Three Hard Lessons (Blindfold Club 2)

I used my hands. One formed a tight circle that followed my lips as they slid up and down, and the other hand cupped him. He was panting for air above me. He was so close. I held him there on the brink for a moment, slowing my rapid tempo down and the noise he made was like anguish.

Then I surged forward and pushed him through to the other side of his pleasure.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “Here it comes. Take it.”

I did, gladly. The thick, hot liquid leaped into my mouth as he shuddered and groaned, and the thick slab of flesh pulsed on my tongue, flexing with every spurt until there was nothing left.

I swallowed him down and gave him a moment to rest without movement. Truthfully, I needed a moment to catch my breath. I don’t think I’d ever been this turned on from giving head in my life. I was a mess. He fell o

ut of my mouth and I helped him zip, and then stood back up on my heels. With them on, I wasn’t much shorter than him, which I liked.

“Are you still thirsty, or did I take care of that for you?”

My mouth hung open at his crude statement but slowly I twisted it into a smile. “You say the most shocking things sometimes. It’d help if you weren’t blushing like a schoolgirl when you did it.”

A hand settled in the small of my back and he leaned in, tipping his forehead against mine. “You have some weird effect over me.”

My pulse raced at this confession, and faster still when he closed the last inch of distance between our lips and brought them together. Sparks. Tingles. All the mushy stuff I thought I was supposed to have felt the first time I’d kissed a boy growing up, but didn’t. Why now? Why with him? As the kiss deepened, his effect over me did too. My legs went weak.

“I kind of like the Payton effect,” he whispered.

Two weeks of this could be dangerous, and I was no longer sure for which one of us.

The downside to the Jag was that I usually wound up the DD. It was close to two in the morning when Dominic, Logan, and Evie got in and I drove them to Dominic’s apartment that he leased to Logan. After we said our goodbyes, I drove my sexy travel companion to his hotel and pulled in front of the door.

“I don’t think the valet’s on this late,” he said.

“I’m not staying tonight.”

The aqua eyes focus on me with confusion. “Why not?”

Because I needed to get my head on about this. But I told him the other reason. “Because if I go upstairs with you, you’re going to want to go slow and I want to get some sleep tonight.”

“We don’t have to fool around, we could just sleep.”

My grip tightened on the steering wheel. “I don’t do that, remember?”

His triumphant look was annoying. He thought he could get me to disregard that rule again easily, but he was mistaken. I was deadly serious. I wanted to sleep in my own bed tonight. I was exhausted. His gaze left mine and drifted to the clock in the dash and disappointment washed over him.

“Okay.” Fingertips touched my cheek, slid under my chin, and turned it into his kiss. “I’ll meet you at the United counter at the international terminal at ten.” He pushed open the door and threw me a final look. “Don’t be late. It’ll freak me out.”

I laughed lightly. “Don’t worry, I’ll be there.”

I left a message on my mother’s voicemail in the morning, letting her know I was headed out on a business trip to Japan for two weeks. She was probably at church. We only communicated through voicemail messages these days, which was fine by me. It was mostly lies anyway. I’d make up stories about my high-powered job that allowed me to live on the Gold Coast and drive a new Jag, and she’d lie about missing me and hoping we could get together. Just as soon as that busy schedule of hers settled down.

I took the CTA out to O’Hare, dragging my enormous suitcase onto the cramped train car that smelled like urine. Passport? Check. iPad? Check. Anxiety? Check and check. I was nervous about the trip, but more about the flight. I fucking hated flying. We’d have to hit the bar as soon as we were through security.

I stood just inside the sliding doors of Terminal Five by the United counter, one hand on my bag and the other worrying the hem of the pale yellow infinity scarf looped around my neck.

10:02 a.m., the clock over the departure schedule said. Where the hell was he? I shed my winter coat and proceeded to shove it inside the already stuffed suitcase.

“Payton.”

My hands froze at his deep voice. I swear, it was like it shot straight between my legs when he said my name. I slowly righted myself and gave him a once-over. Faded jeans and a striped T-shirt that was cut lean and hinted at all the wonderful things going on beneath it. Instead of going dry at the sight of him, my mouth grew damp. Like I was drooling.

What the fuck? Get a grip.

“Hi.” Yeah, my breathy voice wasn’t helping either.