Preston has a penis—my mind unhelpfully taunts, as if I wasn’t aware.
Nevertheless, the thing between his legs—the one he never expected me to take care of in exchange for giving me pleasure—wasn’t the most surprising part about what transpired.
The most surprising part…
Was that I liked it.
A lot.
Then again, how could I not? He’s really good at it.
I figured I’d have to give him some helpful pointers along the way…like where to find my clit.
Or that no matter how tired his mouth and jaw got, he needed to maintain a steady rhythm once I told him x marks the spot, because once the orgasm ship has sailed…it hardly ever comes back.
But Preston didn’t need my help.
Nope, he ate my pussy with more skill and precision than a majority of the women I’ve been with.
Very dedicated to the cause, that one.
I trek downstairs so I can fill my water bottle and head out for my run.
However, the moment I enter the kitchen, I find him there. Leaning against the counter while drinking a cup of coffee.
Huh. I never pegged Preston for a coffee drinker.
Then again, I never pegged me as someone who would ever let a man perform cunnilingus on me.
Oh, hell. Cue the awkwardness.
I tiptoe past him on my way to the fridge, hoping he doesn’t spot me and the universe has finally granted me the much needed superpower of invisibility.
No such luck, though because Preston’s eyes track my every movement. “Where are you going?”
“Out for a log.” What? “Jog,” I quickly correct as I end up overfilling my bottle and water sloshes onto the floor. “I’m going out for a jog.” My laugh is every bit as jumpy as I am. “Because log wouldn’t make any sense.”
Much like the way my brain is short-circuiting. Or the way those stupid, relentless butterflies start buzzing in my tummy whenever I look at him.
Maybe it’s time I see a doctor about that. Because that can’t be normal.
Shoot. Perhaps I have some kind of intestinal parasite.
There’s a sliver of amusement on his face as he places his coffee cup down on the counter.
And then he’s stalking toward me. “You seem a little tense.”
I back up, trying to put some distance between us, but that only makes me do this weird Irish jig thing in an attempt to circle around him.
“W-why would I be tense?”
Damn him. Damn him straight to hell for turning me into a stuttering idiot.
“I’m fine, okay?” I snap, because I know Preston and he’s liable to make a dig about how hard he made me come last night. “Tallyho.”
Dear God, I did not just Tallyho him.
I’m almost out of the kitchen when he grips my waist and spins me around.
“What are you doing?”
My water bottle crashes to the floor when he pins me against the counter.
Wrapping a hand around my nape, he sucks my bottom lip into his mouth. “I want you.”
Those three words—uttered with so much raw hunger—causes a bolt of pleasure to shoot between my legs.
“Preston.” It comes out like a pathetic squeak.
Grunting, he tugs my sports bra down, exposing my breasts.
“I had these in my mouth last night.”
His rough voice—and the vivid memory—makes my insides coil and my head spin. I feel like his prey…helpless to stop him from taking whatever he wants from me.
A sharp whoosh of breath leaves me when he dips his head and sucks a nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking and licking like he’s slurping melted ice cream from a cone.
“Pres—”
I gasp when he shoves his hand down my leggings.
“Tell me to stop.” His hand slips inside my panties where I’m wet and warm. “I fucking dare you.”
Just like last night, my vocal cords are on hiatus…well, apart from the moan that escapes when he cups me.
I close my eyes as he runs a calloused knuckle down the length of my slit…
And then his movements come to a complete stop.
“What—”
The hand on the back of my throat moves to the front. While his grip isn’t suffocating, it’s tight enough to let me know he’s the one in control.
Those intense eyes lock on mine as he pushes a finger inside me, and then another, stretching me.
However, it’s the way he’s looking at me while he does it that makes my heart pound right out of my chest.
His all-consuming gaze is needy. Dark. Demanding every ounce of my attention.
My breath comes out in quick, short pants against his lips as he pumps his long fingers, proving he’s every bit as skilled with those as he is his mouth.
I utter another moan when he moves onto my clit, rubbing and strumming me into oblivion.
My eyes close with the first stirrings of my orgasm, but the hold on my neck tightens, forcing me to meet his predatory stare as I come.
I convulse, gripping his shoulder for dear life as the first wave slams into me, followed by another. This encounter is even more intense somehow. It feels like he filleted me wide open and took pieces of my soul that have always belonged to him.
I sag against the counter after the last wave subsides…and then I feel it. There’s no hiding his own physical reaction to what happened. It’s hard and demanding in his jeans.
I look down at the large bulge, my mouth going dry with nerves. “Oh…um.”
I really hope he’s not waiting for me to do something about his little—or should I say big—situation.
“I got it handled, Bishop.”
He edges away and that awkward feeling is back, which is bizarre because it’s never awkward between us.
Then again, he’s never had his mouth and hands on my lady bits before, so there’s that.
Apparently, I’m the only one experiencing this weird energy, though because Preston picks up my water bottle and places it in my hand like nothing happened.
“Thanks,” I stammer, my brain feeling like scrambled eggs.
“Anytime.” A vulgar smile curves his mouth, and he licks his fingers. The very same ones that were just inside me. “Enjoy your workout.”
With that, he walks out, leaving me even more bewildered.
Mamma mia.
Is this like…a thing now?
A strange, awesome thing where he gives me orgasms and doesn’t expect anything in return.
Should I be shaving and waxing on a regular schedule?
Do I go out and purchase some sexy underwear?
And most importantly…
Why do I like it so much?
Not just the acts that lead to the mind-blowing orgasms, but that he’s the one doing it.
A horrifying feeling grips me by the throat and nearly knocks me off my feet.
Am I, Kit Bishop—level expert and certified, proud lesbian—attracted to guys now?
There’s only one way to find out.
I take off running in the direction of Breslin’s house.
Because when you’re having an identity crisis, you need your best friend to help you sort it out.
Breslin opens the front door after my second knock. “Hey.” Her face falls as she takes in mine. “Are you okay?”
No. I am most definitely not okay.
“Something happened.” Panting, I brace a hand against the doorframe for support. “And now I need to kiss you.”