Hard Pass (Trophy Boyfriends 1)

Noah pulls his head back, fingers easing their way beneath the panties. Hooking either side of the waistband, hauling them down. Down. Towing them all the way off and discarding them at my feet, his mouth glistening.

“You taste so fucking good” are the last words he says before diving back in, lips and tongue and teeth clashing over my clit, licking and sucking until I’m moaning out loud—loud enough, it seems, to wake the dead.

Loud enough that I would be embarrassed if I cared enough to be embarrassed.

I don’t.

The noise doesn’t faze him, only seems to spur him on, arms hooking under my knees, pulling me deeper into his mouth. Spreads my legs wider. Kisses harder.

Everything quivers. Shakes. Vibrates.

I squirm.

He holds me down.

I gnash my teeth.

Noah braces my hips.

He is not letting me weasel my way out. He is going to refuse to—“Fuck me. Oh my god, I want to feel you inside of me so bad.”

He ignores me, sucking harder.

I tip my head back, hair landing on the carpet beneath me, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut.

“Come for me, baby,” he urges, still lapping me up like it’s his day job and he’s gunning for a bonus.

“I want to come so bad,” I moan like a porn star, beginning a slow roll of my hips, mimicking the motion I’d make if he were actually inside, screwing me. Grip his head, yanking on his hair as gently as I can—which isn’t all that gentle given how lost in the moment I am.

How lost we are.

He’s enjoying it too—I can tell by the noises he’s making in his throat. How he’s looking at my pussy when he runs his fingers over my clit. How he watches me as his fingers go inside.

Jesus he’s good at this.

I wonder how many women he’s had to sleep with to achieve this skill level…

Stop it, Miranda. He isn’t that kind of guy.

Noah is sweet and shy and sexy—hardly the womanizing playboy his friend Buzz is. Or maybe he doesn’t have to work at it at all; maybe the women flock to him without him even trying. Oh my god, there must be groupies everywhere.

I tense up.

Noah notices. “What’s wrong?”

I push his head back down like a strumpet. “Nothing. Keep going.”

He does. He does and he doesn’t stop until the pulses in my stomach are the pulses in my vagina, reverberating in my thighs, and my body is racked with exploding nerve endings.

Yes, yes, hell yes!

I want to die.

And laugh.

And cry.

Cry? Let me rephrase: weep tears of joy from the climax I just experienced, a true gift from the Almighty.

Dramatic much?

But seriously, I could kiss his mouth right now out of gratitude; this orgasm feels amazing. Incredible. I shall forever be indebted to the first orgasm of the year I didn’t give to myself.

Mostly naked, on the floor, it dawns on me for the first time that Noah is completely dressed…and probably stiff as a board, hard as a rock—whatever analogy you want to use for massively erect. Guilt washes over me as my gaze scans over the front of his dress pants when he repositions his body next to mine.

Yup.

He’s totally hard.

I reach between our bodies, flattened palm working its way down to his belt, none too expertly fumbling with the gold-plated clasp. Pull it through the loops as he sucks in a breath, our mouths fusing while I diligently free the smooth leather.

He tastes like me and I like it.

My fingers find the button on his slacks. More fumbling. The zipper comes down with a satisfying whir, the bulge of his hard on covered by the dark fabric of gray underwear, and it has my clit pulsing all over again, my mouth watering, excited.

Jesus. I’ve never been this desperate to see a dick before. Normally they’re not my thing—I mean, who thinks dicks are cute? Literally no one except the owner of any given penis and most men haven’t gotten the memo that no one wants to see that shit, especially unsolicited.

Noah’s dick, though? I want to see it.

It’s thick, and warm, and when I touch it, it moves.

My eyes dart to his face: eyes closed, mouth slightly open, arms braced behind his head. He peels said eyes open to look at me and our gazes meet at the same time I run the tip of my finger along the waistband of his boxer briefs.

Hard stomach.

Hard thighs.

Hard cock.

I stretch back the cotton just enough to play peekaboo with the tip. The head. The best part of the entire thing.

Noah hisses through his teeth, a powerful aphrodisiac that goes to my head; I am drunk with the idea of making his knees weak.

But I do not plan to suck it.

I do not plan to blow him.

What am I going to do?

I’m kicking this old school with a good old-fashioned hand job, the way we did it in high school before we were brave enough to put one in our mouths and suck it.