10. Webber
Webber
I don’t want to chance getting caught at the hotel.
I left your name with the front desk.
Fox
Oooh, you have a doorman? Fancy schmancy.
Webber
Oh please.
Fox
Practicing what you’ll say to me tonight?
Webber
You can’t see me, but I’m rolling my eyes at you.
Fox
Well damn… all that does is remind me of fucking you so hard your eyes rolled back in your head
Webber
For the love of all that is holy… just hurry your ass up
I dropa pin with my exact location and look around to see if there’s anything out of place. Shoving a grocery bag into the pantry and putting my breakfast bowl into the dishwasher, I sit down and turn on the television, trying my damndest to chill the fuck out before he gets here.
Seventeen minutes later – do not judge – my phone buzzes with a text that someone is on the way up. I walk as slowly as humanly possible towards the door and turn the knob just as the elevator dings.
Our eyes meet, and he smiles that megawatt grin at me. My traitorous stomach flips over in my gut, and I tell that motherfucker to get it together.
Then Jonathan Fox uses his gorgeous, meaty hands to push me inside and kicks the door shut behind him as he crowds me against the wall.
And my gut tells me to shut the fuck up because nobody can resist this man. It’s pointless to even try.
My hands go to his hips and squeeze, pulling a groan from between his lips. I jerk back and fist his shirt, pulling it up and revealing a nasty bruise on his left flank.
“That slide in the fourth?” I ask.
“Yeah. But I’m good. I’ve taken worse.”
I shake my head. “I know you have. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
“Didn’t ask you to like it. Just to let me make it feel better.”
Our eyes meet again, and his smile is softer now. Warmer. I grin back at him and take his hand. Leading him up the stairs to my bedroom, I flip the overhead light off and press the small button for my bedside lamps.
“Lay down,” I say.
“Who said you were in charge?”
“Lay. Down, Jonathan.”
He gives me serious side eye but finally pushes his jeans over his hips and lays on my bed, face down with that gorgeous, cotton-covered ass. I slide my nightstand drawer open and grab a small bottle of massage oil.
Sure, I use it as lube often enough, but what’s the harm in using it for its intended purpose just this once? I pour a coin-sized amount in my palm and warm it between my hands before I start from the center of his back, working my way to the outside. I stay away from the worst of the bruising, pushing my fingers into the tense muscles underneath his shoulder blades and just above his waistband.
“That’s so good,” he groans into the quilt on my bed, lifting his hips as he stretches into my touch.
“Better than the team physical therapist?” I ask.
“That asshole? Hell, yes. He’s mean. And he hurts me.”
My smile is so wide it crinkles my eyes, and I emit a sound that’s a cross between a snort and a laugh. “Oh, poor baby,” I say, unable to hide my amusement.
He rolls over and huffs. “Keep that up, and I’ll call you mean, too.”
“I can handle it,” I answer and sit back on my heels, rubbing the remainder of the oil into my hands.
“You wanna handle me?” he asks as he folds his hands underneath his head.
“Eh.” I shrug like I couldn’t care less, and he levers up with that catcher quickness and wraps a hand around the back of my neck.
“Liar,” he whispers against my lips, before pushing me backwards and fitting his hips inside mine.
I thrust up out of pure instinct, pushing my jeans-clad length against his. “Looks like you wanna handle me,” I tease.
He shimmies his eyebrows up and down and bends to capture my bottom lip between his. Nibbling on the flesh, he sucks and licks to soothe the bites, working me into a frenzy quicker than I want to admit.
I gasp and grasp at his hips, doing my best to stay away from the bruised side. “Jonathan,” I growl.
“What is it, baby?”
My eyes pop open and meet his. Half-lidded baby blues look down at me, and a lust-drunk smile spreads across his face.
“Baby?” I ask.
“Hmm?”
“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”
He bends and buries his face in my neck, licking and nipping and kissing. “Do you not like it?”
I hesitate, giving it an actual iota of thought before I respond. “I don’t know how to feel about it, truth be told.”
He doesn’t move his head other than to migrate his kisses from my neck to my jawline. “Let me know when you do.”
Without skipping a beat, he pulls my shirt over my head and tosses it onto the floor. He flicks a tongue over one nipple then the other, and my eyes are in danger of permanently getting stuck, looking at the back of my skull.
“Shit,” I grunt as I bury my fingers in his hair.
Continuing his descent, I help him out by hooking my thumbs in the waistband of my sweats and pushing them towards my knees. I’m not wearing anything underneath, so my already hardening dick smacks him in the chest.
He smirks up at me and wraps his hand around the shaft. “This for me?” he asks with a wink.
“Fuck, yes.”
He lowers another foot and slides my now fully-erect cock into the warm slickness of his mouth. His fucking glorious mouth.
This man gives blow jobs like it’s his only job on earth. His hand cradles my balls like they’re the crown jewels as he shoves so much of my dick inside his mouth, I feel the back of his throat struggling to take more.
The thought zips across my mind that he’s apparently done this a lot, and the part of me that doesn’t like that at all rears its ugly head for a split second before I tell it to sit the hell down and shut the fuck up.
He’s here.
With me.
That said, what I say next shocks me more than it does him when he slides one finger into my ass.
“Oh, fuck, baby, yes!”