Chapter 18 #2
That’s when the kiss shifts.
He strokes my tongue with his, coaxing a response that coils heat deep between my legs. One of his hands fists gently in the fabric at my lower back. The other is already reaching up, brushing the side of my breast with knuckles rough and unrepentant.
Neither of us is pretending we care about lunch anymore.
He shifts forward, forcing our bodies flush. Then, he sweeps the plates across the bar in one swift motion. No care as to where they land. A fork skitters. My breath hitches as he hooks a finger inside my waistband. A question.
“Yes,” I manage to whisper.
I want him to.
Because something in me is snapping. Not from fear.
From freedom.
All my life I’ve followed rules. I’ve been polite, responsible, measured. I’ve kept things together, even when I was falling apart. And what did it get me?
Pain. Betrayal. A ten-year stretch of pretending fine was enough.
I’m done being fine.
I’m done being careful.
Hex presses a kiss to my jaw, then another to the spot below my ear, and murmurs, “Let me take care of you, Legs.”
My body answers before my mind can protest.
I nod. Just once.
And in that single movement, I say everything I’ve never let myself say out loud:
I don’t want to think.
I don’t want to lead.
I want to break something inside me that’s always stayed too controlled. And damn it, I want him to be the one who does it.
He eases my pants down, slow enough for the fabric to drag across my skin, creating a teasing friction that makes me shift against him and pulls a quicker breath from my lips. My thong, while basic—black cotton—is appropriate for a Friday lunch date. I did not try too hard, thank God.
Hex then lifts me onto the bar as if my five-foot-ten-inch frame is weightless in his muscular arms. The wood is cool beneath me and in stark contrast to the heat building between us.
His hands trail back up my thighs, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, parting my legs just enough to fit his body between them.
I lean down, my palms cradle his jaw, fingers skimming the coarse stubble like I’m memorizing the texture of power held in check.
He tastes like want and bourbon, and when our lips meet again, it’s gentle only for a second.
Then it’s hungry. By the time he pulls away, I’m wrecked.
Mouth parted, breath ragged, thoughts unraveling like ribbon between his lips.
I hesitate at what comes next, pulse thumping between my legs. His hand splays across my stomach, pressing just so—proof he can feel the tremor I can’t hide.
“Lay back,” he murmurs, not a suggestion but a command. “I’ve got you.”
And I do, I believe him, so I listen. My spine arches as my elbows reach for purchase on the polished wood behind me.
He watches the whole time, the corner of his mouth twitching like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me—because he does know.
“Now slide your panties to the side,” he says, voice rough enough to scrape down my spine. “And spread those pretty lips for me.”
Oh my God.
Heat shoots through me, every nerve buzzing like I’ve been struck by lightning.
My hands shake—just a little—but I do what he says, dragging the cotton aside and parting myself for him with trembling fingers.
The way he watches me do it. The weight of it.
The approval in his eyes makes my skin feel too tight for my body.
He lowers his head, eyes drinking in the sight of me spread open for him, a reverent exhale ghosting across my heated flesh. My breath snags in anticipation. Then his mouth finds the sensitive flesh I've bared to him and all thought slips away.
His tongue traces a slow, torturous path over me.
A primal groan rumbles against my core. The vibrations shoot straight through me.
My fingers scramble desperately across the bar.
Need something. Anything. To hold onto. I knock things over.
Fuck. I should be thinking about how exposed I am.
About how easy it would be for someone to walk in or catch a glimpse through the windows.
But then Hex makes eye contact with me as his tongue dips inside me.
Whatever reasoning I had left dissolves on the spot.
My breath shudders. I squeeze my thighs around him, but his firm hands grip my flesh, holding me open.
He presses a kiss to the inside of my left leg, smirking against my skin.
“For the sake of time, and because you’re so responsible and need to get back to work…
” He hooks a finger under the thin strip of cotton I’m still holding open for him.
“...you can leave these on this time. But next time I’ll have you completely bare. ”
A sharp inhale is all I manage before he leans in. His tongue caresses me with a hunger that says this is what he's been starving for.
A whimper slips past my lips, head tipping back as sensation rips through me, pleasure curling, building. My hips jerk against him, my body seeking more, needing more.
“Oh, fuck—” The words barely make it past my lips before the velvet sin of his mouth does something wicked, something that bows my spine and sends my hands clawing at the bar again. I need to ground myself. Need to hold onto something. The only thing within reach is him.
I clutch his hair, fingers tightening as he groans against me, igniting every nerve ending. That wicked muscle moves relentlessly, working me open, unraveling me inch by inch.
He does it so well.
So. Damn. Well.
“This... definitely my favorite pairing,” he says, lips grazing my inner thigh before he dips back in.
Pleasure builds. Coils tighter. Tighter. Pressure crests higher until I teeter on the edge.
“Hex—” His name falls from my lips, half-moan, half-prayer.
His grip tightens around my quivering legs, fingers digging in hard enough I’ll feel it tomorrow. His mouth doesn't stop. Doesn’t relent. Tongue dragging maddening circles that have me gasping for air.
Then I feel it. His hand shifts. Fingers slide lower, wet with how ready I am.
The first one slips inside me. I gasp, hips lifting in eager response.
He lets me adjust to him, just a breath. Then the second finger follows, stretching me. My body tenses, then melts around the pressure. He thrusts them in that same ruthless rhythm—his mouth still sucking, stroking, teasing my clit. Building me up, pushing me higher.
And then—
He curls them.
Hits that spot.
The coil snaps. I shatter completely. Head flung back, a cry tears from my throat as the orgasm crashes through me—hot, blinding, breathless. I can’t stop the way I buck against his mouth. Can’t control the tremors that seize my thighs.
The sound I make is lost to the haze. I barely manage to hold myself up on the bar.
My fingers tangle in his hair. My hips twitch, overstimulated, as he licks me through it—that sinful tongue catching every last aftershock.
I can’t breathe. Can’t think.
Only feel.
It takes a moment—several—before I manage to pry my hands from his hair. My body still buzzes. Still trembles.
He pulls back, sliding his fingers out of me, lips shining, looking too pleased with himself.
Cocky bastard.
I blink down at him, still lightheaded, every limb boneless. But something inside me stirs. Something reckless.
I want to touch him.
No—undo him the way he just undid me.
My hand reaches blindly for the bar, fingers closing around the can of whipped cream. I hop down, legs weak beneath me but determination giving me strength. A wicked smile curves my lips.
Hex watches—eyes dark, heated, devouring—as I close the space between us.
His hands go to his belt, but I swat them away.
“Mine,” I murmur, locking eyes as I take over.
He lets me. Lets me unbuckle the leather, pop the button, drag the zipper down slow.
He leans back against the edge of the bar, elbows braced. Then, like he’s reading my mind, he grabs the hem of his shirt and lifts, holding the fabric between his teeth.
Muscles ripple. Light and shadow play across his skin as I drag my hand down the straining bulge beneath thin cotton.
I bite my lip, the heat in my belly reigniting.
His chest rises. Falls fast. But those eyes—those tantalizing eyes—track every move like a man seconds from snapping. My fingers skim the carved ridges of his abdomen—then dip, slipping beneath the band of his boxer briefs.
His cock is hot. Heavy. Thick in my palm as I pull him free.
Of course, he’s big. I would have expected nothing less from this mountain of a man.
But still—
A flicker of nerves sparks low in my stomach. My inexperience gnaws at the edges of my boldness. I know I won’t be able to take much—not with my unreliable gag reflex—but Demi gave me tips. And damn it, I want to make my best friend proud.
Hex watches, breath shallow, chest rising and falling in anticipation as I give the whipped cream a good shake.
I press the nozzle. A dollop lands on my tongue.
I let it melt into liquid and drip from my mouth onto his waiting cock.
I use the cream to slick my hand, gliding up and down his thick shaft, watching the muscles in his thighs tighten.
His jaw clenches. Then I lean in, pressing my lips to his. Soft. Sweet. Sticky. I kiss him, sharing the sweetness of it between us.
When I pull back, I press and trail the nozzle down the length of his cock.
The sound he makes is guttural as I lower myself to my knees and lick up the mess I just made.
His fingers thread into my hair. The grip tugs at my roots.
And I show him just how much I’ve been learning.