One Wicked Lick from the Drummer (The One 3)

He settled at her side on his stomach. “You’re the best hangover cure I know.”

“Flatterer.”

“Can’t have you thinking I’m soft.”

She lifted her head to peak at him, squinting. “Well, right now.”

He bounced his hips on the bed. “I don’t need a hard cock to make you come.”

“I don’t think I can do that again. You worked me over very properly. I’m not sure how either of us are still awake.”

He leaned over her and they kissed, a feast of each other’s lips. “If I can make you come again will you stay the night? Spend Sunday with me?”

She would do that for one of his smiles. She would do it to be near him because he lit a little flame in her chest and that was why she glowed.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He said, okay and then kissed her neck, used his tongue and teeth to make the contact change temperature

from sugary to salacious and back again. She could not predict his mood, the beat he’d play, and he changed it up to keep her guessing. She was already panting when he got to her nipple and a combination of tongue flicks, slow licks and sucks made her dig her fingers into his thick hair to hold him to the task. He riffed; a flick, suck, tug on her piercing with a cool stream of breath laid on her throbbing nipple. It made her press her heels into the bed and arch to his touch.

When he pulled away, she whimpered in frustration only to be delighted when he vaulted across her body to work on her other side. This time he added his fingers to the mix, gentle strokes of even pressure where he was taunting with his mouth.

“I can’t. I really can’t.”

“Bullshit,” he mumbled against her skin and then stopped cold, lifting his face to look at her.

“Nooooooooo.”

He gave her a mock confused expression for all of two heartbeats before his grin killed the pretense. “You want this?” He ducked his head and licked her like an ice cream.

“Yes.”

“You want this?” He circled her clit and made her hips jerk, but just the once and she needed more.

“Yes, you absolute knob. Yes.”

“You’ll stay?”

She stopped trying to get herself off on his still hand because she heard the insecurity of that request. It was real and raw and reminded her that the weekend would end and she needed a plan to deal with the fact that she could not leave him.

With her palm to his face, she nodded. “I’ll stay.”

“Yeah?” Still doubting.

“I want to see if we can stick with our clothes on too.”

He took his hand away and she howled in disbelief.

“You said clothes on, so I thought . . .” he shrugged as if he’d been for a single second confused, instead of the world’s most enormous clit tease.

She whacked his arm. Mosquito to a brown bear. “Yes, later. Not right now, you freaking great hulk.”

He laughed. He was a demon and she was in terrible danger of falling in love with his brand of fun, if she’d ever truly fallen out of it.

He delivered what he’d promised and made her insides hum and spark and her brain free-write a future where they could keep doing this, worshipping each other’s bodies, where neither of them would feel constrained and she never needed to hurt him with the truth.

When she could open her eyes again, feel the weight of the day again, he was resting up on one elbow watching her, on hand splayed on her hip.