As Summer’s slender fingers go to work unbuttoning my jeans, I help her, dragging my pants and boxers down until she finds what she’s after. I’m so hard and swollen, and Summer moans as she wraps me tenderly in her hand. Then she pauses, the blunt head of me pressed right above her sweet mouth.
The sight makes me dizzy. For all my fantasies, I never imagined we’d actually be here, doing this. I want to slow time, to savor this. This beautiful girl, on her knees before me . . . her eyes mischievously drinking me in.
But then her tongue moves over me in one long, lazy stroke, and my eyes sink closed.
“Shit.” I growl, pushing my hands into her hair as I let out a groan. “Yeah. That’s perfect.”
“You like it?” she asks, teasing me, her tongue flicking over me seductively.
“So much.”
Her eyes meet mine briefly before sinking closed. I groan again, trying to keep my hips from thrusting up.
Seated on the couch, I’m able to watch how she takes me—alternating between deep sucks and slow gentle kisses that I feel all the way to my toes. She makes little sounds as if the act of pleasuring me pleases her somehow. It’s sexy as hell. She’s spoiled me of enjoying this with anyone else, ever again.
“Deeper,” I say on a groan, and she obeys, sliding her lips all the way down my shaft. I curse again, my ab muscles contracting with how good it feels.
I have no idea what I did to deserve this, but with Summer’s mouth working me closer and closer to the edge, I’ve never felt so good in my entire life.
She moves faster now, adding her fist, and I inch dangerously closer to the edge.
With the worst timing ever, my cell phone rings. I ignore it at first, and Summer does the same. My entire body is practically vibrating with pleasure. But the ringing doesn’t stop, and I’m forced to wrangle the damn device from my jeans pocket.
“Yeah?” I bark out to whoever has the balls to interrupt such a perfect moment.
“Oh, good. I caught you.”
It’s my mother.
And Summer still has my cock in her mouth.
Fuck.
Fuck!
“I’m a little busy . . . did you need something?” I manage to say in a strained voice.
“I just wanted to talk about how I’d like the venison butchered. You’re taking it to Cinnamon Creek, right?”
My brain spins and short-circuits. Cinnamon Creek is the meat-processing operation two towns over. It’s a long drive, but they do the best job.
“Uh,” is all I manage to say as Summer’s mouth moves over me in hot, enthusiastic strokes.
With my fingers under her chin, I lift her head. There’s a soft sucking noise as my cock slides from between her lips, and I groan at the loss of suction.
Belatedly, I realize that my mom is still talking. Just kill me now.
“And I’d really like tenderloin, chops, and a couple of roasts. I don’t need much in the way of ground—”
“Mother.” There’s a desperate edge to my voice, and I clear my throat before continuing. “Can we talk about this later?”
There’s a long pause on the line. “Oh. Is Summer there?”
“I’m hanging up now.”
Mom makes a joy-filled sound at the idea of Summer and me coming together. “Okay, ’bye. Wear a condom, honey. I’m not ready to be a grandma just yet!”
“’Bye, Mom.” I toss the phone down with disgust, and Summer’s answering smile makes me chuckle. “I’m so sorry about that.”
But Summer is already guiding my still rigid cock right back into her mouth.
Shit.
I fist her hair, desperate for her again.
You’d think this would be the most disturbing exchange ever, but I go right back to enjoying the most perfect blow job in the world, delivered by the most perfect girl in the world.
16
* * *
SUMMER
Did I plan on having an orgasm up against a chicken coop?
Well, no.
Logan’s skillful fingers and his hot, eager mouth proved to be too much for me to handle. All sensibility flew out the window.
But do I regret it? Also, no.
Although deep down, I know I should regret it. And that’s really bothering me. I’m not this person—the bold woman who flew across the country to track down a potential client. Or the one who’s losing her sense of direction because her client is so stunningly attractive.
Last night was an eye-opener for me. One thing became abundantly clear.
I need to get out of here—hightail it back home before I do something incredibly stupid, like jeopardize my entire career for a little nookie. Even if said nookie would be really, really good.
“I think I’m going to head back to Boston.”
This news announced at the breakfast table goes over like a lead balloon. Only Logan and Jillian are left, with Grandpa Al reading the newspaper in his recliner. Yes, I waited till most of the boys had cleared out before making my announcement, but only to try to avoid too much awkward conversation about it.
Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like my plan is working. While I pick at my currant muffin, I can feel the energy in the kitchen shift, and not for the better. When I look up, Jillian is staring at me like I just announced I was walking barefoot back to Massachusetts.
“You’re leaving already? What on earth for?”
The list of reasons could stretch from here back to the East Coast.
For one, I’m developing some not-so-professional feelings toward my client, who is currently sitting across from me, taking long swigs of coffee and dodging my gaze. He’s definitely been a bit off this morning since what happened between us last night.
Which brings me to reason number two—the fact that Jillian is ultra-aware of reason number one.
But I’m not going to mention either of those reasons right now. Instead, I’m sticking to the practical truth.
“Logan’s cleared to conduct the rest of his sessions with me virtually, so there’s no need for me to stick around and wear out my welcome.”
“You’re not wearing out anything,” Jillian tells me, reaching over the table to give my hand a gentle squeeze. “We love having you around. Don’t we, Logan?”
The sweet, slightly pushy smile that she gives her son is met with silence from him and a visible cringe from me.
I love Jillian, but I don’t love the fact that she knows what’s going on between Logan and me. We haven’t gone five minutes this morning without her suggesting that Logan take me to see the local sites like the waterfalls in Aspen Park, or mentioning a new restaurant in town the two of us could check out.
And I’m guessing she may know exactly what her phone call last night interrupted.
I should have gotten off my knees the second she called, and booked a flight instead of proceeding to . . . I’m not even going to think about that. What happened between Logan and me last night was so wildly unprofessional, even thinking about it feels dirty in a hundred ways, both good and bad. And the fact that I would gladly repeat my actions this evening means it’s absolutely time to get out of Dodge.
A labored grunt comes from across the room as Grandpa Al pushes up from his recliner. I’ve hardly seen him leave that thing since I first arrived, aside from meals, and I’m actually a little surprised to see how agile he is. I could have been convinced he was confined to that old leather chair.