I’m not a slut. I am a woman. And he is a really, really pretty man. I’m allowed to have wants, dammit!
“Garrett,” I say suddenly, fearful that if I don’t use my voice, I never will. “I… Well, I lied.”
His eyebrows draw together, and I lower my voice to a whisper.
“I don’t want you to go.”
In one swift motion, I’m up and off the floor, Garrett’s hands are at my ass, and his forehead is against mine.
Labored breathing turns into outright pants as I try to get ahold of myself.
“I’m not going anywhere, Lauren.”
Holy. Shit.
A thrill runs through me as he pulls me away from the wall and into the embrace of his arms and heads down my hallway with purpose. He’s never been here before, but I can only imagine he’s headed for my bedroom, so I make it as easy on him as I can manage given my proximity to passing out.
“It’s the last door. All the way at the end of the hall.”
I can feel his lips as they curl up against the silky skin of my throat into a smile. It’s intoxicating—being this close, breathing him in.
I’ve fantasized about him a time or two—or twenty—since Thanksgiving, and the fact that the real live thing is going to be in my bed is almost surreal.
I hold on tightly to his shoulders as he walks me to the bed and lays me down with a tenderness I never would have expected from a first night of sex.
Passion, roughness. For some reason, when I look at his big, muscular body, those are the things I expect.
But it’s not that. So far, Garrett hasn’t treated my body with anything but sheer reverence.
I sink into the bed, arching my back in anticipation as he pulls his shirt up over his head without undoing the buttons. One pops off and flies somewhere—I hear it bouncing off the floor—but he doesn’t pause to investigate.
His focus is solely, entirely me.
I scramble to sit up and take my dress off, but he pushes me back down on the mattress and does it for me, sliding the hem up above my hips with his hands.
I stutter a breath as he takes in my thong and all the skin it exposes and licks his lips.
Holy, holy shit, I think Garrett’s hotness might just be in a whole different league.
I sincerely hope I’m prepared to handle it because it’s never been clearer to me that every sexual encounter before has been with a mere boy—and Garrett Alexander is all man.
Slowly, achingly, he traces the sides of my panties with his finger, teasing the skin around my pussy with expert pressure. It’s just enough to feel, without being enough to satisfy.
It makes me crazy. Hungry. Aroused beyond cognition.
“God, Lauren. I can’t wait to lick your pussy.”
My eyes close, and my heart jumps through its next beat.
If I never have sex again, I will take those words to the spank-bank grave. The way he says them, the raspy inflection of his voice. He’s not just placating or assuming a role. He’s expressing his desires without restraint.
Sweet merciful Jesus, please keep me breathing.
I moan a little, arching my back again as he grabs at the fabric and pulls my panties down my legs, the silky material scraping at my skin all the way.
My nerves are on fire, singing with the slightest of touches, and the newly exposed flesh between my legs tingles in the cool air.
Garrett smiles, and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from coming. I swear. And all he’s done is look at me.
But holy hell, it’s one hot look.
Sinking to his knees in one smooth motion, he grabs at my hips and pulls me across my comforter to the edge of my bed. It’s lavender cotton with satin embossed flowers, and the difference of the two textures as I glide across them brings the reality of what we’re doing into startling awareness.
This is my bed. My perfectly made bed in my normally empty apartment, and I’m about to get worked over by the hottest guy I’ve ever met right on top of it.
Not even on the sheets, for God’s sake.
The comforter could stain. And I don’t give one fucking shit.
“Oh yeah,” he says to himself, face to my pussy. I’m wet, I can feel it, and he cleans up my excitement from all around my clit with his tongue.
Not bashful, not delayed. Just tongue to clit in all its glory.
God.
My toes curl as I spread my thighs as wide as I can get them. This is better than any fantasy I’ve ever had. Hell, this is better than any fantasy that’s ever been had by anyone.
Garrett’s mouth is between my legs and my hands are in his hair, and I can feel the scratch of his beard on the insides of my tender thighs.