“Okay. Hmm…what if I told you that when I first saw you, my heart skipped a beat?”
“My dick would get hard, that’s what.”
“It already is.”
She’s not lying. All this praise she’s heaping on me has my balls tight and my cock jacked. It wants to get sunk into her sweet, slick heat again.
Reaching between us, she wraps her hand around my erection. “Would you show me how to kiss it so it feels good for you?”
My eyes snap open. My heart takes off like a rocket.
“Because I don’t know how to do that.” She exhales a shaky laugh. “Enzo was embarrassed about how small he was, so he didn’t like me to even look at it, let alone put it in my mouth.”
I’m a sick, sick puppy for how happy it makes me feel to know that a) he had a small cock and b) she never sucked it. Also that she wants to suck mine.
She’s right: all that therapy I had was a waste of money. I’m still as fucked up as they come.
Exhaling a slow breath, I say, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to do. And you shouldn’t feel obligated to do something just because I’ve done it to you.”
“I know. Which are all reasons why I want to do it.”
When I only lie there with a hammering heart, trying to figure out if I should kill myself now because this is clearly the highlight of my life and everything can only be downhill from here, she whispers, “I want to make you feel good, Quinn. It makes me feel good to please you.”
I groan.
Now I can kill myself.
She slides down my body until she’s eye level with my dick. Propped up on her elbows between my legs as I stroke her hair, she muses, “I wonder if all those romance authors I read have been secretly following you around for inspiration.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning oversized dicks are the norm in my books.” She looks up at me. “Or is this the normal size?”
Trying to suppress a smile, I say, “I’m no expert, but from what I understand, there are as many different sizes and shapes of cocks as there are men.”
“Oh.” She stares at my hard dick again. “God, if there are cocks bigger than this, the men who own them must be giants.”
“The fact that you’re not even trying to give me a compliment makes that the best compliment of them all so far.”
“So how do I start? Pretend it’s a lollipop?”
I’d have never in a million years believed I’d be trying not to laugh out loud when a woman was about to give me head, but this day just never stops surprising.
“Give me your hand.”
I guide her hand to my shaft and curl her fingers around the base.
Wide-eyed, she whispers, “My fingers can’t even touch.”
“Be quiet now.”
Wrapping my hand around hers, I squeeze, then draw her hand up the length of me to just under the crown. I squeeze again there and murmur, “Lick the slit on top.”
She laps at it eagerly like a kitten with a bowl of cream. It feels fucking incredible, but we’re only getting started. I don’t want to come all over her face and ruin the mood.
My voice husky, I say, “Take your time. Suck on it a little, just the crown, then lick again.”
When her lips slide over the engorged head of my dick, a low moan breaks from my chest. She sucks, and my eyes slide shut. Her hot wet tongue swirls over the slit on top, and I shudder.
“Good?”
“Perfect.”
I guide her hand down the shaft again, flexing up against the pressure as she continues to suck and lick the crown.
I’m starting to sweat. My breathing is erratic. The hand I’ve got curled over hers shakes slightly, and the muscles in my thighs and stomach are tensed.
I whisper, “Try to take a little more in your mouth, sweetheart. Go slow.”
The entire head of my cock is enveloped in wet heat. It feels so fucking good, I groan again. She licks and sucks and swirls her tongue around and around as I lie on my back, unraveling.
“You’re so hard,” she whispers, her lips moving against my skin.
She starts to stroke me slightly faster, responding to the pressure of my hand and the flex of my hips. When she leans forward and bobs her head, I warn, “Not too much or you’ll—”
She makes a retching sound. My dick pops out of her mouth.
“Gag.”
Pausing to catch her breath, she says hoarsely, “Boy, they never mention that in my books.”
“You’ll have to send a strongly worded letter to the author.”
“Damn straight,” she mutters. She exhales, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and leans forward again.
God bless a determined woman.
She starts to suck and lick again, setting a comfortable pace. Comfortable for her, anyway. I’m digging my heels into the mattress and grinding my teeth, trying to maintain a semblance of composure. The last thing I want is to lose control and start fucking her mouth like an animal, though that’s exactly what my body is demanding I do.
My cock throbs against her tongue. My balls ache. There’s a white-hot whorl of pleasure coiling tighter and tighter in my pelvis, and it’s all I can do not to clamp my hands on either side of her head and surge up into her perfect wet mouth over and over again until I explode.
I have to be a gentleman.
It’s our wedding night, after all.
Her hand and my shaft are slick from her mouth, so every stroke is now deliciously slippery. She’s squeezing harder as she strokes me, and it’s driving me fucking wild.
Through clenched teeth, I say, “I’m getting close. I’ll warn you right before.”
“Why?”
“So I don’t come straight down your throat.”
“Why would that be bad? I want to taste you.”
My groan is broken. If I walk out of this room alive, it will be a miracle.
I tip my head back on the pillow, find a strand of her silken hair, and tug on it as she sucks and strokes my cock. “Viper,” I whisper raggedly. “My beautiful viper. What have you done to me?”
When she moans around my cock, I feel it all the way down to my balls. Sucking in air through my teeth, I sink my hand into her hair and make a fist.
“Baby. Fuck. I’m there. I’m right fucking there—ah—”
I gasp and jerk, erupting in hot, uncontrollable pulses before I can finish the sentence.
She curls both hands around my shaft and sucks the crown as I come in her mouth, lost to sensation, my heart flying and my entire body shuddering with release.
When it’s over and I’m lying there panting and shaking, she gives my cock one final squeeze, sits back onto her heels, licks her lips, and smiles at me.
“You taste like hazelnuts.”
My laugh is breathless. “You like hazelnuts, sweetheart?”
“They’re my favorite thing.”
Maybe God doesn’t hate me so much after all.
28
Rey
When I open my eyes in the early morning, I have no idea where I am.
I lie on my side in the unfamiliar bed, staring out a wall of glass to an unfamiliar view of a city. There’s an unfamiliar soreness in my body—especially between my legs.
There’s also an unfamiliar but very comfortable warmth snuggled behind me. Like a heated blanket, only with muscles.
A ray of morning light catches the ring on my finger, blinding me with a sudden flash of scarlet. It all comes back to me like a full-body slap.
I’m married.
To Quinn.
My archenemy.
But that doesn’t feel right, calling him my archenemy. I’ve never had an enemy who killed for me or focused all his attention on my pleasure or gave me choices over how to live my life.
Now that I think about it, I’ve never had a friend like that, either.
Is that what we are now? Friends?
Don’t be ridiculous. Married people aren’t friends.
Are they?
I don’t know. I’ve never seen a marriage like that, but I suppose it’s not impossible they exist. In the “real” world, people marry all the time for love. Those people must like each other, too, I suppose.
Why else would you vow to spend the rest of your life with someone who’s going to annoy you half the time you’re together?
Or maybe normal couples don’t annoy each other.
Maybe normal couples don’t threaten to murder each other, either.
Though the murder threats are only coming from my side. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but if Quinn keeps acting so sweet, I’ll have to rethink how often I warn I’m going to put a bullet in him.
Stirring behind me, he says in a thick voice, “I can hear the gears turning, lass. You’re thinking again.”
“I know it’s hard for you to understand, but some people like to engage in that activity from time to time.”
“The only thing that’s hard for me to understand is how such a good-looking woman can sound like a broken lawnmower when she sleeps.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“It means you have sleep apnea.”
I sigh and roll my eyes. “I don’t have sleep apnea.”
He wraps a heavy arm around my waist and kisses my nape. “You do. All the wild boars and elephants within a thousand miles heard your scary mating call,” he whispers, a smile in his voice.