No woman had stuck around long enough to tell him he was rubbish, or that premature ejaculation was the sex equivalent to jumping the shark.
Feeling considerably more centered, this last thought gave me an idea.
I could repay Sean for his oral kindness while at the same time teaching him some self-restraint. And I could provide instruction without allowing myself to get tangled up in fanciful ideas again.
Therefore, armed with a plan, I knocked on his suite door exactly five minutes after noon.
“Lucy,” he said, both frowning and smiling at me, his eyes alight with confusion. “Why didn’t you use your key?”
Instead of answering, I stepped into the suite, dropped my bag by the front door, and lightly pushed him backward with a hand on his chest.
“You need to lay on the bed and take your pants off.”
Sean’s eyebrows jumped, but he moved where I led him and his hands were already unfastening his belt. “Why?”
“So I can give you a blow job,” I answered simply.
He let out a choked laugh, his gorgeous blues darting over my face, a warm, interested smile on his. “Far be it from me to be uncooperative.”
Toeing off his shoes as we entered the bedroom, Sean dropped his pants along with his red—yes, red—boxer briefs, and stepped out of them. I stood in front of him with my hands on my hips as though surveying his progress, though I itched to tug his shirt over his head.
Thankfully, he removed his shirt all on his own. I had to close my mouth before I drooled on the plush carpet. Obligingly, he lay back on the bed, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Don’t get excited just yet,” I tut-tutted, my eyes trailing down his body to find his erection already at full mast.
Crickets! Was this guy ever not hard?
My thighs clenched instinctively at the idea of putting his beautiful, perfect cock in my mouth . . . um, what was I saying again? Oh right, I was about to tell him about the catch. “You’re not allowed to come for ten whole minutes.”
The room grew very quiet. All warmth and amusement fled his expression.
Finally, he asked, “Pardon?”
I ignored his incredulous expression, which really just said it all. Ten minutes was nothing. Still, I kept my voice soft and sultry when I asked, “Tell me something. When you have sex with a woman, how long do you usually last?”
He looked toward the window and shrugged. “I don’t know. Am I supposed to time that shit with a stopwatch or something?”
“Don’t be clever. You know what I mean. In general, how long, Sean?”
He wouldn’t look at me as he answered, “A few minutes, maybe.”
I raised my eyebrows as his attention refocused on me. His expression was irritated, though you’d never know it to look at his cock.
His cock looked happy.
“Oh, come on, it’s not my fault. I’m usually drunk. Drunk sex is quick and sloppy.”
“Well, you’re not drunk now.”
“You’re being unreasonable,” he huffed.
I climbed on top of him and his hands gripped my thighs. I was wearing leggings and a shift dress. I pulled off the dress, leaving me in a black lace bra. His eyes went instinctively to my breasts.
“The next time you’re inside me, don’t you want it to last a little longer? Don’t you want to savor it with me, Sean?” I whispered huskily, and all he could do was nod and swallow. He seemed almost entranced by my body. “Good, then let’s try this. When I put you in my mouth, I want you to close your eyes and think of something bland. Something that doesn’t excite you in any way.”
Leaning forward, I planted a quick kiss to his chest and he sucked in a harsh breath.
“Like what?” he rasped.
“Like doing your taxes.”
“My accountant does those for me.”
“Vacuuming your living room, then.”
“I have a cleaning lady for that,” he said disdainfully, like the very idea was insulting. I tried not to judge him for it, because I knew the kind of family he came from, and talk like that was par for the course, learned from childhood. He didn’t realize how spoiled he sounded.
“Isn’t there any menial task you don’t enjoy doing?”
He thought on it for a moment. “I’m not the biggest fan of leg day.”
Of course it would be something to do with sport. “Okay, well, imagine you’ve just been told to do two hundred squats.”
He scoffed. “You don’t just do two hundred squats, Lucy. You do sets.”
I cocked an eyebrow and pointed a finger into his chest. “Do you want this blow job or not?”
“Fine,” he replied huskily and it really was quite sexy. Goosebumps danced along my skin. “I’m doing two hundred squats. Preposterous, but I’m doing them. Now what?”
“Close your eyes and really visualize it,” I whispered, leaning back down to press my mouth to the defined V at his hipbone. His stomach muscles jumped at the touch and I smiled, enjoying how reactive he was.