27. Renee
“What the hell was that?” I gasp, ripping my mouth away from Weston’s.
He doesn”t let me go far. His hands stay firmly planted on my hips. “You drive me fucking crazy, P,” he rasps. “I—I mean, fuck, I don’t know what else to do about it. Other than this.”
“And what exactly is ‘this’?” I reply. My heart is pounding a million miles an hour in my chest. His smell is making my head spin. Or maybe it’s the beer. Or maybe it’s how my lips are swollen from his kiss and the heat low in my belly wants to do that again and again for the rest of our lives.
The corner of Weston’s mouth turns up in a sly smirk. “I think it’s better that I show you.”
Taking my hand, he leads me through his kitchen to the laundry room. He shuts the door behind us and presses another searing kiss against my mouth.
He backs me into the dryer, lifts me so I’m sitting on it, then kisses me again. His kiss is hot and wet, demanding and soft at the same time.
I moan into his mouth. No one has ever kissed me quite like this. It’s anger and hate and frustration, all mixed up with lust and fire and the draw of two people who know better but succumb to those needs anyway.
He pushes my knees apart and swipes his hand over my pussy through my leggings. “Are you wet for me, princess?” His voice is low with the rasp of desire.
There’s only one honest truth: I’ve been wet for him since I stepped out of the pool and went home humiliated and horny.
“Yes,” I whisper.
He peels down my pants then palms my ass and pulls me toward him. I don’t know the plan until his mouth is on my clit, sucking, tongue flicking.
“Oh, f-fuck!”
The world is spinning faster now. I’m powerless to do more than hang onto his head, holding him against me so he doesn’t stop as the pressure builds and builds and builds inside of me.
He is holding me around my waist—as if I would try to move away, which is hilarious—as he pushes two fingers of his other hand inside me. His fingers curl in and out as he continues torturing my clit with his mouth.
My head knocks back against the wall as I look down at him. He backs off for a second. “Lift your shirt and play with your tits.”
“Don’t tell me what to do,” I snap, even though I was just thinking how at least one of us should be touching my nipples.
He withdraws his fingers, wipes his lips—so fucking hot—and shrugs. “Fine. Finish yourself then.”
He starts to stand, but before he can get far, I tighten my legs that have somehow found their way over his shoulders.
“Wait!” I lift my shirt, unfasten the front closure of my bra, and close my eyes as I pinch my nipples, giving a little tug. My back arches as he watches and pleasure skitters over my skin.
When I peek, his eyes are gleaming with satisfaction. “Good girl. Now, moan.”
He doesn’t have to tell me twice. I let out the carnal gasp I’ve been holding back since he first kissed me. Moving on instinct, my free hand creeps down between my legs.
He catches my wrist halfway there. “No.”
I struggle against his hold but he’s strong. “Then eat my pussy.”
He smirks again. My stomach does a backflip. “Ask and you shall receive.” His gaze locks onto mine as he swipes his tongue up my slit to the swollen nub. He repeats the move twice more, using his fingers to fuck me as my hips begin to seek the rhythm on their own. “Say my name and tell me what you want,” he growls into my wet center.
I’m on the edge, barely able to make sense of his words. “Weston…” His name is a moan and a prayer and a plea all at once. “Please.”
“Please what?”
If he wasn’t so damned good and I wasn’t so fucking desperate…“Eat my pussy.”
“Ask nicely.”
Again, I try to help myself, but he’s too strong and I have no leverage in the position I’m in. I need to get off. I’ll punish him later. “Please, Weston. Please make me come.”
He flashes his victory smile and lowers his head. His tongue is masterful. Decadent against my skin. I hate him so much, but my God, I love how he devours me.
My body flashes with passion and need and then I’m coming, hard, holding his face against me while he laps the juice from my pussy and I ride his fingers. I love the steady rhythm, the way he doesn’t speed up or slow down to match the sensations rippling through me but just lets it rip me apart, boom, boom, boom.
When I can breathe again and the world has slowed its whirling, I let out a ragged exhale. “Wow.” That’s all I know how to say right now.
He smiles then stands and helps me off the counter.
“That’s it?” I ask, eyeing the bulge in his jeans. I still remember how it looked when he stepped out of the shower. Dangerous.
The kind of danger I’d be perfectly happy to risk right now.
“That’s it,” he confirms. “Can’t have you getting addicted.”
Addicted. He didn’t mean it like this, but the word snags on something in my head. “Can I ask you something?”
Weston frowns. “What kind of something?”
“Have you talked to Hunter about his… drug use?”
“What?” He steps back in surprise as the hot, sexy moment fades into memory. “He’s a drinker, Renee. That’s all.”
I’m cursing myself for being stupid enough to ruin what was undeniably the hottest moment of my life. But it’s too late to put the genie back in the bottle.
I just shake my head. “No, Weston, he’s an addict. I’ve seen it before. He’s up and down. Comes back from the bathroom sniffling, wiping his nose. Eyes glassy. He’s got a problem.”
“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
“I do know, Weston. Please. He’s your friend. I get it, but he needs help.”
“Get the fuck out of here.” For a second, I think he’s joking, but then I look up and see the anger. It’s real. “Go on. Get the fuck out if you’re gonna say shit like that.”
After what just happened, I don’t know what to say. I’m getting emotional whiplash. “Seriously?” I know what he means and what he wants; I just can’t fucking believe it. “You just…”
“Gave you the best fucking orgasm of your life. And now, I want you to get the fuck out of here. I’m done with you.”
I can’t believe this. But no way in hell is he getting by with talking to me this way. “It wasn’t the ‘best fucking orgasm of my life.’ The one I gave myself last night was better.”
Lies. But the delivery was convincing, I think.
I turn and march out of his laundry room, to the front door, and straight to Sutton’s apartment.
“Holy fuck, Renee,” I mutter to myself when I’m alone again.
I’m taking to the grave that I lied. He’s an asshole, so he doesn’t deserve to know that it really was the best I’ve ever had.
Too bad it came from the worst man I’ve ever met.