The Mistake

“Liar,” I accuse. “Of course you want to be my girlfriend. And FYI? You are.”


Her expression grows pensive for a moment, and then she nods. “I can live with that.”

“Aw, how generous of you, baby. We should silkscreen it on matching T-shirts—‘I can live with that.’”

Her laughter floats up and tickles my chin. I love her laugh. It’s so fucking genuine. Everything about her is genuine. I’ve hooked up with too many chicks who play games, who say one thing and mean another, who lie or manipulate to get what they want. But not Grace. She’s open and sincere, and when she’s pissed off or annoyed, she tells me. I appreciate that.

I dip my head to kiss her, and when our tongues meet, a jolt of pleasure zips down to my cock, which thickens against her leg. I nudge my hips forward, and just that tiny amount of friction makes me groan. God. I want to come. She’s gotten me there twice this week. Once jacking me off, the other time using her mouth. On the nights that orgasms weren’t on the table, I jerked it in the shower, imagining I was fucking her instead of my fist, but self-gratification is nothing compared to what she’s doing right now, when she unzips my pants and wraps her fingers around me.

My eyes roll to the top of my head at that first gentle stroke. “When is Daisy coming home?” I mumble.

“At least not for another hour.” She rubs a slow circle around the head of my dick. Precome coats her fingers, making it easy to glide her fist up and down my shaft.

I thrust my hips and kiss her, one hand traveling up her stomach to cup a small, firm breast. She’s not wearing a bra, and her nipples strain against the soft cotton of her tank top. I rub my palm over the tight bud, tease it with the pad of my thumb, then press down on it, drawing a breathy noise from her lips.

I’m so hard I can’t think straight. It’s unbearable, this need for release. My breathing becomes shallow as I let go of her breast and slide my hand lower, inching toward the waistband of her yoga pants.

She breaks the kiss, stiffening beneath my touch. “Uh…” Color stains her cheeks. “I’m closed for business tonight. It’s my moon time.”

I choke out a laugh. “Your moon time?”

“What?” she says defensively. “It sounds a lot more whimsical than I’m menstruating.”

I cringe, instantly transported back to those awkward moments in sex ed class.

“See?” she gloats. “My way is better.” Then she swats my hand away from her crotch and plants both hands on my chest, giving me a gentle shove. “Lie back. I want to tease you a little.”

Christ. Tease me she does. She drags my shirt up and explores every inch of my chest with her mouth. Soft lips plant fleeting kisses along my collarbone, then dance over my left pec, hovering above my nipple and bringing goose bumps to my flesh. Her tongue darts out for a taste, and I feel that tiny flick on my nipple all the way down in my cock. It throbs painfully, and I’m damn near squirming. I want her mouth on me again. I want her to suck on the tip, just a hint of suction and then the swirl of her tongue. I want—

Jesus, she’s kissing her way down my stomach, giving me exactly what I want. I swear, this girl can read my mind. Her lips close around me, her tongue executing that sexy swirl I was fantasizing about.

I must have made some kind of noise, because she peers up with a satisfied smile. “You okay up there?”

“Fuck. Yes. I’m more than okay.”

“Question,” she says, and now I’m smiling too, because I love it when she does that. Announces she’s about to ask a question instead of just asking it.

I answer with my standard, “Hit me.”

“How do you feel about your ass?”

My brow furrows. “Meaning?”

“Meaning, if I do this—” Her finger slides over a spot I was not expecting her to touch “—are you going to freak out, or go with it?”

She does it again, and I’m stunned when a shock of pleasure skates up my spine. “Go with it,” I croak. “Definitely go with it.”

Grace’s eyes flicker with equal parts surprise and intrigue. Then she lowers her head and sucks me deep in her mouth, another unexpected move that blurs my vision. Sweet Jesus. I’m completely surrounded by tight, wet heat. My blunt head pokes the back of her throat, and my hips move before I can stop them, retreating an inch, two, before sliding back in.

Her moan reverberates around me. Her finger continues to torment me. Gentle and exploratory, coaxing a strange ache of pleasure I hadn’t bargained for.

Jesus, this is fucking intense. And it doesn’t stop. She tortures me with her tongue, licking my shaft, slowly, thoroughly, like she’s a goddamn cartographer who’s planning to map it out later. And that finger. Rubbing, teasing.