such havoc? At first, I think it’s just our scattered clothes that are the issue, but when I pick up my pants, I find that the lamp on one of the bedside tables had been knocked over and broken. The memory of it falling comes back to me, and I smile.
“Whoops,” I whisper, not really feeling remorse for the fallen accessory. I grab my phone from the back pocket of my jeans and take a picture to send to Greyston. After setting my phone down, I begin carefully picking up shards of glass and ceramic and toss them in my wastebasket.
I abandon the lamp pieces when my phone buzzes on the table, and I literally laugh out loud as I read Greyston’s response.
Falling back onto my heels, I reply, smiling wide the entire time.
Setting my phone on the floor next to me, I pick up a few more pieces before Greyston responds.
I laugh again—really loud and extremely unladylike; it’s probably a good thing I’m completely alone in the house.
I make the bed next, remembering as I smooth the blanket how my hands clutched at it, drawing it toward my body as pleasure vibrated all the way down to my bones. A warm tingle spreads through me, making me shiver. Thinking about how his tongue felt against my heated flesh leaves me somewhat breathless, and I have to shift on my knees to ease the pulsing between my legs that seems to increase with each passing second.
The more I think about the events of yesterday, the more I begin to wonder if Greyston will expect a little reciprocity in that department. It’s not that I’m necessarily against the idea, but I’ve never done it—not for lack of Ben trying, mind you. He tried. And he tried. And he tried. He even threatened to stop doing me this “favor,” and I had to contain the urge to laugh in his face and tell him I was more than okay with that. Much to my dismay, he didn’t remain true to his word—which actually doesn’t surprise me now; he was probably still holding out hope I’d eventually cave. I still held firm in my decision not to return the “favor,” though, and just wished for our time between the sheets to be over.
But Greyston? Yeah, I could probably give it a shot for him.
Resolute with my plan, I finish cleaning up the bedroom, discarding the shards of glass and ceramic in the outside trash bin before running back up to my room and firing up my computer. I know I don’t have a lot of time before Greyston returns home. I can only imagine that the level of humiliation for being caught looking up how to give my boyfriend a proper blow-job would easily trump my parents walking in on Greyston and me two weeks ago.
Without a doubt.
My computer doesn’t turn on right away, so I try again. Nothing. The light for the power button doesn’t even come on, so I check to make sure the AC adaptor cord is plugged in to both the computer and the wall. It is. However, when I wiggle it a little, the battery light flickers on and off several times, which means the wiring is ruined and I’ll need to replace it.
“So much for that idea,” I huff, slamming my laptop closed and crossing my arms like an angry toddler.
Then I remember that Greyston has a computer. Would it be wrong for me to look up questionable material on my boyfriend’s computer? What if he found out somehow? I would be humiliated. Though, if I made sure to clear the history, no one would be the wiser…
Realizing I don’t have much time, I rush to Greyston’s office and turn on his iMac. I open Safari, and my fingers hover over the keyboard; it almost feels wrong to even be contemplating this. Taking a deep breath, I enter words I’ve never spoken, much less typed, into the search browser and hit enter with closed eyes.
While I know the Internet is positively swarming with porn, it still surprises me a little to see just how many hits I come up with. The first few are…terrifying, and I close them almost immediately… Yeah, almost—I’ll admit I linger a little longer than I probably should.
There are a few videos I find…informative, and they also serve to be quite titillating. The longer I watch, the more excited I find I’m becoming about trying this with Greyston—I just hope I don’t mess it up. That’s my biggest fear: what if I’m no good?
As I continue to research, I feel the deep tingle that’s been moving through my body intensify between my thighs, forcing me to cross my legs. I’m suddenly regretting this idea, because I’ve grown quite aroused, and Greyston’s not around to lend a hand, so to speak.
I’ve become engrossed in one video in particular, resting my elbows on the desk and propping my head in my hands as I watch this couple. Suddenly, keys in the deadbolt of the front door startles me, and I frantically close the window before running down to find Greyston walking in.
“Hey,” he greets with a bright smile as I descend the stairs. He pulls me to him and kisses me firmly. “How was your morning?”
My cheeks warm, remembering what I was just doing, and I shrug. “F-fine. I just finished tidying our rooms after making your bed.” He looks ready to say something, but my nerves force me to cut him off. “I was just going to go make some lunch. You hungry?”
His expression changes minutely, and I briefly wonder if he can see how anxious I am. It doesn’t last long, though. “Actually, I have to run upstairs and check an email. My phone didn’t open the file properly when Callie sent it to me.”
“Sure.”
“I won’t be long,” Greyston promises, kissing me sweetly before heading upstairs.
In the kitchen, I search the fridge for something to make. I pull out sandwich ingredients and am just starting to organize everything when anxiety slowly starts creeping its way along my spine. I shake it off, because I really have no reason to worry that I can think of, and I begin washing the few dishes I’ve dirtied.
Then it hits me like a wrecking ball. “Oh, shit,” I mutter, dropping the knife back into the sink and running out of the kitchen. I launch myself up the stairs, taking them two at a time—even though this has proven in the past to be hazardous. When I barge into Greyston’s office, out of breath and probably looking completely insane, he slowly raises his wide eyes to mine.
The entire time I was running up here, I hoped that I was only imagining the worst…but as I read the expression on his face, it’s confirmed: I didn’t actually close the Internet window in my hurry to greet Greyston, but only minimized it. It figures this would happen to me.
And just wh
en I’d started to think my humiliation streak had ended.
Chapter 23
I’m breathing heavily, trying to figure out how to explain the massive amount of porn I’d Googled, and my face is burning hotter than ever. Before I can say anything to get myself out of this mess, though, Greyston stands up and crosses the room to me. He wraps his hand around my wrist and pulls me into the room, closing the door and pressing me against it. The look in his eyes eliminates any embarrassment I feel, replacing it with the familiar warmth of arousal and lust for him, and he presses his hands to the door on either side of me, effectively pinning me in place.
“I think you’d better explain your Internet usage, Miss Foster,” he commands in a firm voice that makes my stomach flip and my heart flutter. I suddenly imagine myself in a schoolgirl outfit while he’s in a suit and tie, and I’ve just been called to the principal’s office.
Only, in reality, my old high school principal was a balding man with a beer belly and chronic halitosis. Gross.
When his nose brushes the skin of my cheek, his lips moving closer to my ear, I bite my bottom lip and fight back a whimper. At an agonizingly slow pace, his lips ghost over the skin below my ear, and goosebumps prickle up all over my body, making me sigh.
“I don’t…” I begin, my brain losing temporary connection with my mouth when his teeth graze the tender skin of my neck. “Can’t…”
Suddenly, one of his hands has moved from beside me and is quickly unbuttoning my jeans. It takes him no time at all, and I gasp when he slips the hand inside and begins sliding his fingers back and forth between my legs, teasing me.
“Can’t?” he inquires before nipping at my neck again and inducing a shudder through my frame. “Why not?”
“It’s…” I pant as he presses his fingertip against my clit, making me thrust my hips into his touch. My body temperature rises, my heart beats so loud and fast it’s almost hard to hear anything else. My fingers curl against the wood of the door behind me as he continues his sensual massage. “It’s embarrassing.”
He groans, the vibration of the deep, throaty sound sending a jolt straight through me. I throw my arms around his neck and thrust my fingers into his hair. “There’s nothing embarrassing about me fucking your mouth. And based on how wet you are, I’d say you quite liked it.”
I never in a million years thought that hearing such words would make my body react so positively. I always figured that if I’d heard anything so crass, I’d either laugh maniacally or be completely repulsed. But there’s something about Greyston talking dirty in the heat of the moment that turns me on even more. Maybe it’s because he’s usually so chivalrous and proper.
Whatever the reason, my entire body hums with anticipation of the next filthy thing to come out of his mouth.
“Did you have something special planned for later?” he asks, his hand moving back as he sinks his fingers into me, making me bite back another loud moan.
“I wanted…wanted…” I’m having trouble speaking as his fingers move in and out of me slowly, curling and pressing, pushing and sliding. “Repay…last night…” My ability to speak is apparently on the fritz, but I think he understands—at least, I hope to hell he does.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers, sounding a little stunned. He removes his hand from between my legs—much to my dismay—and pulls his face away from my neck, smiling. “You don’t have to repay me. I didn’t do it so you’d feel obligated to reciprocate. I got just as much pleasure from going down on you as you did.”
My cheeks warm, and I look up at him through my lashes. “Somehow I doubt that to be entirely accurate,” I tease, thankful that I’m once again able to form a coherent sentence—even if that means Greyston’s not feeling me up. I shrug. “I wanted to…try. The problem is, I’ve never…” He’s silent, so I continue. “So I thought I’d research a little. I don’t want to suck.”
“Well,” Greyston says with a cocky smirk, making me regret the last bit of my confession. “Technically—”
While I’ll always be grateful for the way he’s able to lighten an embarrassing moment, I can’t help but stare at him wide-eyed and slack-jawed. “You know what I mean!” I cry, swatting his chest playfully.
“I do,” he assures me with a chuckle. “But I want you to know that I don’t expect oral sex in return every time I go down on you—you’d get pretty exhausted if that were the case.” While I know he’s kind of-sort of kidding, hearing that he intends to spend a lot of time with his face between my legs makes me a little weak-kneed—and even more turned on.
I pull his face back to mine, kissing him deeply and coaxing a groan from him as his hands fall to my hips. Snaking an arm between us, I undo his pants and slip a hand into them, gripping his hardening length and working it from base to tip. He moans his approval against my lips, bringing his hands up and threading his fingers into my hair. Needing him right here and now, I release my hold on his erection.
“Don’t,” he orders gruffly, eyes soft—pleading. “Please, don’t stop, baby.” I listen to him, squeezing a little harder and watching his eyes fall shut as his groan fills the room. “God damn…best fucking way to come home.”
I look up at him, the lusty expression on his face making my body burn for him. “I’m going to need you to take your pants off now.”
He’s quick to push his pants over his hips, letting them fall around his ankles. There’s a brief moment where he struggles to kick them off before giving up in favor of pushing my shirt up and palming my breasts.
His approval spurs me on, so I pump my hand faster over his length, and his hips rock into my touch, seeking more. I’m feeling a little bolder—confident, even—so I smirk up at him and ask, “What do you want me to do?”
He opens his eyes, the lids heavily hooded as they search mine before falling so he can watch me stroke him. When my palm moves over the tip and then back to the base, his legs stiffen and he moans. “Take…oh, fuck…take me in your hot little mouth,” he pleads.
It’s kind of fun to watch him unravel under my touch for once—to know that it’s me that makes him feel this way gives me another boost of confidence, and I slip to my knees between him and the door, eye-level with his erection. He mutters a long string of expletives as I lick my lips. Glancing up at him through my lashes, I see he’s watching me raptly, his eyes wide and his chest heaving, and he cradles my face affectionately.
I’m so nervous—but not enough to back down from this if it’s going to make him feel good—so I take a deep breath and wrap my lips around him. The salty taste of him fills my mouth, and I have to admit that I’m not repulsed by it. I don’t know why I thought I would be, but I’m pleasantly surprised to find that I’m not, and it encourages me to keep going.
“Jesus…fuck,” he hisses as he leans forward, and I hear the soft sound of his nails curling into the heavy wood door behind me. Of course, I can only assume this to be the case since I don’t think I’m talented enough to multi-task my first time out.
It’s strange—not in a bad way, though. Greyston’s erection is bigger than the last one I’d been exposed to, so I’m not comfortable enough to take him into my mouth entirely…not just yet, anyway. I’ll work my way up to it, because based on the videos I watched earlier, the men really seemed to enjoy that. To make up for it, I place my hand below my lips to act as some kind of extension and move slowly up his length. I’m careful to keep my lips firm against him, and when I reach the top, I swirl my tongue around it before plunging back down. Greyston seems to respond positively to this, his hips thrusting forward.
As my head continues to bob slowly—carefully—I’m beginning to understand what Greyston said about him getting as much pleasure out of going down on me; my lower half aches to be tended to; it’s almost enough to make me throw in the towel, pull him to the floor, and straddle him. Almost.
“Fuck, baby,” Greyston pants above me. “You’re a fucking natural at this.” My ego swells, and I pick up the pace a little,
even feeling confident enough now to look up at him as I continue.
His lips part, and he’s breathing hard while staring deep into my eyes. The intensity of his stare forces me to shift and wriggle in an effort to quell my own growing desire.
I’m so turned on that I can’t even suppress the moan that’s been building deep in my belly since I wrapped my mouth around him. This elicits a similar—albeit a more guttural—sound from Greyston as he threads his fingers into my hair. He pushes it away from my face and holds it behind my head while he guides me a little faster…then a little deeper—but not too much because he’s more than aware of my comfort level. His hips begin to move in time with my head, and I’m slowly losing my mind.
Greyston’s body tenses, holding my head still midway down his length. I try to keep going, but he pulls me off and urges me up his body. While I would love more than anything to bring him to climax and taste him entirely—a surprising thought for me, to be sure—I’m ready to have my needs met, too.
He roughly pulls back up his body, pressing his lips to mine, pushing his tongue between them and deepening our kiss. I moan at his forcefulness, my tongue caressing his firmly—insistently. I start to remove his shirt, breaking our kiss for only a moment to pull it up his body before he removes mine as well. His hands find my breasts, and I arch into his touch before he growls and spins me around.
My entire body shakes when he tugs my shorts down and lets his hands slowly move up my outer thighs before slipping around the front and slipping between them. I thrust my pelvis back, feeling his erection against my ass, and I do it again without thinking.
“Greyston,” I plead as his lips travel down my neck and over my shoulder. His body leaves mine, and I’m about to protest when I hear the rustle of his pants and foil tearing. Soon, he’s gripping my hips again, adjusting them slightly before easing into me.