Spite Club (Mason Brothers 1)

“I told her you like it when I swallow,” Evie said.

There was dead silence in the room. We just stared at each other across my kitchen counter, and I wondered which of us would leap over it first. Probably me.

“Evie, I swear to fucking God,” I said, giving her a warning.

She licked her lips nervously as I came around the counter, stalking her. The move didn’t make her any less sexy. “We should probably change the subject,” she said.

“Yeah?” I came closer, put my hands on her waist, moved them down to cup her ass. “You want to talk about how I just fucked you raw, and I plan to do it again?”

Her jaw went slack at that, she

was so turned on. She unzipped my sweatshirt and ran her hand down my bare chest. “We should talk first,” she said vaguely as she touched my pecs, my stomach.

I leaned in and kissed her neck. She smelled clean, overlaid with woman-sweat and sex. I slid my mouth over her skin, taking it in. “What do you want to talk about?” I asked.

“I don’t know. Anything.” Her hands skimmed up to my shoulders, pushing the sweatshirt off and belying her words. I dropped the shirt to the floor. “We should get to know each other.”

“Sure,” I said. I moved one hand to her front, pressing it between her legs and cupping her. She was bare, no panties, and I could feel her heat. “I already know a lot about you, though, Evie. A fuck of a lot.”

“That—that isn’t the same thing,” she said, breathing shallow. “We should talk about other things, not just sex, and—oh, fuck.” My finger pressed between the lips of her pussy, rubbing where she was wet for me. Her eyes half closed as she fought for control. “Nick, that isn’t fair. My underwear was ruined in the shower.”

“It wouldn’t have made a difference.” I circled her entrance, sliding my fingertip in, feeling her tighten around me. “I’d still do what I’m doing right now.”

“Oh.” She tilted her head back, and I watched her neck, the fall of her hair, in complete fascination. Jesus, this fucking woman. “Wait,” she said weakly after a minute, putting a hand on my wrist.

I stopped moving. “Yeah?” I said. I was thinking about whether to make her come here or in the bedroom, with my cock inside her. I was leaning toward option two. My cock was hard as a hammer in my jeans, ready to start the dirty work.

Evie seemed to forcibly get herself together. “We should talk,” she said. “I mean it.” She pushed on my wrist, and I took my hand away. She closed her legs, looking regretful. “We should eat our cereal and get to know each other.”

Somewhere deep in my lust-addled brain, a warning bell went off. I didn’t talk to the women I had sex with. I didn’t get to know them. That wasn’t me. But I looked at Evie’s face, flushed and nervous, and it didn’t cross my mind to tell her no. If I told her no, she’d get dressed and leave, and there was no way I was letting that fucking happen.

So I picked up my bowl of cereal and walked over to the sofa.

“You’re agreeing?” she called after me, like she couldn’t quite believe it.

“Sure,” I said. I put my bowl down on a side table and kicked my shoes off, unzipping my jeans.

“What are you doing?” She’d come closer now, carrying her own bowl. She sounded alarmed.

“Getting comfortable,” I replied. “It’s two o’clock in the morning.” I looked at her as I hooked my thumbs in the waist of the jeans and pushed them down. “You just saw it all, redhead. There’s nothing new. Relax.”

I kicked my pants off, and her gaze slid down over me, her cheeks getting redder. “You, uh,” she said. She nodded toward my crotch, speechless. “Um.”

I looked down. I still had a boner in my boxer briefs, hard as a rock. Pretty impressive, though of course I’m biased. “Yeah, well, you were just talking about sucking me off and swallowing,” I said reasonably. “Don’t worry, it stays where it is. What did you want to talk about?”

“Nick,” she said, exasperated and obviously turned on, “we can’t talk properly with that.”

“It’ll go down in a minute.” Painfully, but that was how it went sometimes. I sat on the sofa and put a throw pillow over it. I picked up my bowl again. “Better?”

She looked like she wanted to protest, like there was a catch, but finally she gave in, moving to the other end of the sofa with her own bowl. She grabbed the blanket from the sofa’s back and put it over her lap so I wouldn’t see her bare pussy beneath the hem of my shirt. That was us, two classy people with our crotches covered. They should send us an invite to Buckingham Palace.

We ate for a minute—I had worked up a nice post-sex appetite—and finally she said, “I have questions.”

The alarm bell went off in my head again, but I ignored it. “Go ahead.”

She looked around my penthouse. “You own this place?”

“Yes. Trust fund. I didn’t earn it.”