A few more misses followed, all of them from college, none of whom I let worship at my lady temple.
Lady temple.
That makes me snicker, which makes Brooks glance up for the briefest of seconds.
Shit. Here I am thinking about all this and chuckling—woolgathering during oral is never a good thing—when his mouth makes contact with my crotch. Heat, glorious heat covers my private parts. Brooks’ breath warms me from the outside in as he presses his mouth against me. Fingers sliding up and down the thin seam of my barely-there panties.
They match my outfit, which was no accident, although he couldn’t possibly know that. Right?
He still hasn’t used his tongue, but it feels amazing. I’m either desperate for someone to touch me, or I’m actually feeling actual things while he’s teasing my nether region.
Panties get pushed aside—excruciatingly slowly—to make way for one slowly drifting finger. One. Slowly. Drifting. Finger.
Now two, pressed together and sliding up and down my wet slit. He leans forward and licks, as if he’s going at a lollipop, sweet like sugar.
He moans.
I moan.
“Fuck you taste good.”
“Do I?” Cocky and sassy, knowing the answer.
He barely lifts his head to reply, “Hell yes,” but manages just the same, nostrils flared.
Pussy power, I’m tempted to tell him, the advertising executive in me always dreaming up slogans. Now is not the time for one of your one-liners, Abbott!
“What is that?”
“What’s what?”
“What smells so good?”
Why the hell is he stopping to chitchat? Now is not the time for this line of questioning, Brooks!
“I-I…don’t…” I swallow, gasping for breath, heart racing from the endorphins coursing through my body, pulsing in my lower pelvis. “Baby powder.”
“Baby powder?” He sniffs, nosing the lips of my vagina. Licks again with a loud, enthusiastic groan. “Fucking delicious.”
No one has ever called me delicious before, and I love it. Do I thank him? I’d hate to be rude.
Oh my God, stop—just stop. This is sex, not a dinner party. He didn’t just compliment your table linens, he complimented your pussy.
“I could live down here.” He’s sucking on me now, sucking on my clit, spreading me apart with his fingers, desperately seeking my orgasm and my most delicate parts. “This is the prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”
This time, I do preen, because there is no doubt Brooks Bennett has seen plenty of them, and he thinks mine is the prettiest?
“Oh my God, that is such a s-s-sweet thing to s-say,” I stutter, thighs quaking like a rookie.
“I’m not just saying that, baby. Fuck me, it’s so tight.”
From lack of use, yeah. It is tight, though—how can he tell just from sticking his nose in it and rubbing it around? Guys are so weird, so easy to please. All I’m doing is sitting here and he’s gushing like he’s just unlocked Pandora’s box. Is my pussy really that fantastic? I’d like to think so, but it’s totally subjective.
I don’t shave. I keep it tidy, but there is hair. These days, not many guys are into that look. Me? I think it’s sexier when I’m strutting around my apartment and catch sight of myself in my closet’s full-length mirror, take a gander at the patch of blonde hair hidden between my legs.
This is the reason I love sheer panties. That tease of a hair patch—sexy.
Old-school.
Make pubic hair great again!
This too makes me smile, eyes rolling back at the same time. My teeth scrape across my bottom lip, which is a far cry from me biting down, hips lifting off the couch.
Brooks holds me down by the inner thighs, tongue now pressing into my slick heat. Slick heat—my, my, aren’t I poetic…
“I’m so fucking hard,” Brooks murmurs from below.
“How?”
“You’re so hot, baby.”
Baby, baby, baby. Normally I hate endearments. From a man I’m not dating or barely know, they feel…fake. Forced.
Cheesy.
Not that I think Brooks is an exception; he is the epitome of bad behavior and cavalier attitude. I haven’t necessarily seen him in action, but I know the type.
Still. I’ll take it.
I like him—have grown to like him more than anyone I’ve let into my life in a long time. I’m a private person; I don’t trust anyone, and with very good reason: my high-profile family. We have too much to lose by stepping out of line, and having one-night stands and casual affairs was never in the cards for me.
But Brooks? Him I’ll let in.
It helps that Nan has given him her stamp of approval. Odd, but true.
My legs spread of their own accord, wider, letting him sink into me deeper, still on his knees before me. Sucking, licking, oh my God.
“Oh Goddd,” I whine in a low, tortured tone, sounding a lot like a cat in heat, all the pussy and none of the feline drama.
“You like that, naughty girl?”
Um, why is he asking questions?
There is way too much talking and not enough sucking.
I grab his head, getting in on the action, fingers raking through his thick hair, giving him a teensy-weensy shove into my vagina.
No. More. Talking.
The endgame here is an orgasm, and since when am I a bossy bitch? Since when am I the kind of girl who shoves a guy’s head down between her legs?! Since when am I demanding?
I am officially that girl.
I am!
Without thinking, I prop one foot up on the coffee table, practically begging for it like a hussy. Moaning a porn star moan, born for this role, giving in to the sensations. Brooks is clean-shaven, smooth cheeks brushing against my equally smooth inner thighs. His tongue is long, and soft, and skilled.
I mean—he seriously knows what he’s doing.
I try not to let it bother me. I try to push the question out of my head: How many women did he have to go down on to get this good at oral?
Now is not the time…
“Mmm…ooh!” come my coos. “Oh yeah…oh…” come my sighs. “That…do that…right there,” I tell him, bossy little thing I’ve become. “Harder.”
Harder?
Yes, harder.
I want it. Need it. Anticipation building throughout my body, I tense up. Gnaw at my bottom lip, throw my head back, no longer able to look down at him; it just feels too damn good. I want to grab his head. I want to push on his shoulders. I want to spread my legs wider, but that isn’t possible. I want…I want him to…I want him to…
…fuck me.
He doesn’t.
He stays between my legs until everything turns to mush. Until the shockwaves course through my pelvis, stomach, pussy. Until every part of me is devastated by tremors. Overwhelmingly incredible tremors of pleasure.
Oh my God, my lips move but no sound comes out. It’s too much, and when I come, I collapse. Go slack. Relaxed, sated, like a tomcat after banging a loose stray and giving zero fucks about my partner.
If I had a paw, I’d lick it.
If I had bangs, I’d flick them.
Satisfied he’s gotten me off, Brooks leans back, hands resting on his haunches. Smug and arrogant—nothing new there. He’s always smug and arrogant, but this is different, because what passes through his eyes as he sits there watching me, half-naked on the sofa, I cannot explain. He’s assessing me, not objectifying me, mouth glistening.