At the landing, Warren tugs me into his bedroom and oh, my God. It’s really happening.
Like, sure, I know it happened once before but now we’re in repeat territory, which means…
“Was I better than tolerable?” I ask while attempting to tug Warren’s shirt over his head. It’s difficult due to our height difference so I mostly just manage to strangle him with it.
“What?” he asks, once he’s freed himself of the shirt. I’m momentarily distracted by his bare chest but I force myself to focus. Mostly on getting his belt undone, but I manage to ask my question again.
“At sex. Was I better than tolerable?”
“Better than tolerable…” He repeats the words back like he’s confused by them. “Who the hell ever referred to you as tolerable?”
“You did. When you asked me to fake-date you so your mom would stop setting you up with randoms.”
He blinks, clearly still slightly confused by this line of conversation. “Yeah, let’s not talk about my mom right now.”
“Fair enough,” I agree. Because I just got his pants off and I don’t want to talk about his mother right now either.
He looks good. So damn good that all I want to do is taste him. His lips, his abs. His… everywhere. Just thinking about sinking to my knees and taking him in my mouth makes me hot and achy and eager to put all my filthy thoughts into practice.
So I do.
Before I can overthink it or question what I’m doing. I’ve spent all week being a good, dutiful, chaste fake girlfriend while his daughter was here.
I don’t want to be good anymore.
I want to play out every bad, dirty thought I’ve ever had about him.
He kisses me, stroking his tongue across my bottom lip as he works my shirt over my head, his fingers dragging against my skin in the process nearly enough to set me aflame.
God, his touch is fucking intoxicating.
And far too distracting.
I push him back a step and sink to my knees in front of him.
“Okay, yeah, Jesus, yes,” he hisses in surprised response when I don’t waste a second in wrapping my lips around his cock.
It’s completely unfair how hot doing this to him is making me. I drag my tongue along the length of him and revel in pleasing him. In having his pleasure in my control, in watching his head tip back as his cock grows harder between my lips. In watching him swallow, his throat tensing, his chest hitching.
It pleases me, knowing I’m pleasing him.
Every grunt of satisfaction makes me wetter, every groan and swear that slips from his lips has me more desperate to have him inside of me.
But not just yet.
I want to push him over the edge first.
“Fuck, Audrey,” he grunts, wrapping his hands in my hair, guiding me to take him deeper. His eyes don’t leave mine and this connection is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced.
I blink at him from under my lashes, increasing the pressure of my mouth and wrapping a hand around the base of him to pump in rhythm with my lips and tongue. His head falls back with a ‘fuck, fuck, fuck’ and having this effect on him is satisfyingly erotic. He’s normally so reserved and controlled to the point of arrogance. But right now, he’s anything but. As his thighs shake and his eyes open and close and he gasps my name, well, the one feeling smug is me.
“I’m going to come,” he manages to grunt as some kind of polite warning, but I’m way past polite. So I double down, flattening my tongue along the underside of his cock and dragging it along the length of him, not letting up for a second.
Then I sit back, thoroughly satisfied with myself. Which lasts a brief moment because then it occurs to me that Warren is forty and I’m not sure what that means in terms of recovery time. I probably should have saved the blow job for a time when I wasn’t fixated on having his cock inside of me, pounding into me until the idea of walking sounds unpleasant.
“Why are you frowning?”
“I’m not,” I lie, a bit aghast at being caught.
“You are.” He pulls me to my feet and kisses me.
One kiss and I forget what I was frowning about because then he’s undoing my bra and unbuttoning my jeans. His hands slide over my ass as he helps me shimmy out of the denim and sweet Lord, he undoes me. I’m hot and wet and achy and I want him inside of me right this second. Orgasm denial is clearly not my kink.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says, pausing to nip at my lower lip. “Did you think about doing that all day, you filthy tease?”
“Please,” I manage to gasp because he’s playing with the waistband of my panties, sliding his fingertip just below the fabric in some kind of sadistic torture. “You’re the tease.”