Chapter 22 #2
“You taste incredible. I knew that you would,” he says while he licks up my shaft, and I tremble with the desire coursing through my veins.
I’ve never felt anything like this before.
His mouth is warm and soft and he wraps those perfect lips around my tip again, taking me in deeper.
My hips instinctively rut into him, trying to fuck his face.
I thread my fingers into his short hair, searching for the friction that I desperately need.
My legs are trembling, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst out of my chest. I’m writhing–that’s the only word to describe it–squirming against the sofa, my ass rubbing against the softness of the cushions.
I’m… I’m… “I’m going to come,” I warn, unable to stop the pressure building at the base of my spine, my balls tight.
“I’m ready for you,” he coaxes, and I’m not in control of my body anymore, my orgasm rocketing through me. His lips and mouth guide me through it, as he keeps sucking and licking, taking every drop that I give him.
It’s one of the sexiest things that I’ve ever seen, especially when he finally leans back and wipes the back of his hand across his mouth before giving me a lop-sided smile.
I exhale. My limbs feel like they’re made of jelly, but then my eyes are drawn to his own cock, still hard with arousal. Suddenly, making him feel like this is all that I can think about.
“I want to–” My words are cut off when he sits up on his knees and starts to work his shaft.
Up and down, his hand moves methodically.
I wanted to use my mouth on him, but he seems to have other ideas.
Still, this need in me won’t be sated. The desire to taste him.
To know what it would be like to wrap my lips around his cock, swirling my tongue against him. “Can I–”
“Like this,” he says, cutting me off, his voice harsher–from need or certainty, I can’t be sure–than it’s been all night. “You can watch me like this.”
It doesn't take him long. A few well-purposed strokes before he starts to come with a soft grunt. He grabs a tissue from the coffee table before I can protest, and I’m left feeling like I missed the best part, unable to even see the thick streams that I wanted him to coat me with.
When he’s done, his shoulders relax and he leans back on his knees, breathing hard. I watch in real time as he comes back to his senses, the realization of what we’ve just done settling on his face. And I can see that some part of him regrets it, even as he asks, “How are you feeling?”
Elated. Devastated. Needy. I couldn’t even put into words the emotion coursing through me. It’s an uncomfortable mix that makes me want to throw myself at him again but also leave as soon as I can. The craziest part is that I don’t know which one he’d prefer either.
I swallow the lump in my throat while he scoots backward so that we’re no longer touching. He slides his underwear and joggers back on his hips. “I’m good,” I say, tracking his movement.
He makes eye contact with me again, but it’s not the intense connection from before. I miss that. Miss the way that our bodies were so in tune that even though we were communicating with words, we were also synced up on an entirely different level.
Instead, his gaze is stormy, and I wish that I knew what he was thinking. Finally, he nods. “Good.”
Suddenly conscious of my own nudity, I shimmy my clothing up my hips, too. “Have you ever done this before?”
He scratches his chin and looks up at the ceiling. “Gone down on one of my patients while my daughter’s out of the house for the night?” He laughs hoarsely, still grappling with what we’ve just done. “Definitely not.”
I kick his knee with my sock-clad foot. “I meant having a friends-with-benefits situation.”
Which seems like the best label for what we’re doing, even if it doesn’t feel like it encompasses how I feel about him.
Yes, he’s a friend. And yes, there are definitely benefits.
But shouldn’t that mean that our relationship is easier to navigate?
I shouldn’t want to know what he’s thinking about or wonder what he’s doing when we’re not together.
And I definitely shouldn’t imagine what it would be like to wake up in bed with him and have breakfast with him and Lyla in the mornings.
“Not in a very long time,” he admits. “Life’s just been so busy. And Lyla is always my number one priority, followed by my job. It doesn’t leave a lot of time to have something casual. Definitely nothing serious.”
I know that I’m new to the idea of being with a man, but it’s hard for me to imagine a better partner than him.
Smart. Driven. Sexy as hell. Loves his daughter.
Has a good relationship with his parents.
Tack on that he just made me feel like I’d died and gone to heaven, and I’m pretty sure that Wyatt Chase was grown in a lab to meet every need and want that I could ever have.
And for as terrifying as that feels, it’s also exhilarating. I can’t wait to keep exploring this connection between us. I’m discovering more about myself along with discovering more about him.
“Is that something you want?” I try to ask casually. “Something serious?”
He schools me with a look that makes me feel like I’ve said something wrong. At the very least, that he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “You don’t want something serious with me. It’s not possible anyway.”
“You don’t know what I want,” I murmur, surprised at the quiet confidence in my own voice.
“Maybe not,” he says, looking at the ceiling again. “But I hope that I’ve been clear with what I can give.” He meets my stare, then. “Are you going to be okay with what we’re doing? And doing it on those terms?”
I know it’s stupid. I know that entering into this situation with him when I already know that my heart wants more is a terrible idea. But still, I can’t seem to stop myself when I say, “Yes. I am.”
He glances at the door, and I already know some version of what he’s going to say before the words are out of his mouth. “Well, it’s getting late. I need to grab Lyla early tomorrow.”
I try not to feel embarrassed, even if a different, and far less enjoyable, heat washes through me. He’s giving me the brush-off, but he did tell me his terms. His daughter, his life, his job all need to come first.
And I’ll agree to almost anything, as long as we can keep doing this.
“But we’re good?” I ask, even though I feel like a whiny little kid, begging for affection.
“We’re good.” He clears his throat. “Just, you know… boundaries. It’s important for us to keep them. Things are already messy enough.”
“Right,” I agree, standing up quickly and adjusting my clothing for the very short walk of shame that I’m about to experience. “Boundaries.”