The Deal

“Say Garrett Graham, you are a sex god. You have achieved what no other man ever has. You—”

I punch him in the shoulder. “Oh my God, you’re such a jerk. I will never, ever say those words.”

“Sure you will.” He smirks at me. “Once I’m through with you, you’ll be shouting those words out from the rooftops.”

“You know what I think?”

“Women aren’t supposed to think, Wellsy. That’s why your brains are smaller. Science proves it.”

I slug him again, and a howl of laughter flies out of his mouth. “Jeez. I’m kidding. You know I don’t actually believe that. I worship at the shrine of womanhood.” He dons a solemn face. “Okay, tell me what you think.”

“I think it’s time I shut you up.”

He snickers. “Yeah? How do you plan on—” He hisses when I cup his package and give it a hearty squeeze. “You’re evil.”

“And you’re a cocky jerk, so I guess we both just have to deal.”

“Aw, thanks for noticing how cocky I am.” He smiles innocently, but there’s nothing innocent about the way he thrusts his erection into my hand.

Suddenly I don’t feel like teasing him anymore. I just want to see him come apart. I haven’t stopped thinking about the way he looked last night when he…

My sex clenches at the memory.

I tackle his belt buckle, and this time, he lets me undo it. In fact, he falls onto his back and lets me do whatever the heck I want.

I undress him as if I’m unwrapping a shiny gift, and once I have him naked, I take a moment to admire my prize. His body is long and sleek, boasting a golden skin tone instead of the pasty white you see on so many of the guys at Briar. I run my fingers over his rock-hard abs, smiling when his muscles quiver beneath my touch. Then I trace the tattoo on his left arm and ask, “Why flames?”

He shrugs. “I like fire. And I think flames look cool.”

The response amuses me, but it also impresses me. “Wow. I was expecting to hear about the bullshit meaning behind it. I swear, every time you ask someone about their tattoo, they tell you it means “courage” in Taiwanese or something, when we both know it probably means “potato” or “shoe” or “stupidly intoxicated.” Or they give you a whole spiel about how they hit rock bottom x many years ago but worked their way through it and this is why they have a phoenix rising from the ashes tattooed on their back.”

Garrett laughs before going serious. “I guess this isn’t the time to tell you about the tribal tattoo on my shin. It means eternal optimist.”

“Oh God. Really?”

“Nope. Totally lying. But it’d serve you right for getting all judgy about people’s ink.”

“Hey, sometimes it’s nice to hear that someone got a tattoo just because they like it. I was complimenting you, dumbass.” I lean forward and kiss the flames circling his biceps, which, I have to admit, do look pretty cool.

“Hell yeah, keep complimenting me then,” he drawls. “But make sure to use your tongue when you do it.”

I roll my eyes, but I don’t stop what I’m doing. I drag my tongue over the black flames, then kiss my way to his chest. He tastes like soap and salt and man, and I love it. So much that I can’t stop licking every frickin’ inch of him.

I know he’s enjoying my very thorough exploration as much as I am because his breathing becomes ragged, and I can feel the tension rippling through his muscles. When my mouth concludes its journey by brushing against the tip of his penis, Garrett’s entire body goes rigid.

I look up and find glazed gray eyes peering back at me. “You don’t have to…do that…if you don’t want to,” he says gruffly.

“Huh. Then it’s a good thing I want to, isn’t it?”

“Some girls don’t like to.”

“Some girls are idiots.”

My tongue touches his hard flesh, and his hips snap off the bed. I lick his smooth, engorged head, savoring the taste of him, learning his texture with my tongue. When I draw the tip into my mouth and suck gently, he makes a tortured noise deep in his throat.

“Jesus, Wellsy. That feels…”

“It feels what?” I tease, looking up at him.

“Un-fucking-believable,” he croaks. “Don’t ever stop. I mean it. I want you to keep blowing me for the rest of your life.”

Is his growly request good for my ego?

Naah.

It’s great for my ego.

Since he’s too big to take all the way in my mouth, and I’m not a deep-throat expert, I wrap my fingers around the base of him, sucking and pumping in unison, my pace alternating between slow and teasing and fast and urgent. Garrett’s breathing grows more and more labored, his groans growing more and more desperate.