Chapter Twenty-One
Ailee
Josh loves the yakisoba I made. I have no idea what it tastes like, though. It’s like chewing on cardboard-box pasta. My entire focus is on the kiss. Even when he says something, I just nod and smile.
Now that I’m in the soft bed in my own room and blinking up at the ceiling in the dark, I have no clue who cleaned up after dinner.
I’m still in Josh’s dress shirt because he didn’t ask for it back.
I think he even said I should keep it and wear it as a nightshirt.
That it looked great on me. But I’m not one hundred percent certain—my brain quit after the kiss.
I’ve always known Josh was intense and hot, but I never knew just how intense and hot he could be, or what it was like to be on the receiving end of his focused attention.
Up to today, kissing a guy was pleasant enough.
Our lips met, the tongues got engaged, and then, if the mood was right and everything was going okay, we’d go further.
I probably should’ve pushed Josh away when he said he wanted to kiss me.
Part of me said it’d be the smart thing to do, but the other part—the one with a curiosity intense enough to end every single life of a whole truckload of cats—wanted to know what it would be like to feel his mouth on mine.
I’d seen all those gorgeous women on his arm, but never seen a single photo of him kissing any, even though I’m sure he did.
Being the focus of his molten eyes made me unable to turn away because the fire they held heated my core.
Just the mere brush of his lips sent an electric jolt through my spine. For a moment, I thought I might just come, it was that potent.
The feel of his tongue in my mouth was so carnally penetrating, my knees almost buckled. Every time he ran his tongue over mine, my clit throbbed like he was down there instead. And for the first time in my life, I actually wanted to be ravished by a mouth.
My face flames, and I cover my overheated cheeks.
Oral sex isn’t awful, but I’ve never particularly enjoyed it.
It’s awkward, for one. Sometimes I lie there and wonder if I smell and taste okay, and then I feel like I should hurry up and climax because the guy’s trying and he might be let down if I don’t come.
Which, ironically, makes it harder to relax and orgasm.
So I never really wanted a man down there…until Josh kissed me.
What the hell, Ailee?!
But every time his tongue stroked against mine, I wanted to feel it on my aching clit.
If he didn’t want to touch me there with his mouth, he could’ve just used his fingers.
I would’ve loved that, too. And I would’ve held his dick, which I could tell was hard even though he didn’t do anything overt like pressing it against me. But I wanted him to.
I flip over and press my hips against the mattress. God, I’m so wet. I squeeze my thighs together to ease the pressure, but it’s no use. I need Josh.
I whisper his name in the dark. Just saying it brings back the memory, and my body reacts, like his mouth is still fused to mine. My panties are soaked through, and I take them off and discreetly drop them next to the bed.
I slip my hand between my legs and touch the slickness there. The pressure in my clit eases a little, but I can’t seem to stimulate it enough. I cup my breast, tease my nipple. I undulate my hips. Increase the tempo of my fingers rubbing the clit.
The orgasm comes and pops, then fizzles like a badly stored soda. I bury my face in the pillow and groan, suddenly feeling ridiculous and out of control. I’ve never just masturbated to a man before. If I’m in the mood, I might do it to a really spicy romance scene, but…
Hopefully, the memory of what I did tonight doesn’t come back to haunt me when I face Josh tomorrow. It’s really because I said his name. Just that alone makes him feel more real—more personal.