My stomach clenches in anticipation. His voice, already sultry, drops half an octave while he’s talking. I desperately want to pop my chewie in my mouth, but that would probably ruin whatever moment we have going on here.
“Then why haven’t you,” I ask, trying to keep my voice even. “Tasted me, I mean?”
He recoils as if I slapped him.
“Jeeze, Cobra, I don’t know. You mean besides the fact that you’re my best friend’s baby sister?”
“Yeah, besides that.”
He stutters and stammers, trying to articulate the supposed plethora of reasons why we can’t do this, but eventually his mouth closes without uttering a single word.
I can’t hide my smirk.
“If it makes you feel any better, who I’m fucking isn’t a topic of conversation Jack and I usually talk about.” So long as I don’t think about what I’m actually doing, flirting with this man is really fun.
He growls, deep in his chest, and advances on me, taking two steps into the kitchen before he seems to think better of it and freezes.
“How many men are you fucking, Cobra?”
Is he—is he jealous? Or just bummed that he’s been left out of the party?
A woman with more experience than me would know how to handle this situation with finesse and flirtation. Since I don’t know how to do any of that, all I can offer is the truth.
“None, at the moment.” A thought occurs to me. “Although, I’m currently accepting applications.”
Damn Shelby, that was a nice one. I do an internal happy dance at the way he rolls his eyes.
He takes in a shuddering breath, then advances again, until he’s pinned me against the counter with a hand on either side of my hips.
“Do you want me to fuck you?”
Only since I was sixteen and bought my first personal massager from Spencer’s.
This is a slippery situation though. Sex with Derrick, fun as it sounds, feels a lot like riding a roller coaster. The build-up pulls your tummy into knots. The ride down makes you scream in pleasure, and afterwards, as you’re left trying to catch your breath, the ride the attendant pushes you out of the way to make room for the next rider. Is that something I can be okay with?
I look into his face, at the way he seems to undress me with his eyes, and decide that yes, yes, I can.
“This stays between us,” I whisper, embarrassed that my voice is so weak and needy. “What happens in quarantine, stays in quarantine. As soon as you’re back in the air, we’re going to forget this ever happened.”
He noses against my chin, tipping it up to expose my throat. One of the benefits of sleeping with a man whore is he knows exactly what buttons to push to make a woman go from zero to sixty in two point five seconds.
“And while I’m grounded?” He nuzzles against me. “I don’t do commitments Cobra.”
“Who’s asking for one?”
The thought of asking the King Sky Slut for a commitment is laughable.
“So, we’re agreed?”
“I’m already craving the taste of your cock again,” I pant honestly, and he groans against my skin, palming my face in his hands and kissing me like his life depends on it.
He plunges his tongue into my mouth, twining it with my own as he reaches his hands up my shirt to cup my breasts. His palms roam over my love handles, and I immediately go to move them away, until I hear him mumble something about loving something to hold on to.
I freeze mid-motion, my brain finally catching up with my hormones, but Derrick seems to have no such reservations. Taking my stillness as acquiescence, he tugs my shirt off and over my head, before diving in to kiss me again.
My body is screaming yes, yes, yes, but my mind is going Danger Will Robinson, as it dawns on me, I’m already half naked in the middle of my kitchen.
He reaches his arms around my back, looking for my bra hooks I think, then pulls away to look at my chest with a confused expression on his face.
“Oh,” he says, determination on his face, “gotcha.”
He brings his hands around the front latch of my bra, taking a moment to figure out the clasp before freeing my breasts from their confines.
I’m still stuck on the oh.
“What do you mean oh? Has the sex God of the skies never seen a front clasping bra before?”
He cups my breasts in his hands, hefting their weigh and rubbing his thumbs over my nipples. It forces me to close my eyes momentarily, as the sensations overload my brain.
I push through the fog, though, to get back to my point.
“Maybe I should keep my clothes on for this,” I say, hesitation overpowering my lust. “The fact that you’ve obviously never had to open a bra from Cacique tells me I’m not really what you’re looking for.”
“Change your mind, Cobra?” Derrick asks, not letting go of my breasts. He latches onto my earlobe and sucks, and my brain fizzles out for a minute.
“Not exactly,” I say, trying to focus my thoughts. “It’s just that, in this situation, you’re used to driving a race car, and I’m more a Volkswagen bug.”
He laughs at me, right in my face, before lifting a breast and sucking it into his mouth. It catches me so off guard I moan out loud, digging my fingers into his fantastic head of hair.
“Cobra, you’re every bit the racecar your name suggests. Have you ever seen an original Shelby Cobra? She had curves on top of curves. Big fat headlights and an ass that never quit. I’ve thought of little else except getting your tits into my mouth since the minute you pulled into the driveway.”
Umm, he seems to think his explanation was satisfactory, because he’s unbuckling the toolbelt from his waist, letting it drop haphazardly to the floor, and yanking at his belt. I don’t bother to help. He seems to have, whatever he’s got going on, well in hand. I stand there dumbfounded, ass still against the counter, trying to get a grasp on what he just said to me. Was that supposed to be a compliment?
He obviously thinks so.
I’m thinking he called me fat with a big ass and wrapped it in a bow. I’m not fat, fat. I wear a double digit in clothing. Low double digit, thank you. And sure, Victoria’s secret is that she doesn’t make bras big enough to fit my chest. But I’m not sure that warrants him saying I have big headlights.
Derrick yanks at his laces and his shoes go flying through the air, one by one. In between each toss, he leans into my personal space and licks or tastes me, before pulling back and resuming the attack on his clothing.
I mean, he’s obviously interested right? He wouldn’t be stripping in my kitchen if he wasn’t.
“Shelby,” he snaps, and I jerk my attention back to him to realize while I was busy freaking out, he’s rid himself of all his clothing.
He grabs the base of his cock, stepping forward and taking my hand, wrapping it around his length. He’s hard as galvanized steel, and I slowly stroke him up and down automatically.
“Get out of your head. Do you feel how hard I am? For you? I’m going to bend you over that counter”—he points to the surface I’m still leaning against—“and fuck you until you scream so loud the neighbors call for help. Is that alright with you?”
He sounds cocky, amused, and maybe slightly exasperated that I’m still just standing here staring at him. This time, though, it’s because of how gorgeous his body is, instead of worrying about what he sees when he looks at mine. Every ab is cut and raised. His perfect v is almost harsher than I like in a man. His pubic hair is perfectly trim. Because, of course, Mr. I’m so perfect it’s painful also takes the time to manscape.