The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue 2)

“No.”

I swallow. I don’t need to hear any more. It could cut the night short if he says too much, if he asks for more than a hook-up, and now I want tonight to happen. And I don’t want it to be short. “Fine,” I say. “You win this round.”

“I’ll make sure we’re both winners by the end of the night.” He winks. “So, are you taking me to your office to put me to work, or are you taking me home?”

“I’m taking you home,” I say, “to put you to work.”

NINETEEN

When Andrew and I arrive at my apartment, I drop my keys on the side table and start to take off my blazer.

“Don’t,” Andrew says behind me. I freeze. “Let me.” He takes the lapels and peels the jacket over my shoulders so slowly and deliberately, it makes me think of making love and how different it might be with him. Different from fucking. Different from Reggie. “I like this outfit.”

I look over my shoulder. “So do I. Careful with that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, tossing it on the ground. He presses his front to my back and undoes the button between my breasts without looking. “It’s just clothing.”

“No it’s not. It’s Theory,” I say, but my argument dissolves as he works his way down my blouse.

He rids me of that too and drops it on top of the blazer. “If it makes you feel better,” he says, “you can rip my shirt off.”

“Your ten-dollar Hanes t-shirt?” I ask, smiling a little.

“It’s ten dollars for a pack of three.”

I laugh, but my humor is replaced with urgency as he gathers up my skirt. “I especially like this,” he murmurs in my ear as he pulls it up my hips and cups a hand between my legs. “Easy access.”

He rubs me, and I drop my head back against his shoulder. “You don’t waste any time, do you?” I ask, already breathless.

“I’ve been waiting to touch you since you sent that photo,” he says. “Next time, lose the bubbles.”

“But what fun is that?” I pant as a throbbing ache forms under his fingers.

“You’re right.” He takes his hand away. “It’s more fun to tease.”

“All right, all right,” I concede. “Next time, no bubbles, swear.”

“Good girl.” He resumes touching me, leisurely but with purpose. With his other hand, he pops open the hook of my bra. “You’re way too easy to undo.”

“It’s you, not me. You’re good at undoing.”

He takes my breast in his hand, massaging it at the same pace as my clit. “You’ve been thinking of me too,” he says. “I can tell by the way your body’s responding.”

“Maybe,” I admit.

He stops touching me completely. “Maybe?”

“Yes. Yes, okay? I’ve been thinking of you.”

He hugs me from behind and walks us farther into the apartment. “How about we try to make it to the bed this time?”

“Or the bath.”

He nips my earlobe with his teeth. “I’m going to make up for leaving you at that hotel, believe me. I hope you’re ready to take a week of pent-up sexual frustration.”

Even if he hadn’t told me so, I’d have known by the hardness suddenly pressing into my lower back. He’s eager. I’m melting. The more under his spell I get, the more I want to give him control, let him have his way with me.

“What do you want tonight, Amelia?” he asks.

“I have some ideas.” I extract myself from his grip, turn, and walk backward into my bedroom. He follows, licking his lips. I close my bedroom curtains and pull him to me by the waistband of his jeans. I open the button, unzip his pants, and push them down around his ankles along with his underwear.

He takes himself in his hand, his hard, impressive length leaving no doubt that he’s been thinking of this all day.

“You’re easy to undo,” I say.

“You’re good at undoing me.”

I cover his hand with mine. Together, we stroke him a few times before he pulls away and it’s just my fist around him—warm, solid. “I’m good at a lot of things.”

“Like what?” he asks, pulling his shirt over his head, dropping it at our feet.

“My job,” I say. “And giving orders. And yoga.”

“Yoga,” he repeats. “I might need a demonstration.”

“First things first.” I drop to my knees.

He puts a finger under my chin, raising my eyes. “Look at me when you taste me for the first time.”

I test him with my tongue, gliding it under the ridge of his head, watching his strained expression. “Mmm.”

“Kiss it.”

I do as he says, brushing my lips along his shaft and over the soft, round head until his next command.

“Ruin your lipstick,” he says. “I want my dick red with it.”

My insides tighten with his unexpected, roughly-spoken demand. I take him in my mouth, but it’s not enough. I pull back and smear my lipstick all over his shaft, down to his balls.

“Good,” he says through gritted teeth before raking a firm hand through my hair. “Now clean it all off.”

I salivate, suddenly quivering with this firm, insistent side of him. I obey, flattening my tongue and pulling him deep. I bob my head a few times, then release him with a wet pop. I suck the marks off until they’re completely gone, which is no small feat considering I wear the kind of lipstick meant to last all day. He lifts his cock to his stomach, pumping it in his fist a few times and thrusting his balls against my lips. Hungry for him, I suckle them until his knees practically give out and he has to sit on the bed.

“Touch yourself,” he says. I go to put my free hand between my legs, but he says, “Both hands.”

I wet two of my fingers with my saliva and push them inside myself. With my other hand, I massage my clit.

“Suck,” he says, grit in his voice.

I open instinctively. He guides himself back into my mouth. With my hands occupied, I’m forced to get him off just by bobbing back and forth. I do this with as much gusto as possible, working myself at the same time, until he pulls on my elbow. I raise my arm and suddenly, my fingers are in his hot mouth.

He groans, tonguing my juices off. “Your mouth, your pussy—how do you always taste so fucking good?”

The sensation of sucking and getting sucked makes my thighs shake. I just want to come, and he must be able to sense it, because he pulls my head back by my hair and says, “Your turn.”

Gasping for air, I only have a second to gape up at him before he squats, takes me by my waist, and lifts me up like I weigh nothing. I involuntarily yelp as he throws me over his shoulder. “Andrew—”

He slaps my ass, stunning me into silence, then yanks my thong down and my skirt up. As I dangle over his back, he holds my legs in place with one arm and thrusts his fingers inside me.

“Oh, God,” I moan as he fucks me hard.

He bites my ass cheek, and I squeal. I have nothing to hang on to, so I wrap my arms around him, wanting to return the favor, but he’s too tall and I can’t reach.

Maybe it’s the angle or the shock or the blood rushing to my head, but in no time at all, I’m coming. Upside down. In his complete and utter control.

“Fuck,” he says. “You are ripe for the picking tonight.” He walks us around the bed to the nightstand. “No more foreplay. I’ll fuck you now, and we can resume later.” His fingers disappear from between my legs as I

hear the drawer open.

Since we walked through the door, he’s had me at his mercy. And to my surprise, I love it. It’s getting me off. I didn’t think I’d ever like to be dominated so completely, and it makes me wonder about the other barriers Andrew might be able to break down. “Andrew?” I ask.

“Hmm?” he asks, rifling through the nightstand.

“You asked what I want tonight.” I have to get the words out quickly, before I lose my nerve. My heart pounds in every part of my body, and not just because I’m upside down.

“Yeah? You finally going to let me tie you up?”

A mix of fear and excitement thrill up my spine. “No,” I say. “Better.”

“What then?”

“Look in the back of the drawer.”

After more rustling, he pauses. “Fuck. Seriously?”

He lowers me onto the mattress. He’s almost intimidating in his height and broadness, with his cock hard and reaching. He looks down at me on my back, holding the bottle of lube from my nightstand and a small, silver plug shaped like the smooth bud of a rose.

“Where’d you get this?” he asks.

“Reggie brought it home after a night out drinking.”

“All right then,” he says, sounding disappointed. “My fault for asking.”

“We never used it,” I say. “I mean, obviously he tried, more than once. I wouldn’t.”

He lets his gaze travel down my body. “But you’d let me?”

I admire him too, the tattoos I’m coming to know better, the fine dark hair on his thighs and calves. His strength is evident. He could hurt me, but he won’t. I’m willing to have him in this intimate place. Maybe it’s a fuck-you to my ex, but I want Andrew to have something nobody else ever has. And above all, most importantly, I’ve been curious about anal since Andrew fingered me in the hotel room—and I enjoyed it.

Our eyes meet at the same time. “I would love to,” he says. “But not if you have to think that hard about it.”

If I had any doubts, his concern is enough to cut through them. “I want to. I didn’t, with him, but you—you’re different.”