Page 50 of Control (Everyday Heroes 3.50)
What are you doing?
“Is that so?” he asks with a slight smile and a darkening of his eyes.
You swore off him.
“Yep.”
One more time can’t hurt that much, can it?
“I think you need to take me home and see for yourself.”
Reznor stands abruptly from the table, hand on my elbow, feet leading the way. “I thought you’d never ask,” he murmurs.
Chapter Twenty
Reznor
The car ride is silent.
Every attempt at conversation falls flat almost as if we’re afraid an extra word might spark the sexual tension eating up the air in the car.
I pull into the driveway without even giving a thought to the fact that her car is still at the high school. We’ll get it tomorrow.
Right now I plan on following through with my the second time it’s way better line. And no, the getting off watching her get off didn’t really count as a second time.
Because fuck if I haven’t thought about doing this with her since she left my bedroom the last time.
Yeah, I have a problem. A big one. And her name is Desi Whitman.
Our feet clomp up the stairs of her porch. My eyes are on her hips, her ass, thinking about those long legs being wrapped around me as she fumbles with the key in her lock.
I like that she’s nervous.
It means she cares.
It means she wants this as fucking badly as I do.
The minute the door opens and I shut it behind us, it’s like dynamite detonates. We’re on each other in an instant. Hands and lips and tongues and bodies grinding against each other as we strip off our clothes in a mad dash to see who can get undressed quicker.
Her shirt is over her head. My lips are on her neck. Her back bumps against the wall behind her. A laugh falls from our mouths seconds before my lips close over the soft peak of her nipple, making both of us moan and slow for a beat.
Dogs bark somewhere in the house.
There is no slow. There’s only desperation and greed and every pleasurably selfish sensation in between. It may have been only two weeks since the last time we had sex, but right now it feels like for-fucking-ever.
Her hands are on my pants, shoving them down so my dick can spring free. Hurried whispers. Desperate groans. Another wall but this time at my back.
Laughter murmured by lips pressed against skin.
The jingle of collars down the hall as a dog shakes his head.
My hand slides between her thighs to feel her wet just before she drops to her knees. With those big eyes of her angled up to mine, she wraps her lips around my cock, and I watch every damn inch of it disappear into that sexy mouth of hers.
Fucking Christ Almighty. The woman doesn’t have a gag reflex.
My cock sits at the back of her throat as her fingernails scratch ever so slightly the skin beneath my balls. She suctions tight around me and slowly slides it back out so it releases from her mouth with a popping sound. Her tongue circles around my crest, dips into the split at the end and the moan she makes—the one that tells me she likes how I taste—is enough to make me want to come right there and show her how much she’d enjoy it.
And so I face the worst dilemma known to a man. Let her suck me off with that all-powerful suction of her lips, or bury myself in her hot, wet, and tight pussy so I can prolong the pleasure and get her off in the process.
