The Real Baxter (The Baxter Chronicles 1) - Page 69

Holy fuck.

Had I really verbally vomited all over this man and cried like a child with my “woe is me” diatribe about family and church? That should have sent a sane person running, but Trent had bought me a shake and invited me home instead. He’d shared cookies and Kahlúa and listened and geez…

I hadn’t even had the decency to offer my ass. Or had I?

No, I’d definitely remember that. And I didn’t feel sore anyway, I felt…content and clean. Like the inside of my mind had been scrubbed, washing away all the cobwebs along with decades worth of denial. I supposed a few solid hours of sleep and a breakdown did that to you.

I had a vague memory of him giving me a blanket and a pillow to sleep on the sofa. But the sofa was short, the blanket was scratchy, and the pillow was flat. I’d felt like the Princess and the fuckin’ pea, and at two a.m., I’d stripped to my boxers and knocked on his door. He’d patted the empty side of the mattress and grunted something about staying on my side of the bed.

And here we were again.

I waited for a flush of embarrassment to come, but it didn’t. I didn’t feel awkward, but that didn’t mean Trent would feel the same.

I inched closer to him, propping my head on my hand as I watched him sleep. His hair curled at his ears and his strong brow relaxed, giving him an almost sweet look. Like a hibernating bear.

He was hairy enough to be one. His beard had grown in the night. I wanted to run my fingers over his morning scruff and touch that slight indentation on his lower lip. I put a single digit in front of his mouth, catching his breath like fireflies on my fingertips. Trent was so—

He grabbed my wrist and bit my thumb.

I yelped in shock, snatching my hand away, then shoving his shoulder. “Christ, you scared me, asshole.”

Trent’s deep chuckle reverberated through me. “You deserved it. You shouldn’t stare at helpless, sleeping citizens. It’s creepy.”

“You obviously weren’t sleeping, so…all’s fair.” I slipped my hand under the duvet and rested it on his rock-hard cock. “Wow. I’m in awe. My morning wood isn’t nearly as impressive.”

He cradled his head on his arms and watched me through hooded eyelids as I squeezed his erection through his briefs. “I’m not against this at all, but I’m wondering what you’re doing.”

“I’m giving you a junior high version of a hand job.”

Trent snorted. “I assume the high school version is under the elastic?”

“Mmhm.” I tightened my grip, smiling when he gasped and lifted his hips.

“We agreed not to do this. Why are you here?”

“Because I lost my mind and you took me in. Let me repay you for your kindness,” I hummed, lowering his boxer briefs over his balls.

He covered my wrist to stop me. “I don’t need a thank-you hand job.”

I didn’t let go. I rubbed my palm over his shaft and kissed his shoulder. “Okay. Is it better to just tell you I think you’re extremely hot and that I’m kind of desperate to ride your dick?”

Trent snapped his gaze my way. “Seb…”

I curled my fingers around the smooth skin and dragged my thumb along his slit. “Do you want me to stop?”

He groaned. “No, but…”

“Good. I’ll keep going.” I lengthened my stroke, coaxing a sigh of pleasure from him. And another.

He lifted his hips, jacking himself into my fist. I kicked the duvet aside to give myself more room to work, then bent to suck his nipples, circling the hardened nubs and shamelessly humping his thigh as I tugged his cock. He let me do my thing, accepting my enthusiastic ministrations in stride.

And for someone who wasn’t entirely sold on a morning hand job, he protested when I released his dick.

“Don’t stop now.”

I shifted my weight and rolled on top of him, sealing my mouth over his. I probably should have brushed my teeth before I attempted to tickle his tonsils, but I was too far gone. The more I touched him, the more I had to have.

So typical of me, really. I’d started out wanting to do something for someone else and had gotten sidetracked by how amazing it was for me.

And damn, it was amazing. He felt good. Trent’s thick cock nudged mine in the press of our sleep-warmed skin. He kneaded my ass cheeks, alternately nuzzling my neck and kissing me senseless. I rocked my hips suggestively and slowly slid up his chest, reaching behind to glide his cock between my crease.

“I want to ride you,” I purred, biting his jaw. “I want to suck you too.”

“Lube. Get the lube,” he panted, pointing at the nightstand.

I nodded, scrambling to obey. I found a healthy supply of condoms, two dildos, and a bottle of lube. I handed over a foil wrapper, the lube, and just for kicks…I pulled out the smaller black dildo. “You have a weak collection here.”

Tags: Lane Hayes The Baxter Chronicles Romance
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