Of course. What did it matter if he was in my stuff anyway? I really didn’t have anything to hide. There wasn’t anything I cared about him seeing. I just liked my stuff being mine and mine alone. All those old feelings about my sisters resurfaced the second he so much as looked at my closet. It was silly, but knowing that didn’t change anything.
I shook my head, trying to knock the feeling free, and concentrated on putting bobby pins in my hair. When I was done, I turned away from the mirror and there he was with a pair of high heels that I rarely wore because they were too hard to get on and off. I didn’t have to worry about strapping them on this time, though, because Nate got down on his knees and carefully put them on for me.
Something about it was quite sensual, quite arousing. Strange, after all the crazy things in my life that I’d done, that this moment of domesticity was giving me goosebumps.
When he was done I was five inches taller. He stood to his full height, and now when he looked me over, he smiled and his eyes shone with pride.
“Fuck. That’s it,” he said as he circled me. “You look gorgeous.” I didn’t even have my dress on yet. I stood tall and proud in my lingerie and heels so he could drink me in. “I cannot wait to show you off. For people to see how fucking stunning you are.” When he came around in front of me again, he was rubbing his crotch. “Look how hard I am for you, baby. I should punish you for this.”
My heart was racing, and my mouth started watering. “Definitely. Punish me for what I’ve done to you.” Never mind that he’d been the one to make me look like this. “I bet that’s really uncomfortable.” His pants were completely tented now with a full erection. Being back on familiar ground, back in the driver’s seat, allowed me to relax and enjoy the view.
It made me pretty wet myself, and I told him so.
“Show me. Show me how wet you are.”
I reached down between my thighs and scooped up some of the slick juice that had gathered, bringing up my finger to show him.
He took my fingers and directed them into my own mouth. “Suck it, baby. Then I want you down on your knees, and you’re gonna suck me too.”
I couldn’t get down in front of him quickly enough. He had his cock out so fast that almost as soon as my knees hit the floor, his crown hit my lips.
“I like it deep and I like it quick. No pussyfooting around when you suck me off, you got it?”
I’d given enough blowjobs in my time to know how to give a good one. I’d also given enough blowjobs to know that men liked it many different ways. I didn’t mind trying out different techniques; sometimes I even taught a man he liked something he didn’t know he liked. Most men, even though they knew what they wanted, waited for me to discover it by myself instead of just saying it.
Nate Sinclair telling me in detail how he wanted me to suck him off was one of the hottest things I’d ever heard.
I drew him into my mouth, sucking him in, then running my tongue along the underside of his cock. He was so thick and heavy, it was hard to take him all the way, but I was determined to do it. Because he’d asked. Not every woman had mastered her reflexes the way I had through careful practice, and I wanted to use all that practice to deep-throat him. I put one hand on the base of his cock and pumped it in time with my mouth to make sure he got full coverage, though, to give him the best experience possible.
“Like that, Trish. Just like that.” He was careful around my freshly pinned hair, but he held up a few wispy strands out of my face and peered down, watching himself get lost inside my mouth with each thrust, with each bob of my throat. It was so arousing, and imagining what the sight must be like from his viewpoint made me even more excited. I pushed one hand down my panties to rub myself.
“Uh uh. I don’t want you touching yourself, gorgeous. This time’s all about me.”
So that was the punishment. Denied orgasm.
This man was a sex god.
And so I did make it all about him. I threw every ounce of my focus into it, into giving him the best oral pleasure of his life. I sucked him, hard and deep. I pumped him fast. With my other hand, still wet from touching myself, I rubbed his balls and stroked up to his taint. I could feel he was getting close when his balls began to tighten up close to his body.
“Trish, I want to decorate your tits with my cum. It would be so beautiful on your skin. But I don’t want to mess you up, so you’re going to have to swallow.” His words tumbled urgent and quick. “And I’m coming now.”
And then he did. With another grunt, he exploded in my mouth, no other warning, and I took every bit of him. Swallowed every last drop, because I knew that’s what he wanted me to do. And because I wanted to do it for him, too. Because I was already addicted to his dirty, filthy ways.
When he was finished, he pulled me to my feet and kissed me hard. Kissed me like he was trying to take off my long-lasting lipstick. Kissed me until I was dizzy and breathless and seeing spots before my eyes.
“You keep giving head like that,” he said when he pulled away, “I’m gonna want to keep you around.”
My chest constricted like he’d strung me up in a too-tight corset.
What he’d said—it was sweet and sexy and something that you said after you came when you were still high on the endorphins.
But the problem was, I was starting to feel the same.
Chapter Eight
As soon as we arrived at the event at the hotel, I realized this wasn’t just a “work thing” as Nate had said it was.
It was a wedding.
Nate Sinclair had taken me on our second public outing to a wedding.
I mentally erased every wonderful, amazing thing I’d thought about him in the last forty-eight hours. I took it back. It was null and void. All of it.
Weddings were the worst. Weddings meant commitment. Taking somebody to a wedding was making an overly bold statement. It meant you were serious about someone. It meant you wanted to be with them. At the very least, it meant you were dating.
And we were most certainly not dating.
I wondered if Nate knew that.
I made a note to tell him as plainly and clearly as possible. As soon as I got the chance. Unfortunately, it would have to wait, because we arrived at the wedding (a fucking wedding!) just as the ceremony began, and I had to keep my mouth shut.
The wedding itself was lovely—even I had to admit that. It was a simple ceremony between Weston King, one of the guys who owned the ad agency with Nate, and Elizabeth Dyson, a well-known debutante. But it wasn’t like I cared about either of them.
I made a note to tell Nate about that too.