5. Delia
CHAPTER 5
delia
I 'm so damn pathetic.
I know he's lying to me.
I knew he was, and is, hiding something from me. He's after my family's business. He didn't deny it. He didn't give me the whole truth, but he didn't deny that much.
And then I fucking kiss him?
What the hell is wrong with me?
I mean, sure, he kissed me first, but did I stop him? No. Did I tell him to fuck off? Yes, but he didn't. And I didn’t make him.
And now I'm on my back on the bench of my truck, and he's got my pants half off, asking if he can fucking taste me as if he's sampling wedding cake or some shit.
And I'm about to let him.
"You can try," I heard myself whisper.
"I should make you beg, but I can't wait any fucking longer." His words dropped like hot stones against my sex, breath steamy against my seam despite the cotton barrier.
Make me beg? Fuck that. I don't beg. Men beg me .
But god, I was close to begging. Not that I would, but I wanted to come so goddamn bad it hurt. Work has been so busy lately I haven't had time to give myself the O I need—that shit takes time. And snacks. And power tools.
I need to come.
And god, but this man had me writhing, had my core pulsing, my clit aching. I wasn't sure what dark magic he possessed or what deal he made with the devil to get it, but he had me more turned on than I’ve been in…I wasn't even sure. A long, long, long time.
Maybe ever.
Again, not that I'd admit it. I'd never give this man an inch. I wasn’t sure what he wanted from me, but I'd take an orgasm if he was, in fact, capable of giving me one.
"Try?" He sounded almost offended. "Delia, I'll do so much fucking more than merely try .”
My fingers, the traitorous bastards, feathered into the hair at his nape—longish, in need of a cut, beneath that ridiculous, out-of-place, ratty-ass red ballcap. Fuck that thing. I raked it off his head and scraped my hands through his hair.
“Then shut up and show me what you've got," I snapped, falling back on attitude and anger.
Instead of merely yanking my underwear off, as I expected, he reached down and pulled off my big, ugly, practical, slip-on, non-slip shoes and tossed them to the footwell of the passenger side. My socks.
What the hell was his game?
Before I could wonder any further, he yanked my jeans completely off, leaving me in nothing but my work tee and pink briefs. And my god, if I'd known this was going to happen today, I'd have worn sexier underwear.
A thong, maybe.
Or nothing at all.
But no, I was wearing pink panties. Cute and comfy and my favorites because they stayed in place and didn’t ride up—getting a wedgie when you're on display behind the bar sucks.
Before I could say anything, my breath was stolen when he tugged the elastic down an inch further, baring more of my pubic area—which he then kissed.
God, the teasing. It's gonna fucking kill me.
My core pulsed with frustrated, pent-up need. I gritted my teeth to keep from begging him. I dug my fingers into his thick, hard shoulders, gripping and pushing. He resisted easily, his lips dotting kisses from right to left along the line of my underwear's elastic waistband, from hipbone to hipbone. He tugged the elastic down over my hip and kissed the exposed skin. Fuck.
The other side.
I drew my heels up the backs of his thighs, letting my knees splay wide—as much of an invitation as he was gonna get.
He ignored it.
Pulled my underwear lower, and now the very keyhole tip of my sex was bared, as was the fact that I hadn’t waxed or shaved in a while. I wasn't rocking a bush, but again, if I'd had any clue this was going to happen, I’d have shaved.
He didn't seem to mind, his lips skating over stubble. Kissing. Touching. Tongue tasting flesh.
He had a choice, now. Or rather, I did. My legs were around him, making it impossible for him to take off my underwear or even lower them any further.
He answered the question by lifting my leg over his head and resting both of my legs on one shoulder. In one smooth pull, my underwear were off completely, gone as if by prestidigitation. My bare sex wept, the cool night air bathing my hot flesh.
My leg went back over to rest on his shoulder, splaying me open for him. I felt his gaze on me. I forced my eyes open, forced myself to look at him.
The look on his face…fuck me.
Reverence.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."
Goddammit, that wasn't fair. The way he said it, as if he hadn't intended to say it out loud, or as if unaware that he had.
He sank to his knees right there in the alley, and his broad shoulders wedged my thighs apart.
I've never felt so exposed.
In public, in the alley, open to the sky and the stars and the whole universe.
Naked.
Sex soaked with my desire for him to taste me.
Hawk curled his hands around the outside of my thighs and pulled me to the edge of the bench seat until my ass hung out over space, until I was utterly at his mercy.
He breathed on me. Hot breath on hot flesh. A cool breath, then.
His hands spread over my belly, carving inward to my pussy. Big thumbs tugged me open.
His tongue dragged upward, fat and flat, licking. He groaned. "Fuck, you taste good."
My desperate need for orgasm was at a boil. I felt myself panting raggedly and forced my lungs to slow, to pull in long breaths. It didn't help.
When his tongue swiped upward again, I whimpered.
"Tell me why you said try ,” he murmured.
I'm not a liar, by omission or otherwise, so I told him the truth. "It's hard for me to come."
"Always?" The question huffed against my sex.
"Always."
He fused his lips around my clit and suckled. A ragged cry left my mouth, and my hips bucked upward.
"Can you make yourself come?" he asked.
"Sometimes,” I admitted. “Takes a long time. Not always worth the effort."
"Boyfriends make you come?" He kissed my pussy after the question, and then suckled again, until I gasped and bucked once more.
"Not usually."
"So you fake it?"
I shook my head. "No. I never fake it."
"Never?"
" Your ego isn't my fucking problem," I snapped. "If you can't make me come, I'm not gonna stroke your little ego by faking it."
He laughed at that, a rough chuckle that I felt as much as heard. "So, can I ask you a dumb question?"
“You just did," I panted.
Another of those raw laughs. “Fair enough."
"What's your question, goddammit?" I knotted my fingers in his hair, infuriated that he kept fucking talking instead of giving me the orgasm I was now on the verge of begging for.
I felt his grin against my sex. "If you can't come, do you still like sex?"
He lifted his head and met my eyes, his full of hot humor and unveiled desire and razor-sharp male appreciation. Before I found the words to answer, he buried his face between my thighs and sucked my clit into his mouth, and when a spasm of pleasure rocked me into him, he slid a finger inside my clenching channel.
"Oh— FUCK !" I cried. "Yes! Yes, I like sex. I fucking love sex."
“Tell me," he murmured, licked, suckled, and licked again. "Tell me what you like."
"Make me come first, goddamn you," I snapped.
He licked, once. "Tell me what you like. Tell me what turns you on. Tell me what makes you fucking crazy." Another slow, fat lick. "The more you talk, the busier my tongue will be."
"Everything!" I shouted, fingers knotted into his hair and pulling him against me.
He ghosted his mouth against my lips, growling wordlessly. "Not gonna cut it."
I ground my sex against his mouth, but he pulled away, teasing his tongue-tip against my seam. " FUCK !"
"Tell me, Delia." A lick.
I spasmed from the quick, simple touch of his tongue to my clit, the seeds of an orgasm taking root in my belly.
God, I wanted to beg. Demand. Plead. Order.
"Tell you what, you sadistic fuck?"
"What you like. What you want. I want to know what makes you horny. What makes you come? What makes this hot, tight little pussy drip, Delia?"
Ah…fuck.
Words tumbled out of me, ripped free from the depths of my soul by the raging need boiling in my veins.
"Forearm veins. Big arms. A good, sharp V-cut. A big cock wagging inside gray sweatpants. Witty banter. Intellectual stimulation. A really good massageOhhhhhhhh fuck ," I groaned, as he slid a finger inside me once more, and his tongue slid up my seam.
"Keep talking," he ordered.
"Strong hands. Sexy hair. Eyes. The right eyes really turn me on." I had to pause for breath because he wasn't lying—the more I spoke, the busier his tongue was. “Oh fuck, oh fuck. Foreplay. Kissing. Tongue-fuck me just right and I’ll be all over you, even if I don’t get an orgasm out of it. Someone who can take control without—fuck, fuck—without…oh god."
"Without what, Delia?"
“Without making me feel weak."
"Do you feel weak right now, Delia?"
"No."
"What else?"
"Making a man lose his mind."
"How?"
"Sucking him off. Teasing him until he doesn't know who the fuck he is." My ass lifted off the bench as he slid his finger deep, mouth fusing around my clit.
“Favorite position?"
"Cowgirl."
“Why?"
"Control. Angles. I like hands on my waist pulling me down. I love having my tits played with while I fuck."
"Do you have sensitive nipples?"
"Find out for yourself."
"Oh, I will. Count on that." He stilled his thrusting finger and flitted his tongue tip against my clit. "Do you?"
"Yes!" I cried, furious and desperate. "Yes, goddammit. My nipples are stupid sensitive."
"Yet you have a hard time coming?"
"Yes."
"You get close but can't always get there?"
"Yes."
His lips moved against my seam as he spoke, alternating licking and suckling with speaking. "I don't think you have a hard time coming. I think you have a hard time letting go." Lick. Suck. Finger-fuck. "I think you don't trust. I think you get in your own way." A quick series of tongue-flicks, his finger deep and curling. "I think I can make you come harder than you ever thought possible. Right now. You want to come, Delia?"
"Fuck you."
He just laughed. "Such a filthy mouth. I bet you can do some incredible things with that filthy mouth of yours, can't you?"
"Wouldn't you…like…to know?" I panted, writhing on the bench seat, refusing to beg, no matter how badly I wanted to.
"I would like to know. Very, very much." He teased my clit, twiddling it with his tongue until I gritted my teeth on a scream, hips bucking upward. "And I think you want to show me. Don't you? You want to do bad things to me with that filthy mouth?"
I wrenched my eyes open and glared daggers at him. "If that was a joke about my name…" I clenched my thighs around his head and squeezed until he grunted in surprised pain. "I will crush your head like a motherfucking egg."
"Wasn't," he gasped.
I released the pressure, and he gasped, blinking and working his jaw.
"Jesus Christ , woman," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "What a way to fucking die."
I couldn't help grinning down at him, applying a little bit of pressure. "Yeah? You liked that?"
He suckled on my clit until I spasmed again, my thighs involuntarily clenching and shaking around his ears, and this time, he didn't tease or slow, but brought me to the quivering edge.
And then he stopped, his finger slicking in and out slowly. "If I died between your thighs, Delia, I would die a happy man," he whispered, his free hand cupping my ass and holding me up as if offering me to himself.
"Shut the fuck up and make me come, goddammit," I hissed. "Fucking tease."
His laugh only fueled my desperation and my anger. "Such a filthy mouth."
“Fuck you."
"I bet that filthy mouth would feel like heaven wrapped around my cock." He licked. Licked. Licked. Spasms wracked me, even as the edge of orgasm shivered just out of reach. "You want to taste me, don't you?"
My god, yes. "No."
A laugh. "Liar. I thought you didn't lie?" Lick, lick, lick. "You're so close, Delia. I could probably take you over the edge right now. I could make you beg for it."
"I dare you to try." Please don’t; I'm about to as it is.
"Oh, I'll make you beg one of these days, just to prove the point. But right now, I'd rather you admit that you want my cock in your mouth."
"Not happening." God, please.
I bet it's huge. Thick and veiny and long. I bet he'd turn to a puddle of mush the second I get my lips around his fat cock.
"No?"
He crooked his finger inside me, and I jolted, and then his lips fused around my clit and he suckled and licked, thrashed my clit side to side until I was bucking and writhing and panting shrill gasps, hovering seconds away from sweet blessed release.
And then he stopped, everything, all at once, the bastard.
"FUCK!" I screamed. “You sadistic fucking monster! I hate you!"
"The truth shall set you free, Delia." A lick—and I spasmed, so close to coming I could feel it like a balloon about to pop.
"What? What , goddammit?" I demanded, nearly ripping his thick, dark blond hair out by the roots. "Yes! Okay? Yes, I've fucking daydreamed about your cock. I woke up in a sweat this morning, gagging for it, dreaming about it. Is that what you want to hear?" I cried out as his lips sealed around my slit and his tongue began to circle my clit. "Let me come right now, Hawk, and I swear to fucking god, I’ll suck your cock so good you'll see your fucking ancestors."
His lips moved, his words felt as much as heard. "Look at me, Beautiful."
I cracked my eyes open. "What, goddammit?" I snapped.
" Now …you can come."
As if his words were a trigger, I exploded from the inside out. He thrashed my clit with swift, aggressive, ravenous circles and side-to-side and up-and-down movements of his clever, relentless tongue, and his fingers—one, and then two, and then three of them—fucked in and out of me hard and fast.
At first, it was just an orgasm. A release of pressure and heat in my core, billowing upward and outward from my sex to my belly to my toes and fingers and scalp, everything tingling and spasming.
But when I reached the apex of my climax—or what I thought was the apex, because it was quite easily the hardest I've ever come—it turned out he wasn't done.
And apparently, therefore, neither was I.
Hips bucking wildly, grunting shrill screams through gritted teeth, I clutched his head and rode his mouth and fingers, expecting him to stop. He didn't. He kept going—same pace, same rhythm.
And I kept coming.
And coming.
Harder…and harder…and harder.
My lungs gave out and I couldn't scream anymore, and my hips flexed upward and froze there, my ass and thighs bunched and taut and quivering as lights burst behind my eyes and heat smashed through my convulsing sex.
"Hawk—fuck, fuck, fuck," I gasped, panting raggedly as wave after wave of mind-melting climax shattered through me. "Oh god, stop, stop—I can't take…I can't take any—any more."
His mouth pulled away, and he slid me onto the bench so my spasming, trembling lower half could rest. “Yes. You can. And you will."
Now, instead of his tongue, he used his other hand to strum my clit like the strings of a guitar, flicking rapidly up and down while his fingers inside me thrust in and out at the same pace, and then….
Something broke inside me.
I screamed like a banshee, my whole body arching helplessly upward, my hands fisting in Hawk's hard shoulders, my feet digging into his back with my knees splayed wide. The breaking became a shattering, my lungs empty, stars bursting behind my eyes.
A stream of something hot and wet sluiced out of me, but I couldn't find it in me, at that moment, at least, to care. I barely noticed, so lost in the wild paroxysms of pleasure.
He growled hungrily, pleased, as I came and came, the hot stream subsiding finally as the waves of orgasm slowed to a trickle, and then a halt.
Gasping and panting and whimpering, tears burning in my eyes and embarrassment in my throat, I could only lay there on the bench of my truck, shivering and trembling and mortified, as overwhelmed sobs battered at my gritted teeth.
I spasmed all over again as he slid his fingers out of me. My eyes wouldn't open, and I couldn’t make my muscles work to sit up.
I felt Hawk's gaze on me. I cracked one eye and looked at him—and immediately regretted it.
Smug.
Arrogant.
Satisfied.
The fucking bastard.
"Help me up," I mumbled, wishing it had come out with more force.
At least I hadn't tacked on a "please."
His strong hands cradled my shoulders, and he helped me sit up—I had to grasp at the steering wheel and the back of the seat to stay upright, a gasp hissing out of me as an aftershock shuddered through me, forcing me to double over.
Naked from the waist down, I stared at Hawk. "What…the fuck …was that?"
He was soaked from neck to belly. He passed his shirt sleeve over his mouth and chin, grinning at me. "An orgasm."
"No. Uh-uh. I've had orgasms before. That was…something else." Dizzy, I closed my eyes as the word swam, and another aftershock quaked through me. "Fuck, fuck." I glared at him, embarrassment making me angry. "I squirted on you."
His grin widened. "Yes, you fucking did." He leaned close to me, and I could smell myself on his breath, his stubble, his clothing. "And it was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen."
Another aftershock hit me, this one weaker than the others. "I fucking peed on you, Hawk. Aren't you grossed out?"
"Fuck no." He braced his hands beside mine, on the wheel and seatback. Lips close to mine. Eyes leonine and wild and ravenous. "Now that I've had a taste of your sweet, pretty little pussy, I'll never be able to get enough. Making you squirt might be my new obsession."
I was lost at sea.
My head swam and my body was loose and jellied and hot. My thoughts were scattered to the winds and my emotions were all over the place, and I was tired and wired and wrung out.
"Need to go home," I mumbled, blinking as my eyes crossed and tried to shut.
Can you actually come so hard you pass out, but minutes after the actual orgasm?
If that's a thing, then that's what was happening.
"You okay, Delia?" Hawk's voice came from the end of a tunnel.
“Tired."
Darkness closed in.
"Delia?"
I tried to answer, but all that came out was a soft grunt.
"Fuck, she's out." He sounded equal parts amused and annoyed.
The last thought I had was: You've only got yourself to blame, buddy.
I woke up to bright warm yellow sunlight and the scent of coffee.
My bed was not this firm.
My blankets were not this heavy.
My bedroom faced sunset, not sunrise.
Nope, nope, nope. I wasn't facing whatever this was. Not yet. I rolled over, pulled the lovely, warm, heavy blankets higher around my ears, and snuggled in.
Dozed off, maybe.
My bladder woke me again, and once that happens, there's no going back to sleep.
"Dammit," I muttered.
I forced my eyes open and took stock. The bedroom was huge—that was the first thing I noticed. The ceiling was knotty pine and soared at least twenty feet overhead. The light was coming from not one but two walls of glass, facing east, with a breathtaking view of rural Ketchikan—mountains, fields of wildflowers, and the Passage. The bed was a four-poster, the posts massive logs as big as the ones holding up the ceiling. The bed was what some called an Alaskan King—so massive I’d need a train to get to the far side. Thick white down comforter with impossibly high thread-count sheets against my skin. Pillows that were soft yet supportive.
A cute little seating area near one of the glass walls and leather armchairs with a low round table between them. On the table was a glass pour-over coffee maker thing full of steaming, aromatic life-juice with a single mug beside it.
I kicked away the blankets, only then realizing I was wearing a gigantic pair of gray sweatpants. The waistband was cinched as tight as the strings would allow, and still I could probably fit another of me in there with me. But I was covered, and I was still wearing my work tee and bra.
It seemed Hawk had brought me here, put his clothes on me, and put me to bed.
And made me coffee.
I slid off the five-acre-wide bed and padded to the coffee—the sweatpants fit sort of like Aladdin's pants in the Disney movie, but despite that, they were soft and warm and cozy.
You've heard of wearing your boyfriend's T-shirts, hoodies, and boxers; now get ready for…boyfriend sweats. Patent pending.
Not that Hawk was my boyfriend.
If he was my boyfriend, that orgasm he gave me would guarantee him blowjobs for life. Like, no questions asked. Home from work? I'm on my knees.
It was that fucking epic.
My legs still feel shaky.
I fucking squirted . I thought that was a myth. Or, more likely, fake. Like, porn stars wait until they have to pee and then just cut loose and act like it's normal. All part of the show, folks; nothing to see here.
Nope.
That shit took me by surprise. Like, it just ripped out of me. I couldn't have controlled it under threat of death. Or worse, having Mom and Dad involved somehow. Like, "Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Badd, your slut of a daughter squirted all over the alley behind your cousin's bar. What do you have to say?"
I have to laugh, though. Because knowing my parents, Dad would growl something about not slut-shaming his daughter, and Mom would throat-punch the person asking the question.
Still, let's leave them out of it.
I sat in one of the chairs, poured myself a cup of coffee, and sipped it while appreciating the view.
As I did so, I couldn't stop my brain from spinning out about Hawk and last night.
He made me come.
Harder than all of my previous orgasms combined, and then some.
With no more than his fingers and mouth.
In a matter of minutes.
In my truck, in an alley, in fucking public.
And I let him. Shit, I damn near begged him.
I did beg him. Sure, it was disguised as a demand, but we both knew I was begging.
Also, I'm pretty sure I promised him a blowjob so good he saw his ancestors. I guess I owe him that.
The first cup of coffee disappeared in a blink, and I poured a second one. It could use some Splenda, but I recognized ultra-high quality, super-expensive coffee when I tasted it.
Whoever Hawk was, he had an eye for the nicer things in life.
I can't stop puzzling over why he seems familiar, though. It's like I should recognize him, but I can’t place him. I mean, I’m not exactly a connoisseur of current events. I don’t give a shit about which celebrity is fucking whom, who’s in rehab, who’s divorced, and who went on a racist tirade. I just don’t care. Maybe it’s growing up with Aunt Low and watching her struggle with fame. I don't know. I just know Hawk's face niggles something in my hindbrain. I'll figure it out someday. Maybe I'll just ask him.
I finish my second cup and pour a third, and carry the mug and the Chemex out of the room, hoping this house isn't a maze.
Thankfully, it's not. A short hallway brought me into a den—supple brown leather couches around a coffee table made out of driftwood with a glass top, a massive, soot-stained natural fireplace, and glass sliding doors on three sides; the fireplace was double-sided, so you could enjoy it inside or outside on the sprawling stone patio.
The kitchen was gigantic—everything about this place was oversized. Was it designed for giants? The counters were higher and deeper than normal. Instead of a refrigerator, even a high-end one, there was a walk-in fridge and a walk-in freezer side by side next to a pantry you could play football in, stocked with every kind of foodstuff available, from health food options to Twinkies to enough canned goods to last you through an apocalypse. A regular-sized refrigerator with a glass door contained nothing but beverages—mostly canned sparkling water in every flavor imaginable, plus six different kinds of beer, half a dozen bottles of champagne and white wine and rosé, almond milk, and bottles of flat water.
Mind-boggled, I helped myself to a bagel from the pantry and then went on a hunt for a toaster. Because this level of rich doesn’t just leave toasters out where you can find them. Oh no, you have to hide them because…reasons.
I became increasingly frustrated as I rooted through cabinets, bagel in hand, muttering to myself about rich assholes and hidden toasters.
I was on my knees digging in the back of a shockingly deep corner cabinet, my front half mostly in the cabinet, which meant my back half was sticking up and out.
"As much as I appreciate the view of your very fine ass from this angle, Delia," I heard Hawk's amused voice say from above and behind me, "I must ask…what in the ever-loving fuck are you looking for in there?"
“Your tiny prick, you overstocked cock-waffle.” I wiggled out and to my feet, shoving my now-squished and still uncut and untoasted bagel in his face. "Something to fucking toast this with," I snapped. "Why can't you just put your fucking toaster on the fucking counter like a normal fucking person?"
He just smirked at me, his lips twitching. "Because I haven't been able to fucking find it either, that's fucking why."
"Oh." The wind of anger having been let out of my sails, I winced at him. "Sorry. If I don't get carbs within half an hour after waking up, I'm kind of a bitch."
He bit down on a grin. "Noted."
I lifted my mug of now-cold coffee. "But thanks for this. It was very thoughtful of you." I plucked the sweatpants. "And these. And for bringing me here." I blinked, biting my lip as I tried like hell to keep my next words on the inside…and failed. "And for the best and craziest orgasm of my entire fucking life."
He just stared at me, his gaze going hot. I waited for him to remind me of the reward he was promised, but what he did wasn't that. "Now imagine what I could do if I had you naked and tied to my bed."
Well…fuck.
"I'm not into being tied up," I said.
He arched an eyebrow. “Have you been?"
“No. Because I'm not into it."
He moved to stand in my space, towering over me, green-streaked eyes piercing, daring me. He wrapped my hair around his fist and jerked my head back—a sharp but not exactly painful tug that elicited a shocked gasp from me. "What if I told you, Delia Badd, that if you trusted me, if you let me tie you to my bed, I could make the orgasm I gave you last night seem like a sneeze?"
I frowned up at him. "A sneeze?"
"Haven't you ever heard that old thing about how sneezes are one-eighth of an orgasm?"
“That's bullshit," I said.
"Of course it is." He kept my hair in his grip, my head tipped back, and his lips bruised my ear, his voice hot and low and making my core shiver and go slick and wet. "The point is, what I did last night?" He nipped my earlobe, and my pussy spasmed like a greedy, silly, horny idiot. "It would utterly pale in comparison to what I could do to you if I had you tied up."
"Bullshit," I whispered, as my legs trembled and my knees threatened to give out entirely.
"Remember when you begged me to let you come?" He turned my head to the side and kissed my throat, my jawline, and then went back to whispering in my ear. "I could make you beg me to let you stop coming."
"Bullshit," I whispered again, dipping deep into my reservoir of creative comebacks.
"Do not challenge me, Delia. Did you learn nothing last night?"
Oh, I learned plenty.
Such as, the man had a wicked, talented mouth and devilishly clever fingers.
Didn’t mean I was going to just lay back and let a man I’d just met tie me up. Do you want to end up on Dateline? Because that's how you end up on Dateline.
"There's a massive difference between letting you go down on me and letting you tie me up, Hawk. And you have absolutely fucking not earned my trust enough that I'm gonna let you tie me up, no matter how many orgasms you might give me." I grabbed his crotch, feeling his semi-erect cock through the fabric of whatever it was he was wearing. "You did, however, earn one thing. Do you remember what it was I promised you if you let me come?"
"I believe your words were you'd suck my cock so good I'd see my ancestors." His voice was low and rough with desire. "But I don't play tit-for-tat when it comes to sex. I eat pussy because I like doing it. And Delia, babe, your pussy is the most delicious treat I've ever had. I'll eat your sweet little pussy until I get fucking lockjaw, and I’ll never ask for a single thing from you, unless it's to hear you say six words."
"What words would those be?" I couldn't help but ask.
"'Please sir, may I have another.'"
"Fuck." My knees shook. "I could work with that," I said. "Still not tying me up, though. I may or may not have trust issues. And no, it has nothing to do with my father. My dad is the best, and I trust him with my life. My trust issues come from the fact that every man I've ever dated has been a lying, cheating piece of dogshit."
“That’s fair,” he said. “But how about I make you a deal? I’ll give you six orgasms before I let you so much as see my cock. And in the meantime, you let me earn your trust."
"You'd have to tell me the truth for that to work," I said, mentally trying to tally up how far back I'd have to go to tally six orgasms. "And I doubt you'll do that. You're hiding something, and I know it. You won’t ever have my trust if I know you're hiding something from me."
"You're right. I am hiding something from you." He grabbed my hand and pulled it away from his groin. "I promise to give you the full truth. Not now, but I will, before my time in Alaska is over. You have my word of honor on that."
"Will the full truth involve your actual name?"
“It will involve me answering, fully and without prevarication, any and every question you care to ask."
I held up my pinky finger. "Pinky promise?"
He snorted. "Pinky promise." He hooked his pinky around mine.
"So in the meantime, I'm just supposed to accept the fact that you're acknowledging that you’re lying to me about something. You won’t tell me what, but I have to assume it has something to do with why you’re here and why you're asking around about my bars. And I'm supposed to set that aside mentally while you and I have hot monkey sex all over Ketchikan?"
"Precisely. I'm glad you understand." He tightened his grip on my hair, tugging my head back until I was off balance, and he cupped the side of my face, rubbing the rough pad of his thumb across my lips. "Now. Let's count last night as one. Are you ready for number two?"