Hot Stuff

“No. Out there, in the forest, while we were camped for the night, I dreamed I could taste you, smell you, hear you. I swear it was like you were right there with me.”

“That’s…kind of weird. I mean, isn’t it?” I pause to ask, grabbing his head by the scruff of his hair and lifting it up so I can look him in the eye.

“I don’t know,” he says with shocking honesty. “It might be. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”

I nod, and he moves slowly, sliding his chest up the front of my body until his elbows come to a rest in the mattress on either side of me. He pushes the loose strands of my hair out of my face and considers me closely before speaking again. I wait, hesitant to interrupt.

“There’s something here, Lauren. Between us. I don’t know what it is, and I can’t pretend to know that it’ll last. But I wasn’t kidding when I asked you out in the middle of lunch. I felt drawn to you the first time I met you in your office in September. Physically drawn to you, Lauren.”

I swallow thickly. Not because he’s freaking me out with things that don’t sound feasible, but because he’s freaking me out by vocalizing the things I’ve been internalizing.

“Your office isn’t even my regular office. I’ve had the same doctor since I was twenty years old, but I decided to switch it up after the divorce, and your office—the one you just came to—is the one Jake suggested.”

I breathe in a sharp gasp of air as he moves directly from spouting little-known facts to closing his lips tightly around my bare nipple and sucking.

“Garrett.”

He groans, and I forget all about words. We can talk later. Way later, after we’ve fully satisfied my need to do other things.

Evidently, Garrett agrees because he moves from that breast to the other, replacing his lips with his hand to calm the sting of the cold air.

Never in my life have I felt so much pleasure from just a mouth on my breasts. I writhe in the blankets, searching for solace in the heat of my growing arousal. It feels restless—uncontrollable.

Garrett’s tongue swirls around my nipple once more before trailing down the center of each swell, across my abdomen, and circling my belly button.

I know his intent—to once again put his mouth on my pussy and bring home one of the soundest orgasms the world has ever seen—but I’m more than ready for the connection I only get when he slides inside me.

“No,” I direct softly, grabbing his head by the hair and pulling him back up on top of me. He comes reluctantly, a pretty pout making his plump lips seem superhuman. “You can do that later, I promise,” I say cheekily. “But for right now, I want you inside me.”

His smile grows dramatically, and I breathe a sigh of relief. There’s no challenge in his eyes, no drive to deny me.

This is the time to satisfy, and Garrett is more than willing to answer the call.

“Your wish is my command, Dr. Lauren.”

“Stop with the doctor,” I say with a laugh.

“Stop? Did you say stop?” he asks, pulling his body away and robbing me of all his heat like a damn tease.

“That’s not what I said, and you know it.”

“Shh,” he says then. “I’m busy.”

I growl while he laughs, pouncing back on my body and rolling us so that he’s on his back. This is a new position for us, with me in control, and I can’t deny it makes me feel a little high off the power of it.

I grin slowly before diving straight to his toned and muscular chest to put my lips to his skin. I take my time, exploring all the areas that have, up until this point, been busy doing other things when we’re together.

He’s a work of art, that much is for sure, but it’s not the kind of art you’re not allowed to touch. It’s the kind to be used. Treasured.

He has the kind of muscles you can’t make in the gym.

“That’s it, baby,” he says supportively, a playful smile making his frost-colored blue eyes dance in the overhead light. “Take control. Show me who’s boss.”

“Shh,” I command, smiling against his skin right beside his hip bone and skating my hand up the inside of his thigh.

He shivers, and I take the base of his cock in the palm of my hand. It’s heavy and thick, and it makes me feel a little like a Grease-inspired porn star—hopelessly devoted to cock.

But seriously, it’s so perfectly shaped, so well-endowed without being scary; it makes me want to make it a sandwich and pour it a glass of milk and bake it some cookies and shit.

This is the kind of dick you take care of. You write sonnets about.