Page 21 of Unmoored: How to Fail at Hating the Boss

I toss it aside, keeping my eyes on her as she takes me in her mouth, slicking her wet tongue over me, cleaning the outrageous amounts of precum I’ve been leaking, leaking, leaking, probably since the moment I first saw her ass jiggling down the dock.

She’s so sweet and so perfect, it’s all I can do not to close my eyes. But I don’t want to miss a single second of this.

Her head bobs up and down, her hair brushing against my balls. She takes me a little deeper, then a little more, then a little faster, until the pleasure takes hold and I can’t hold back any longer, and I’m fucking her mouth.

The familiar sensation builds too quickly. “Baby, I’m coming,” I tell her through clenched teeth, my one fist knotted in her hair and the other twisted in the sheet.

That’s the warning. But Quincy doesn’t heed it.

She swallows every damn drop and leaves nothing left of me.

I come so hard that my vision goes foggy, and I fear she’s sucked out my soul.

Good. Perfect. As it should be.

If I die like this, so be it.

Nine

Quincy

A part of me worried that Reef would roll over and go to sleep with loud, husband-like snores.

But then another part of me panicked at the thought of awkward pillow talk.

What actually happens next is none of those things.

“Tell me about the posters.”

At first, I’m not sure what he’s talking about as I lie here, blissed out, against his massive chest.

“Hm? Oh. Yeah. Long story.”

“I got time.”

I smile and settle back against the pillows because this man? Throws off a ton of heat, and my cheek is getting sweaty.

“Most of those are Off-Broadway. It all started about five years ago when my teacher friends and I decided to spend spring break in New York City. Obviously, Broadway shows are expensive, so we do what we can afford.”

He nods. I can’t believe Reef is interested in this. “Sometimes we get ticket deals on major shows, but myfavorites are actually the plays I hadn’t heard of before. To commemorate every trip, I buy a poster from each one.”

Pointing to an unsettling black and white sketch of a screaming chicken that came from a new play that closed after a week, I say, “That one was the hardest poster to find after the fact. Welcome to my weirdness.”

“Not weird,” Reef says. “Though, I do have opinions about you having a painting of a woman who’s about to drown herself over her fuck ass boyfriend.”

I crane my neck awkwardly, as if I need to make eye contact with Ophelia. “She was misunderstood. And I helped direct the theater department’s spring production of Hamlet last year, so I wanted something to commemorate that, too. Something prettier than, you know, a dude holding a skull.”

I’m not sure how I’ve found myself underneath Reef all of a sudden, but I forget to care as his lips descend on mine in a sweet kiss—all of our nakedness touching and rubbing together.

“I like you.”

I smile up at him. “Same.”

“I could fuck around with you all night.”

I smile bigger. “Okay.”

“Soon. Right now? I need to sleep and so do you.”