“Same here. I feel like some of that craziness of my twenties has dwindled. Now, I can just kind of meet each day on its own terms,” I say, finishing a cherry, then setting down my fork. “You learn to stop taking yourself so seriously, and then you learn to take the things seriously that ought to be taken that way. Like health and family, but not things like what kind of music you like or don’t like. Time takes on a whole new quality when it no longer belongs solely to you. You learn to value it even more. Time becomes the thing that you’ll do the most for. To make the best of it.”
She’s finished eating too, and I begin cleaning up, putting the plates in the sink. And then I ask, “And what about you? What do you care about?”
“I agree with you about time, for starters. And of course I care about my daughter. I care about my friends. I care about being a kick-ass businesswoman. I care about doing an amazing job at work. I care about growing plants and veggies outside and giving back to the earth,” she says, then takes a beat and moves behind me at the sink, her soft body pressed to mine. “I care about only sleeping with people I really like.”
I did not expect that. That kind of came out of nowhere. But I love it, so much so that it heats my blood, warms my skin. I spin around. “I think that’s my favorite thing on your list.”
She dips her head, maybe a little shy. I tuck my finger under her chin. “Are you shy, January?”
She shakes her head. “I’m kind of aroused again.”
My skin heats from her words. My cock hardens, and I can’t resist touching her. I run my fingers along her arm, tracing them over her sparrows. “I like touching you. I love making you feel good. I like how you look and how you feel when you come.”
“I like what you do to me,” she whispers. “I like the way you feel under my hands. Your chest, your arms, your ass. You have a great ass, Liam. I love grabbing it when you’re inside me.”
Okay. Forget hard. My dick is an iron spike right now. “You’re driving me crazy, woman. I am rock-hard here in the kitchen.”
“And I’m wet,” she whispers.
“You’re fucking perfect,” I say on a groan, my hands threading through her hair. “Now about that other orgasm . . .”
But she has something else in mind because she slides down my body, gets on her knees, and unzips my jeans.
Before I can even think twice about giving her an O, she’s got my dick in her mouth, and I have no interest in stopping her.
No interest whatsoever, since she’s swirling her tongue around the head, licking me, sucking me, treating me like I’m an absolutely delicious piece of candy. Taking me deep, playing and gripping and stroking, as she lavishes delicious attention with her soft tongue and her firm lips and her gorgeous moans.
Soon I’m grunting and grabbing her hair, roping it around my fist, pulling and tugging and fucking into her mouth. “If you keep doing that, I’m going to come,” I warn.
Ever so briefly, she pulls off, her lips against the head of my cock as she says, “That’s the point.” Then, in a heartbeat she’s back on me, sucking me deep as pleasure roars through me.
Closing my eyes, I savor every second of coming in her throat. When she’s done, I take her to the bedroom, and I have my dessert too until she comes on my lips.
I crawl up her body and murmur, “There’s something I have to tell you.”
“What is it?” Her eyes flicker with nerves.
I kiss her cheek, then pull back to meet her gaze. “I think I’m addicted to going down on you. I’m going to need to do it many more times.”
Maybe this is my way of saying I want more.
That I want more than this night.
And as I say it, I don’t think I ever felt like we could have only one time.
When she looks at me, wraps her arms around my neck, and says, “That’s a really good addiction, and I’m happy to feed it,” I’m pretty sure she never felt that way either.
Soon, I take her home, walking her to her door like a gentleman. I cup her cheek. “I’ll see you soon.”
She grabs my shirt, tugging on a fistful of fabric. “We’re going to do that again, right?”
“Which part?” My heart soars, hoping, hoping, hoping for the same answer that I feel.
And she gives it to me. “Both.”
I say yes.
20
January
When I have breakfast with my daughter before she goes to school the next morning, I look her in the eyes over the scrambled eggs, toast, and peaches. She takes a bite, chewing, and I do the same, then I set down my fork, my chest swelling with a clobbering wave of affection for her.
