She still saw the class differences between them.
And he’d been an idiot not to see them too. Not that he believed himself above her in any way. But their childhoods had shaped them. He didn’t want to think of himself as a pompous, self-entitled prick, but he couldn’t deny that was exactly what he’d been raised to be. And no matter how hard he fought it, no matter how much he believed in equality, no matter how much he was head-over-fucking-heels in love with Erin, it could never change his past.
It could never change what he was deep inside.
Chapter Four
ERIN WOKE UP the next morning with an ache between her legs. It took a moment to remember what had happened yesterday—the long drive, the Ice Queen, the wild sex in Blake’s childhood room.
After that there’d been an awkward dinner with only a long table and dim lights to hide her blush. Neither of Blake’s parents had commented on their little nap, thank God.
And for whatever reason, his mother didn’t launch into any more guilt tirades. Mostly she just drank while Blake’s father grilled him on his position at the university, his career plans, and his investment portfolio. Blake put up with it through the salad course and the main course before he turned the tables and persuaded his father to talk about political maneuvers from his heyday.
Once he got started Mr. Morris didn’t stop talking. It was hugely interesting to listen to his stories, a front row seat to some of the major political dramas in their past. When Blake winked at her from across the table, she knew he’d done that on purpose.
What could she say? She had a weakness for men who could talk history.
Like Blake, who reclined beside her in bed. His arm was stretched out, long and muscled even in sleep. His eyes were closed, lashes thick and blunt, and almost touching the pale scar tissue on his cheek.
The fire had come too close to his eye. She shivered to think how much worse it could have been. He could have lost his sight. He could have died.
Her heart felt too full, too vulnerable after sleeping beside him all night.
And she couldn’t stand to not touch him. Couldn’t stand not to feel the warmth of him and the steady rise and fall of his breaths. His chest had a sprinkling of coarse hair, and she ran her hand over it, tickling her palm.
He hadn’t stirred, his lips slightly parted in deep sleep.
So she kept going, over the ridges of his abdomen, feeling the muscles tighten under her touch. She glanced at him, feeling shy, almost caught, but he was still sleeping.
There was no way she could stop this close to him, not when she could see him hard beneath the sheet. He woke up this way every morning, but usually he was up before her. Sometimes she’d awaken to find his fingers in her pussy and his mouth at her breast. Other times he’d already be inside her, thrusting away, by the time she opened her eyes.
Still other times he would take a shower and jerk himself off, fast and efficient. I wanted to let you rest, he would say. And she understood it was a kindness, even if it didn’t feel that way.
This was hers. His cock. His arousal. This entire beautiful man was hers.
That was how it felt to take his cock into her mouth—like ownership. She claimed him with her lips, her tongue, with the gentle strokes of her fist around his cock.
His gasp was like coming up for air, sharp and sudden. His whole body jerked too, hard enough that her mouth left him. Then his hand was on the back of her head, caressing her, thanking her. She licked him at the tip, in that place that always drove him crazy, until he shoved his fingers into her hair, tugging and wordlessly begging.
He couldn’t keep quiet, though. Not when she licked at the soft skin on his balls, her fist tightening on his cock to make sure he didn’t come yet. She’d gotten good at this with him. She loved to practice, loved to make him crazy with it, and he responded with a symphony of arousal—his grunts, his groans, his gasped words of encouragement and pain.
“God, baby. Suck me. I need you so fucking bad.”
Her pussy clenched at his words, and she obeyed him, taking him into her mouth again. She fisted him in time with her sucks, and he tossed his head back, eyes closed, expression tight.
“Baby,” he muttered. “Need you. Need…”
He was holding back. She could tell he wanted to say more, to ask for something she might not want to give. What he didn’t know was that she wanted to give him everything. Her only fear was that he’d realize he no longer wanted her.
“Tell me,” she whispered, her lips brushing the spongy head of his cock.
“Nothing,” he gasped, bucking up. “This is perfect. Love you. Love you.”
But it wasn’t perfect. Not if he was still holding back. She blew a breath over the tip of his cock, and he shuddered. “What do you want to do to me?”