Sex God Page 8

  “Feel better.”

  I feel so good, better than I have in ages, as long as I don’t think about what this means or how it impacts the plans I’ve made for myself. “Thanks.” I toss my phone aside and grab hold of Lauren’s hand to stop her from finishing me off before I can live out that fantasy I had earlier.

  “On your hands and knees,” I tell her. “Now.” As I’m looking at her over my shoulder, I can see her eyes widen with shock and then desire so blatant it makes me groan in anticipation.

  She does as directed, but I notice her legs are trembling, so I stuff a pillow under her hips to provide support for what’s about to happen here.

  “Are you comfortable?”

  “Uh-huh.” Fisting the sheet, she holds on tight.

  I start at her calves, running my hands up the backs of her legs, taking my time to draw out the anticipation for both of us. Her legs are finely muscled and her ass a work of art, both a testament to the time she spends at the gym. As someone who works out as much as I do, I appreciate others who put in the time to keep fit, not to mention I appreciate benefitting from the perfection that is Lauren’s sweet body.

  I’m practically drooling from the sight of her spread open for me to do whatever I want to her. But then I remember Wayne and what he put her through. She’s never confirmed that his attack involved sexual assault, and I’ve never asked. But I suspect it did.

  “Lo…”

  “Hmm?”

  “You’d tell me if something I did scared you or brought back bad memories, wouldn’t you?”

  She shoots me a look over her shoulder. “Yeah.”

  “Are we okay here?”

  Nodding, she gifts me with a smile that sparks a curious tingling sensation in my chest, not unlike gas or heartburn or something in that family. I have no idea what to call this sensation, but it also comes with a feeling of contentment that has eluded me for most of my adult life.

  But with the all-you-can-eat Lauren buffet spread out before me, I can’t take the time to contemplate contentment—or gas. I’ve got better things to do. Raising my hands to her supple ass, I spread her cheeks wide open, drawing a sharp gasp from her. For a minute, I simply revel in the sight of her pretty pink flesh, moist with desire for me. The most incredible proprietary feeling overtakes me. She is mine. I would kill anyone who hurt her and not give a thought to the consequences.

  I’m so fucked, but I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I have much better things to do than think about consequences. Holding her open, I dive into her sweetness, licking from front to back and everywhere in between.

  She goes wild, pressing her ass against my face with the kind of desperation I certainly understand. I’m already so hard—again—that I worry that my skin will burst from trying to contain the desire that pumps through me like an extra heartbeat. This is absolute madness, and I can’t get enough of her.

  I go at her until I can tell she’s on the verge of release, and then I push inside her again, triggering her orgasm. Biting my lip—hard—I try to hold off until I can get her there again and somehow manage to hang on to my control, but just barely. That, too, is unprecedented. Usually after the edge is taken off the first time, I’m like a fucking machine, but not with Lauren.

  Grasping her hips, I pump into her, loving her gasps and moans and the way she clings to the comforter as if it’s a life ring in a wild sea. I love the way her ass jiggles ever so slightly every time I bottom out, and I absolutely adore the way her tight pussy clamps around my cock. I could do this all fucking day and never get tired of the way it feels to be inside her. In fact, it might be the very best feeling I’ve ever experienced.

  I soak my fingers in her slickness and press them against her anus.

  She bucks from the unexpected pressure, but I’m ready for her with my other arm tight around her waist.

  “Let me in, sweetheart.”

  She moans and presses back against my fingers, her flesh yielding to allow me in. Fucking hell… She’s so hot and so tight, more so now with my fingers in her ass.

  Then she implodes. There’s no other word to describe the orgasm that blasts through her. She clamps down on my cock and fingers, her release triggering mine, because there’s no way I can hold back with her muscles squeezing me so tightly. My mind goes completely blank as I unload in her. There’re no worries about my company, my family, my future or anything else. I have only the capacity to think about her and this and us. Being with her this way is like taking a vacation from my life without ever leaving my own bed.

  Chapter Seven

  I withdraw from her slowly and carefully, making her groan from the pressure as I remove my fingers. On shaky legs, I go into the bathroom to wash up and bring back a warm washcloth to tend to her. She’s facedown on my bed, and my gaze is immediately drawn to the red finger marks I’ve left on her hips. She’s going to have bruises because of me, and I feel bad about that.

  “Turn over and let me see your gorgeous face.”

  “I can’t move.”

  “Let me help.” I roll her over and brush the hair back from her face. “Hi there.”

  She looks away. “Hi.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Then why can’t you look at me?”

  “I’m embarrassed.”

  “Because of what we did?”

  She bites her lip and nods.

  “Look at me.”

  “I can’t.”

  Laughing softly, I cajole her with my fingers caressing her face. “Please?”

  Slowly, she brings her gaze to meet mine, her cheeks flushing in an adorably sweet blush.

  “There you are. Why are you embarrassed by what we did?”

  “I… I haven’t done that before.”

  “Which part? The doggie or the anal?”

  And I’ve lost her again. Her eyes are back on the far wall of my bedroom rather than on me. “Lauren,” I say in a singsong voice. “Come on, talk to me.” I kiss the delicious column of her neck and bite down on her earlobe.

  She jolts, which makes her tits bounce, and I can’t believe the stirring that occurs in my groin. This can’t be healthy, and yet it feels like the healthiest thing I’ve done for myself in years. Grasping her leg, I encourage her to open to me so I can clean her up. She allows it, but her blush deepens, and I’m intensely charmed by her embarrassment.

  But I can’t let her pull away from me now. That simply isn’t going to happen. After I finish tending to her, I crawl into bed with her and draw her into my embrace, settling her head on my chest. “I’m not making you look at me, so now you can tell me what part of that embarrassed you.”

  “It wasn’t what we did so much as the intensity. That was… I haven’t… Not like that.”

  “Me either, sweetheart.” As we talk, I run my fingers through her hair. “It’s never been like that for me.”

  “Are you freaked out, too?”

  “Little bit.”

  “That makes me feel better.”

  “Will you do something for me?”

  “After the most spectacular orgasms of my life, you could pretty much ask me for anything.”

  I grunt out a laugh at her bluntness. “Will you talk to me about what you’re thinking and feeling? We both said that our friendship is the most important thing, and to protect that, we have to talk it out.”

  “I’m not used to that. Most of the guys I’ve been with are more about the wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, than they are about communicating.”

  “I’ve been guilty of that myself in the past, but this is too important to both of us to get away with that this time. You know?”

  “Yeah,” she says with a deep sigh. “I know.”

  “So what part embarrassed you? The doggie or the anal?” I really want—and need—the answer to that question.

  “The, um… The anal. I haven’t done anything there before.”

  “Did you like it?”

  “Ah, yeah
… You couldn’t tell?”

  “I could tell,” I reply smugly, earning an elbow to the ribs that makes me gasp with laughter.

  “It’s not funny. I’m a good girl. I don’t do anal.”

  Her prim tone only makes me laugh harder. “Hate to be the one to break it to you, darlin’, but you just did anal.”

  “If you keep laughing at me, that’ll be the last time I ever do it.”

  I somehow manage to curb my laughter, but it isn’t easy. She’s so damned cute when she tries to be proper shortly after clawing at my comforter while I fucked her and fingered her ass. I can’t even think about the vision of her bent before me, my cock stretching her pussy and my fingers in her ass. I force the visual from my mind because I know she needs a break in the action after the morning we’ve already put in.

  “Does that mean you’d do it again?” I ask after a period of silence.

  “Maybe.”

  “Would you consider more than just my fingers?”

  She groans, and the sound goes straight to my balls, probably because her leg is pressed up against them. “You’d cripple me with this thing.” For emphasis, she squeezes my cock, and I nearly launch off the bed.

  “A little warning before you grab hold of my stick shift would be nice.”

  She loses it laughing, and I find myself falling, as if I’ve stepped off a cliff into the unknown. The sensation is so dizzying that it takes my breath away.

  “And P.S.,” I say, trying to shake off the odd feeling, “I wouldn’t cripple you. I bet you’d love it so much you’d be begging me to fuck your ass again.”

  “I’d take that bet if it didn’t mean having to take this…” She squeezes me again. “There.” Before I can formulate the proper response, she continues. “Although if Honey can do it with Blake and his massive thing without being crippled, I suppose anything is possible.”

  I choke on my own spit. That was way more information than I ever wanted about our friends, especially the part about Blake’s “massive thing.”

  “You can’t ever let on that I told you that!”

  I’m still coughing rather inelegantly, but I hold up my hand to stop her from freaking out. “Your secret is safe with me.”

  “She would kill me for blurting that out.”

  “I can’t believe you guys talk about stuff like that.”

  “Of course we do,” she says, as if that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever said to her, and I’ve said a lot of ridiculous things to her over the years. “Like you guys don’t talk, too.”

  “Um, for the record, Blake and I have never talked about whether he and his wife do anal. In fact, we’ve never talked about anything they do in the bedroom.”

  “Like… nothing?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Wow, that’s kinda surprising. I thought you guys talked about it the way we do.”

  “Nope, and that’s just one of many ways me and my boys are maligned.” I tweak her nose. “It’s you girls who do all the kissing and telling, not us.”

  “Whatever you say, stud.” Her stomach lets out a loud growl that has her blushing once again. “That was ladylike.”

  “My lady is hungry. I must feed her so I can ravish her some more. Let me up, woman.” I kiss her on my way out of bed to see to breakfast. We’re both going to need some fuel to get through this day.

  By five o’clock that afternoon, we’re exhausted and sated and thoroughly and completely fucked in more ways than one. I’m addicted to everything about having sex with Lauren. That one taste led to another and another and another. I’ve never gorged on any woman the way I have on her today.

  And this daylong fuckfest is nowhere near enough. That’s the part that has me freaked out the most. With her warm and soft and curled up in my arms, I still want her, which is just another in a long line of surprises. Usually, I’m a one-and-done kind of guy. At times, I’ve thought that I have sexual ADD because women don’t hold my attention. I enjoy them, I treat them right while we’re together, and then I move on. I rarely ever give them another thought after we’ve both gotten what we wanted from a liaison.

  This, with Lauren, is completely different, mostly because I’m more intrigued by her after we had sex than I was before. And that is most definitely a first. I know that might make me sound like a dick, but I’ve always been respectful and forthright in my dealings with women. I let them know what I want—and what I don’t. No one is ever hurt or left wondering what happened with me. That’s not how I roll.

  Now, I’m worried about doing actual damage to a woman for the first time in my life. What will Lauren think when she finds out I’m making plans to leave town? Will she be disappointed or hurt or worse? The possibility of that gnaws at me and makes me feel anxious when I should be as relaxed as I’ve been in years.

  Lauren and I are watching a movie in my bed because she’s legitimately afraid she won’t be able to walk tomorrow if we don’t quit while we’re ahead. The chick flick she chose doesn’t hold my interest and gives me far too much time to think about what the hell I’m going to do about the plans I’ve been making for myself now that I’ve experienced the exquisite pleasure of making love to Lauren.

  When I checked my email earlier to approve the payroll the office sent over, I also read an email from my headhunter, who forwarded a gushing message from the company I’m meeting with on Saturday about how excited they are to have me in to talk. They’re putting me up in a suite at the Four Seasons and told me to bring my wife or girlfriend if I’d like. They even mentioned a spa at the hotel that would be made available to my guest. Lauren would love that.

  As I stroke her arm absently, I start to ask if she wants to come, but something stops me from saying the words that are on the tip of my tongue. Instead, something else entirely comes out. “Have we proven beyond a reasonable doubt today that there is nothing wrong with you when it comes to sex?”

  “I believe we have.”

  “So no more thinking there’s anything about you that isn’t perfect, you hear me?”

  “I hear you.” She looks up at me, her eyes soft with emotion. “Thank you, Garrett.”

  “It was a tough job, but someone had to do it.”

  She laughs, as I hoped she would, and returns her attention to the movie.

  I nearly launch out of bed when I hear the alarm system chime to indicate someone has come into the house. And since only one other person has the key to my house, I know exactly who it is. I hastily pull on a pair of sweats and tell Lauren to stay put.

  “Who is it?” she asks.

  “My mother.”

  “Ohhh.”

  “I’ll be right back.” I leave the bedroom, closing the door behind me and go into the kitchen, where my mother is stirring a pot on the stove.

  “There you are. Tanya called to tell me you’ve got the stomach bug. I brought you chicken soup and Ritz crackers. Remember how much you loved them when you were little? You’d go through a stack a day. And there’s ginger ale in the fridge and strawberry Jell-O. All your favorites.”

  Though I want to be annoyed by her—and at Tanya, for Christ’s sake—for barging into my house without calling first, how can I be when she just wants to take care of me? “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Are you feeling better?” She takes a close look at me and reaches up to feel my forehead. “You’re a little warm. Have you taken something for the fever?”

  “I’m much better, but you shouldn’t breathe the air around here just in case it’s contagious. You don’t want to get sick or take it home to Colby or Sierra.”

  “They’re bulletproof when it comes to germs. They never get sick, and neither do I. Do you want me to sit with you while you eat?”

  “You don’t have to. I’m not really ready for food yet.”

  “My poor baby. Always taking care of everyone else. I was glad to have the opportunity to do something for you for a change.” She reaches up to smooth my hair and pats my cheek.

  A word about
my mom here—she’s drop-dead gorgeous and always has been. She has long dark hair and flawless brown skin that comes right from her mother, who was Mexican. My sisters, Colby and I share her coloring, while Tommy favors our dad, who was English and Scottish. To my knowledge, my mom hasn’t so much as talked to another man since my father died, let alone dated. Her dark brown eyes are soft with maternal concern as she looks me over. “What’s that on your neck?”

  “What?”

  She points to the spot. “That.”

  I go to the microwave to check my reflection in the glass door. Son of a fucking bitch. I have a bite mark on my neck. “I don’t know.” I feel like a teenager who just got busted by his mother for having a hickey.

  She folds her arms and sizes me up. After raising four children, she’s nobody’s fool. “Who is she?”

  “Mom…”

  “Are you really sick or faking it?”

  Immediately flustered by the way she homes in on the truth of the matter, I stick to my story. “I’m sick. And I’m a grown man, and this is my house. I don’t have to answer to you.”

  “Watch your mouth with me, Garrett McKinley.”

  “I don’t mean any disrespect. You know that. But I’m not up for a grilling about my personal life. Not tonight.” My emotions are already all over the place after the day I’ve spent with Lauren. I don’t have the fortitude to deal with my mother’s questions on top of that.

  “Fair enough.”

  I kiss her cheek. “Thank you for the soup and everything.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  As I walk her to the door, I ask, “Did Blake fix the toilet?”

  “He did. He’s such a sweet boy, and Honey is the most adorable pregnant woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “She really is cute.”

  “I’ll be surprised if she makes it past the weekend.”

  “They’re so ready for that baby to get here.”

  At the door, my mom stops and turns to me, placing a hand on my chest as she looks up at me. “That’s all I want for you. What they have. At some point, you’re going to want to settle down and have a family of your own, Garrett.”