“No.”
His eyes met mine. Lust. “Are you gonna quit?”
“No.”
We smashed together again, our mouths sucking, seeking some kind of impossible depth in each other as our hands dug under one another’s clothes. He had his hand between my legs, inside my panties, and his finger up inside me in one quick push, and I screamed into his mouth. We kept kissing, groaning, melting down. I’d never been so sweaty or shaky making out with a guy, and I was sure I was gushing all over his hand.
He fucked me with his finger as he devoured my mouth and I just tried to remain standing, clinging to him, as the sensations overwhelmed my body. He kissed his way over to my ear and whispered in a ragged voice, “I want to bring you to orgasm.”
Oh hell yes.
I groaned in response, unabashedly fucking his finger. Apparently, he was pretty damn direct about sex. I liked it. He’d been pretty quiet about everything else. But this was good. Very, very good.
“Okay. Yes,” I gasped out. I reached for his cock, but he grabbed my hand, stopping me.
“No.” I looked up into his eyes, trying to focus. He looked really focused for someone who also looked so fucking horny. “With my mouth.”
“Oh…”
Yeah. Totally there for that.
He kissed me again, his tongue swiping against mine, making my toes curl. My knees were shaking.
Then he pulled away, and knelt down in front of me. He draped my leg over his shoulder and pressed me against the wall as he tugged my panties aside, and his mouth met my pussy. And however out of practice he claimed to be, he sure remembered what to do with his tongue.
My hips undulated against his face as I went mindless with pleasure.
“Don’t move,” he ordered. I met his eyes as his tongue slicked over my clit, a thrill running through me at the command.
Holy fuck, I liked my new boss.
His finger was still inside me, fucking me. His mouth did the rest. He didn’t take his time and he didn’t ease into it. He went at me like his very existence hung in the balance of my next orgasm. Like he’d never wanted anything like he wanted to make me come on his face, right the fuck now.
His tongue slid over and around my clit, gently flicking. His finger twisted inside me, rubbing against my inner walls. My whole body shook with the force of the pleasure. Then he started sucking on me and I came with such force that I screamed. It ripped me inside-out, so intense I almost couldn’t stand it. I was pretty sure I lost feeling in my hands and feet. The room went black. But maybe that was just because I shut my eyes.
The whole room fucking swooned, and I clutched at his head so I wouldn’t fall over as I shuddered and quivered.
I hadn’t had a man make me come in over six months, and I wasn’t sure I’d ever had a man make me come like that. None of my sexual partners had ever explored my g-spot; I wasn’t even sure I had a g-spot. But I was pretty sure he’d just conquered it and planted a flag.
CARY WUZ HERE.
Any future lover I ever had would come across it and know I’d been pre-owned, completely g-spot whipped by this man, his tongue and his middle finger.
He hadn’t even touched me with his dick yet, and he owned my pussy completely.
“Uh, that was…” I pushed him gently away as the intensity threatened to end me, and he unlatched his mouth from my clit. His finger slid reluctantly away. “Um… thank you.” It was literally the stupidest thing I’d probably ever said to a man after an orgasm, but it was the only thing that came out of my mouth.
We stared at each other, breathing raggedly. His lips were wet with my juices and I’d literally never seen anything hotter than his gorgeous mouth smeared with my come.
Then my phone started ringing on my desk. And because my brain had ceased to function sometime around the moment his finger slid into me, I stumbled right over to it.
“It’s Danica,” I told him. I met his eyes, and neither of us said anything else, but something wordless passed between us as I wiggled my dress down over my hips, trying to cover my pussy.
We both knew everything had changed.
I wasn’t sure if either of us knew how to deal with it.
I fumbled with my phone. “I should… get this… Hello,” I answered, breathless. I was still looking at him, and he was still looking at me. He was still on his knees on the floor.
I pointed at the door as my best friend chattered in my ear. Cary didn’t react. He just sat there, staring at me with that lustful look. Somehow, I managed to grab my laptop and my hoodie, and stumbled out of the room.
Danica was saying something about meeting up for drinks. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just let her ramble.
“Uh-huh,” I said, maybe, and something like, “right.” Basically I just agreed with her as I stumbled through the house and into the backyard. When I’d pushed into the poolhouse, I finally remembered to breathe.
Danica laughed a little. “Hey, why are you all out of breath?”
“Um, I’m just coming back from a jog.” I walked into the bedroom and dumped my stuff on the bed, then collapsed onto it.
She was talking again. Something about drinks. Tonight.
Why couldn’t I hear her?
My pulse was slamming through my body and all I could feel was Cary’s tongue on my clit. His finger working inside me, pressing into me, setting off fireworks. I was all wet. My panties were soaked.
I needed a shower.
And yes, a drink.
But I told her, “Uh, I can’t tonight. I didn’t sleep well last night. I need some sleep, I think.”
“Oh. Sure. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah.” I rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “Just sleeping in a new place, you know. Hard to fall asleep.”
“Are you comfortable there? How is Cary? Is everything going well? I was hoping to grill you over drinks tonight.”
“Yeah, everything’s good.”
“That’s good.” She sounded unconvinced. Concerned. “You’re liking the job?”
“Yeah. Definitely liking the job…”
I wasn’t exactly ready to tell her what just happened. I couldn’t yet fathom it myself. And my intimate parts were still humming from Cary’s touch.
I needed to get off the phone. I wasn’t sure why I’d answered it in the first place. “I’m gonna eat dinner here. Let’s do drinks on the weekend or something.”
“For sure. I’ll call you.”
“Great. Let’s talk later.”
I hung up, barely remembering what I’d said to her. My head was reeling. I felt dizzy.
And fucking wonderful.
And mildly terrified.
Because that was so fucking hot, I could get very, very addicted to it.
I wondered how I was ever supposed to look my boss in the eye again without jumping on him. Was I now allowed to jump on him? What were the rules here?
And how the hell were we getting any work done in that studio now that we’d crossed the mouth-to-pussy line?
And why did I run out on him like that?
I left him on the floor on his knees. And something told me Cary Clarke didn’t often get on his knees for people.
I grabbed my hoodie and lifted it to my face, smelling it. It smelled like Cary.
I draped it across my face, breathing him in, as I lay there with my head spinning.
Chapter Eleven
Cary
Capsized
That night, I found Taylor watching TV in my living room again.
I stood watching her for a minute from the shadows.
The lights were off. The volume was low. Onscreen was the menu, where she appeared to be flipping through shows. Her hair was up in a messy, sexy knot with some pink strands around her face. She looked like she’d washed off her makeup. She wore her giant Metallica hoodie, her bare legs tucked up on the couch next to her. And cozy socks.
She looked like a dream come to life. A dream I once thought
would never come true again.
Let go of your ghosts.
I practically heard Gabe’s voice in my head. I could still hear his voice, sometimes, and the things he used to say to me whenever I was afraid to move forward. When panic reared its head. When my fears paralyzed me. He said all that shit was my ghosts, and I just needed to set them free.
Ghosts don’t haunt us, man. We hold onto them. We drag them around like shadows.
You’ve got to let that shit go.
I’d learned, over the years, how right he was.
Right there, between Taylor and me, I could feel the old ghosts stirring in the dark. The shadow of my best friend. The shadows of the people who’d abandoned me while I was grieving his death.
I was terrified of getting close to anyone again.
I was terrified of this girl. Because I wanted to get close to her.
“Bill Burr again?”
She looked up and found me in the doorway, watching her. “I was just flipping around. I haven’t picked anything yet.”
“How long have you been doing that?”
The corner of her mouth twitched because she knew she’d been busted. She wasn’t watching TV at all. She was either pretending to in hopes I’d come around, or she was trying to but was too distracted.
“A while,” she admitted.
“Something on your mind?”
“You could say that.
“Me, too.”
I went over and sat down next to her on the couch. On the edge of it. I took the remote and turned off the TV, and we sat like that, in silence, in the near-dark. Me, leaning on my knees and not facing her, looking at the coffee table, afraid to relax and find out I wasn’t welcome. In my own living room. Her, curled up in a ball at the end of the couch.
I could see her foot next to my thigh. There was a hole in her sock and I kept staring at the little pink toe that was exposed.
“There’s a hole in your sock.”
She wiggled her toes. “Oh. I didn’t notice.”
I looked at her face. “I don’t understand you.”
“Okay…” She cocked her head a little, reading my expression. “Is that a problem?”
“It’s unbelievably frustrating.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like to understand you,” I confessed, “so I can put you in a box and set you aside.”
She sat up a little, hugging her knees to her chest. “Why would you want to do that?”
“So I don’t need to get involved.”
She blinked at me. “Do you need to get involved?”
My voice scratched when I said, “Yes.” There was no way she could know how painful it was for me to admit that to her. It made me feel crazy vulnerable.
“Why?” she said.
“Because… I’m drawn to you.”
“But you don’t understand me.”
“Maybe that’s why I’m drawn to you.”
“Maybe you just like me,” she said softly.
“Why did you put your foot in my pool the first day I met you?”
“Because the water looked nice.”
“Why is there a hole in your sock?”
“What is this obsession with my feet?” she asked, a smile playing at her mouth.
I just stared at her. The truth was, I had a growing obsession with her everything.
“Why does it bother you that I have a hole in my sock?” she asked me gently.
“Because it makes no sense. You’re so organized and efficient. And yet you have chipped nail polish in every color of the rainbow on your fingers and toes. You use perfect punctuation in every text message you send, yet you crack your chewing gum and write on your sneakers with marker like a delinquent.”
She grinned. “Thank you.”
“You wear Mickey Mouse bandages and implement filing systems and get whiplash to Metallica and cry at Dolly Parton and none of you makes sense.”
“I’m sorry you can’t fit me into a box,” she said, not sorry at all. “I prefer to be oblique.”
“You’ve got a clever answer for everything and you’ve got holes in your socks.”
“It’s just one hole,” she said, wiggling her toes again and checking to make sure there weren’t more of them. “I try to focus on the important things in life. I feel like a hole in my sock or a chipped nail just isn’t worth losing sleep over. I’ll get to it tomorrow. Or the next day.”
“And yet you insisted on alphabetizing the books in my office today for shits and giggles.”
“You paid me. So I alphabetize your stuff. Who cares about my socks?”
“I do. I’m fucking infatuated with that goddamn hole and everything else about you.”
She smiled again, a little more hesitant. “So… this is a foot fetish thing?” she teased.
“I think it’s more of a you fetish thing.” I reached toward her, slipping my hands between her knees. She let me. I nudged them open, sliding my hands over her hips and gripping her, then tugging her toward me. She slid against me, her legs splaying, one going over my lap and the other behind me.
Her face was close to mine, and her lips parted. I pressed in, not quite kissing her. I touched my forehead to hers and just drank her in. Her sweet smell. Her warmth.
Her presence.
“I have a confession to make.” She breathed it against my lips, and anxiety spiked through me. It was instant, the fear that she was going to say something irreparably terrible, something we couldn’t come back from. “I saw what you did in here last night,” she whispered.
I pulled back a little and stared at her. I took a deep, slow breath. “What did you see?” I asked, my voice tight, my mind racing.
“I saw you. With my hoodie.”
I closed my eyes. Fucking great.
Fly your freak flag a little higher, why don’t you.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to spy on you. Open your eyes.” Her hands touched my face and I opened my eyes. I tried to focus on her eyes as I breathed, deep and slow. “I was out in the yard, looking at the stars because I couldn’t sleep, and I saw you come to lock the door. I started to come over here, to talk to you. But then I saw you pick up my hoodie and, I don’t know. I just couldn’t stop watching.”
“I’m sorry you had to see that.”
She searched my eyes. “Why? I’m not.”
“Taylor.” I shook my head a little, slowly, and her hands fell away. “I’m out of control.”
“Well, if you’re out of control, I’m truly fucked-up. I spied on you while you were masturbating and it turned me on so much I had to make myself come afterward.”
I swallowed. “You did?”
“Yes. I want you, Cary.”
“I need to lie down.”
She laughed a little as I buried my face in her hair. I pulled her against me and we lay down together, arranging ourselves side-by-side on the couch, wrapped around each other.
“I feel drunk,” I muttered into her hair. The room was gently spinning. It wasn’t a bad feeling. Just… overwhelming.
“I think that’s pheromone intoxication.”
“The room is spinning. I need to breathe.”
“Then breathe.” Her fingers played with the hair at the nape of my neck and a shiver ran down my spine. My cock throbbed. I wasn’t even sure when I’d gotten so damn hard, but I was hard as rock.
Her toe. Her naked little toe peeking through that hole made me hard.
Her fucking toe.
“Are you okay?”
“Uh-huh.” Just breathe. Why was this so hard?
Was was I so hard?
I’d gotten spontaneously hard so many times today and yesterday, while we worked together, I’d lost count.
It was like I hadn’t been touched in years.
I’d had sex with a woman just over a week ago. At the club. But this was different.
Why?
I breathed in her scent. Her soft body was pressed to mine. My hand dr
ifted carefully over her curves and up to her breast. I squeezed the soft handful, drifted my thumb over her perky nipple, and she sighed.
I’d forgotten. I’d forgotten what it was to want someone for other reasons than simply needing physical release or a distraction or to assert some imaginary control.
I had no control. My cock was so hard, it throbbed with every ferocious beat of my heart. My balls were tight and thudding.
It was never like this with Nicolette. With any of them. At the club… I couldn’t even start to get hard until they got on their knees. Looking at them didn’t do it. Touching them didn’t do it. The anticipation of what was about to happen didn’t do it, either.
With Taylor… I’d been hard today just looking at her lips while she talked to someone on the phone. She’d been sipping a Coke, and when she licked her wet, juicy lip and then laughed and threw me a glance, like she was checking to see if she was bothering me while I worked, I couldn’t have spelled my own name to save my life. My nipples were hard, and like right now, my body was alive with electricity. Every hair stood on end.
“Say my name,” I muttered.
“Cary,” she said softly.
God damn, it made my dick throb when she said my name. It was the sound of her soft, husky voice. Her dry sass and her soft chuckle. The way she looked me in the eye and asked me questions like she wasn’t afraid of the answers.
I didn’t know how potent it would be to have a woman like her in my space. It had been so long…
So long since I’d let myself feel anything for anyone.
Anything.
She drifted her fingers through my hair, making me shiver again. Then she drifted her lips over my jaw and peered up into my eyes.
“Is this an anxiety thing?”
“It might be.”
“Breathe,” she said gently.
I breathed, slow and deep, trying to control the pace of my heart.
“Why are you in here,” I asked her, “not watching TV?”
“Because this is as far as I got.”
“Where were you going?”
“To look for you.”
“Why?”
She didn’t answer, just twisted her plump bottom lip in her teeth a little. “I’m sorry I ran out today, after you went down on me. I really didn’t need to answer that phone call. I was spooked or something.”
Lovely Madness: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players, Book 4) Page 17