Chapter 27
THE SIXTH LESSON OF NAP DATES
REMY
He groans, tossing his head back briefly. It’s enough of a pause for me to do something else daring. I drop to my knees. When he lowers his gaze, his eyes flare.
“Remy,” he warns. But he sets a hand on my shoulder, asking, “You sure?”
I lick my lips first, the tip of my tongue sliding across them. “Do I look unsure?” I counter as I shrug my right shoulder, shaking the sweatshirt fabric down farther, exposing my collarbone.
And his weakness. He lets out another groan. This one is more resigned.
“No,” he says, the sound of a man giving in. “You don’t look a damn bit unsure.”
I slide my hands up his legs, along his thick thighs, toward the zipper.
His right hand curls around my shoulder, the left running gently through my hair as my fingers reach for the button.
I undo the button and Lake closes his eyes, like this is all too much.
Good. I want him to be overwhelmed. He’s overwhelmed me in the best of ways.
It’s my turn to show him I’m not just a taker.
That I can give.
I slide down the zipper. A naughty grin tugs at my lips as I think of him last night zipping up my dress, and now I’m doing the opposite.
When it’s undone I push the fabric of his tailored slacks open, exposing tight black boxer briefs that leave little to the imagination. Lake’s hard-on strains against the material, an ambitious erection that’s making all its wishes known. The best part? The wet spot at the top of the cotton.
A wild pulse beats between my thighs as I stare at that revealing little spot. The evidence I need. I nibble on the corner of my lips, then peel his briefs down.
His cock says, It’s really fucking good to see you. Long, thick, hard, with more liquid arousal beading at the tip. A spark slides down my chest, a hot pulse that finds its way between my thighs. I clench them, my whole body melting. Hell, my mind is on fire as I wrap my hand around the base.
The skin is soft, his cock is hard, and I’m riding a roller coaster of thrills.
Lake seems to be too, since he grunts out a rough and dirty, “Fuck yes.”
From that. Just that. My hand on his dick.
Ha. I can do better than that. I dip my face, dart out my tongue, and lick the drop, savoring it.
I moan at the taste—salty, musky, masculine. And clean.
“Yessss,” he says, sounding a little lost already, and I’ve barely tasted him. But I want to make him feel as incredible right now as he’s made me feel these last few weeks. Squeezing the base, I drag my tongue around the crown, licking the head, then playfully sucking it past my lips.
I drag the tip into my mouth. Just the tip though as I take my sweet time, making sure he’s watching me, making sure he’s losing his mind as I execute the true trial for this red lipstick.
“How’s it holding up? The color?” I ask ever so innocently, then wrap my lips around the tip of his dick again.
“Not sure yet. Better try a little harder.”
“Harder, you say?” I ask, letting him fall from my lips. And since I want to ace this test, I drag my hand up his length, keeping the pressure on as I watch him.
“Yeah,” he says on a strangled grunt. “And wetter.”
I laugh, but I comply. Oh yes, do I comply. With my hand wrapped around his pulsing cock, I draw him back into my mouth.
I’m nice and slow, easing him in, playing as he goes. By the time he’s halfway in my mouth, Lake is groaning loudly, then wrapping a hand tightly around my skull. The sounds that fall from his mouth are pure caveman grunts. Filthy groans. Needy sighs.
His excitement is like the carnival game where you hit the hammer.
And bam. The bell is ringing. He’s gripping my head and rocking into my mouth and breathing so hard already that I feel like the queen of the world.
Or really of his world, here on my knees, with my panties outrageously wet as I tease him into my mouth.
Every moan he makes sends a direct line of pleasure straight to my core. I’m aching as I draw him in another inch.
“Fuck, Remy,” he moans, gazing down at the sight of me with his dick nearly down my throat. “Your mouth. Your perfect fucking mouth.”
I think I’m glowing from the praise.
I’m certainly soaked from it.
But I also want to make some things clear. I let go for a brief second. “Fuck my perfect mouth then,” I urge.
He blinks. Parts his lips. Shudders. Then shakes his head. “No.”
No? No? What just happened? “Why?” I ask, and I hate that I sound terrified.
He grips my chin, strokes it with his thumb. “Because if you take me in your mouth for another second, I’m going to blow. I’m going to come in two seconds. And that is not going to happen the first time.”
First time. Those words vibrate in the air. They shimmer with the implication that there will be a second.
“You will?” I ask, a little enchanted. I kind of want to know what that’s like.
He lets out a harsh, ragged breath. “I fucking assure you I’m this close and it’s not okay.”
This close.
His heated words echo. I’m this close.
I didn’t know that was what I needed to hear today—that naked truth. But I did, and I fight off a smile as he tucks his this close dick back into his boxer briefs.
I wish he’d let me finish, but it’s such a wicked thrill to wield this kind of power.
He offers me a hand, and I take it, letting him tug me to my feet. He’s standing in front of me in his dark sapphire suit, pants zipped, looking sophisticated and sexually frustrated. It’s such a good look. He drags a hand through his hair, then blows out an irritated breath.
But maybe not that irritated since he tilts his head, dips his face toward mine, and presses a gentle caress of a kiss to my cheek, before whispering, “My turn.”
I picture myself spread out on his bed, a midday meal for him. It’s heady, but also scary since there’s no way I’ll finish quickly. If at all.
I won’t be the reason his focus is off on the ice this afternoon. “No. You have a game day nap to take. So get this suit off and put your shorts back on.” I pause, tap dancing my fingers along the open waistband of his pants. “It’s time for my nap lesson.”
“You bet it is.”
I hustle out of the closet, head down the hall, and pop into the guest bathroom. My panties are a mess, but I do my best to straighten up. When I leave the bathroom, I grab the blanket he gave me and return to his bedroom as he’s shifting pillows around the bed, making room for us.
He’s wearing only a pair of tight boxer briefs, and my fingers ache to explore every groove of his abs, every muscle in his chest. To trace the tiny running horses on his biceps. To explore the cat on his abs. “Get over here,” he says, beckoning with his finger.
It’s funny how he’s trying to take charge again. I don’t mind obeying though. Padding across the soft beige carpet with the sage green blanket in hand, I join him at the side of the bed.
The next thing I know, I’m staring at the ceiling. Lake scooped me up in his arms with zero warning. “Good surprise?”
I’m catching my breath but laughing as I say, “Yes.”
He drops me gently onto the bed with the blanket in my hand. He settles the soft fleece over me, resting it at my breasts. “Rule one. You don’t go all the way under the covers for a nap. Not the duvet, and not the blanket itself.”
He’s so serious about it. I could poke fun at him, but he seems to really want to impart this knowledge. “Why?”
He leans over me, hands on the mattress, his weight making it sink slightly. “Because then you sleep too deeply.”
“I sleep hard at night. I’m out in like two seconds,” I say, bragging, like an out-like-a-light skill is some kind of superpower. “What’s the second rule?”
He lifts a brow, moves around the bed, and hops in on the other side, scooting over to me. “Naps are better with a…” There’s a pause, like he’s weighing what to tell me before he settles on, “friend.”
The word is warm—a little unexpected too. As he inches closer, it doesn’t feel wrong; it feels like a euphemism and he knows it.
“Is rule three you should make room for that friend under the blanket?” I ask, a little giddy about getting close to him again even after that heated moment amongst his suits.
“Yes,” he says as I lift the blanket, inviting him to cuddle. He RSVPs to the hilt, sliding right next to me.
“Rule four.”
“There’s more?”
“Yes. Set an alarm. Otherwise your nap might turn into an all-day affair.”
“An all-day affair sounds a little risqué.”
“It does. Which is why I’ve set mine already. For forty-five minutes.”
I groan. “That’s so long.”
He laughs, then kisses my shoulder. “Rule five. Turn on your side. Let me wrap my arms around you.”
My heart shimmies. But why? Why is a nap exciting to me? I don’t know. It’s just a silly nap. But this lesson is also as organized as any date I’ve ever planned for a client. Only it’s a new kind of date—an intimate one.
Lake wraps his strong arms around me, then nuzzles the back of my neck. That’s not entirely relaxing, so I blurt out, “Are you always a cuddler?”
I’m not sure why I’m asking either.
“Remy,” he says, just shy of exasperated.
I wince. “Sorry. You probably want to sleep.”
“No. Well yes, but also—” he hesitates, then exhales heavily. “I haven’t napped with anyone in a long, long time, so I really don’t know. I just want to hold you.”
My heart springs in my chest. It’s a little uncomfortable the way it’s bouncing around in there. “Okay,” I say.
It feels like giving in, like letting go, and it’s terrifying.
Especially when he shifts a little, then blows out a slow, steady breath. Again and again and again. He’s asleep in seconds, his big, warm body holding mine close.
I close my eyes, but I’m not sleepy. Not one bit.
I try to relax. To think of breathing exercises. Of sleep techniques that I’ve never needed at night and never tried during the day since, well, naps are not my thing.
Is a nap date my thing though? I’m not sure either. There’s not much room to spread out. There’s not much room to do anything.