Already there.
“What’s that?” Jason asks.
Did I say that out loud? Oh crap.
He slams into me now. Moving my hips with his hands, pulling me onto his cock. “What did you just say?”
Crying out his name, my orgasm toying with me, I breathe out a heavy breath and say, “Already there.”
“Already there, what?” he says through clenched teeth, both of us rocking to the point of no return.
“You’re . . . ahhh.” I cry out when he pinches my nipple. Pleasure shoots through my legs, to my stomach and before I can stop it, my orgasm crashes into me like a tidal wave, rocking me harder than I’ve ever felt.
“Mother . . . fucker,” Jason says, as I feel him tense and spill inside me. “Fuck,” he groans, rocking his hips slowly. He opens his eyes and stares at me. Leaning down, he captures my lips and kisses them sensually and sweetly. I bring my hands to the back of his head and entwine my fingers. Keeping him close, never wanting to let him go as the emotions and feelings for this man overwhelm me.
Tears threaten to fall. I realize what I’m about to say holds such impact on our relationship that once I put it out there, I won’t be able to take it back. But I’m not sure I can hold it in either. He needs to know how much he means to me, how desperate I am for him.
I place my hand on his cheek and put a small distance between our lips so I have his full attention.
His brow creases as he takes in my expression. “What’s wrong, baby?”
God, when he calls me that, when his voice is so full of concern right after he took every last piece of me, how could I ever be without this man?
“I’m already there.” His brow creases even more. “When you said you’re going to pleasure me until every other man is worthless to me.” I pause. “I’m already there. And not just because you rock my world in the bedroom . . . or on the couch”—we both smile—“but because you treat me unlike anyone has ever treated me before, like I’m the most precious thing that’s ever come into your life.”
“Because you are.” His thumb caresses my cheek. “You’re so goddamn precious to me, Dottie.”
He gently kisses me as the timer goes off.
“That would be dinner.” He gives me one more of his delicious kisses and then hops up from the couch, bare ass and all.
While he’s getting dinner ready, I quickly clean up and return to the kitchen wearing one of his baseball shirts. I bring him his shorts. Dinner is set on the table, our chairs next to each other rather than across, because he’s cute like that.
When I hand him the shorts, he asks, “No naked dinner tonight?”
“That was last night. We can be somewhat civilized tonight.”
“Civilized, huh?” He slips his shorts on, covering up his perfectly sculpted ass . . . and his incredible cock. Let’s not forget that wonderful appendage. “Then how on earth will you be able to stare at my juicy shelf?”
He works his way around the kitchen as I pause. Did he just say what I thought he said?
“Why did you call it that?”
Smiling, he pours us both a glass of wine. “No reason. But I suggest next time you tell our friends about our sex life, you go into detail about the length and girth of my dick. I’d appreciate that.”
I am going to kill them.
Lips pursed to the side, hands clenching at my hips, I ask, “What did they say?”
Casually, he hands me my wine and leans his hip against the counter. “Oh, you know, just that I’m an alpha in the bedroom, a complete animal.” Oh, sweet Jesus, my cheeks flame. “The best you’ve ever had.”
Yup, I am going to kill them.
Through clenched teeth, I ask, “Who told you? No, I don’t even have to ask. I know it was Knox.”
“Nope.” Jason shakes his head and I take a step back.
“Did Lindsay seriously call you or something? I mean, I know she—”
“Wasn’t Lindsay.” He smiles over his wine glass as I bring my hand to my chest.
On a whisper, I say “Was it . . . Milly?”
“Yep.”
“No.”
He nods, looking so pleased with himself. “Yup.”
“I don’t believe it. She would never. That’s not how she is.”
“Looks like she needs to learn girl code because she spoke to Carson in the shower like they were spilling the deets in the locker room. She, of course, afterward told him not to say anything to me, but you know how we ladies can be.” He pretends to fluff his hair. “Always gabbing.”
And just like that, he turns me from wanting to shove his cock down my mouth to wanting to chop it off with my own teeth.
“So . . . an animal, huh?” He wiggles his eyebrows and I know this is just the beginning of long and torturous teasing for many, many, many nights to come.
Hand on my hip, I say, “If you ever want to stick your penis inside me again, I suggest you don’t bring this up anymore.”
“You know”—he taps his chin—“I distinctively remember you threatening me with no more blow jobs if I spoke of our coupling to my friends and then . . . one brunch . . . you completely destroy the trust between a man and a woman.” He snaps his fingers. “Just like that.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“I’m being dramatic?” he asks—in a dramatic tone—as he points to his chest. “I’m not dramatic. I’m searching for the truth and it will be told tonight.” He shakes his fist to the sky.
“What are you even talking about? The truth is out. I told my friends. There, it’s done.”
“That’s not the truth I’m looking for.”
Okay, I bite.
“What’s the truth you’re looking for?”
“That you’re more loose-lipped than I am.”
I laugh out loud. Straight-up chortle. I wipe at my eyes and say, “Oh yeah, okay. Suuuuure, Jason.”
“You are. I didn’t tell my boys what’s going on out of respect of you. I never told them about your amazing tits, or tried to impersonate your O face to them or”—he leans forward and lifts a brow—“told them how you like me to call you daddy.”
I push at his chest, my laugh echoing through the room. “I do not like that, you fucking weirdo.”
I really don’t. I never said that. He joked about it the other night, him calling me Daddy, and now it’s all he does to annoy me when I’m being demanding. He’s such an idiot.
But he’s my idiot.
Chuckling, he says, “But then you, out of all people, go to a brunch, and let it all out on the table. Our deepest and darkest secrets.” He looks to the ceiling in a dream-like state, painting a picture for me. “I can see it now. There you were, legs crossed, your pussy sore from our last fucking.” Jesus, this man. “You can feel me between your legs as the girls beg you for details. Your intentions were good. Eat some pastries, drink some mimosas, satisfy your need for girl time, but then the inquisition starts. You try to ignore them, brush them off, but the entire time all you can think about is how moments before you arrived, I was fucking you against the door, my aftershave branding your body. It’s all so overwhelming. You’re giddy, you’re turned on just thinking about me, you’re bursting at the seams, needing to tell someone about the giant, massive, oversized, and gargantuan cock that’s entered your life and claimed your sweet, tight, greedy pussy.”