The Bet (Winslow Brothers 1)

Without delay, I grip him hard at the base and lick a line around the crown at the top. Using the moisture from my tongue, I rub circles into the head, and he moans against my clit.

Oh yes.

Starting at the tip, I curl my tongue around his shaft and widen my jaw, accepting his large girth inch by inch until he touches the back of my throat. There are still a couple inches left of his exposed cock, so I work them with my hand, letting the moisture from my mouth drip down to lubricate it.

His hips dance wildly, startling me briefly with a thrust upward that gets him another inch deeper.

Surprisingly, I’m not uncomfortable, and with the way his mouth is sucking me and the feel of his heavy cock in my mouth, I’m on the very brink of coming.

By all accounts, I should have already. Sometimes, though, when I prolong a climax this long—and holy moly, I’ve been staving it off for hours—it takes a little extra work to break it free.

Up and down, I skate the very edge of my teeth along his delicate skin, sheathe them again, and then pop my mouth off at the top to allow myself a deep breath.

My hair skims the tops of his thighs, and the beauty of my hands and hair and his cock together is something completely unexpected. A jolt of immense enjoyment at the sight makes the center of my chest burn.

So much so, I zone out a little until he flips me handily to my stomach, kneels behind me, rustles briefly with what I imagine is a condom, and drives his dick so deep I cry out loudly enough to wake the neighborhood stray cats.

“Oh my God,” I rasp, making Jude grab the hair at the back of my head and pull gently.

“It’s Jude, baby. And I’m going to fuck your little pussy so many times tonight, even it will know my name.”

Fuck. Me.

The bed dips beside me, and it’s apparently just enough to break me from my almost-slumber, and my eyes flutter open. Jude stands beside the bed, hunting and pecking through our tangled mess of clothes on the floor and pulling out his apparel one item at a time.

His boxer briefs are already back in place, and his deliciously ruffled hair hangs down in front of his eyes.

The searing pain of rejection hits me square in the chest, and I have to clench my eyes tight to stop the sting of tears in my nose from developing further.

I can’t believe he’s sneaking out again. Everything inside me vibrates with betrayal and a heady feeling of triviality, and the only two options left are to tuck my tail between my legs and suffer silently, or to give him the shit he deserves.

“You’re leaving again?” I ask harshly, my brain having clearly chosen the latter.

He jerks his gaze up, startled that I’m awake, I think, but it’s only a moment before his trademark easy smile slides into place. “Yeah, babe. I have to get home.”

I shake my head at myself, backtracking my sliding scale in the direction of flight rather than fight, but as he continues to get dressed, a fire burns inside me that I just can’t seem to extinguish. If I don’t speak up now, I never will. The chances of running into him again in a city this large are statistically nil, and while last night I would have characterized that as a bad thing, now, I should let it work in my favor. The worst that could happen is that he leaves—which is obviously already happening. Fuck being meek. This is my life and my bed and my intimacy, and I shouldn’t be afraid to ask.

“What is this?” I implore, shoving up in the bed with a hand until I’m sitting. I take the sheet with me, covering my exposed breasts.

Jude brushes his hair out of his eyes and smiles. “What’s what?”

I don’t appreciate the seemingly intentional inanity. I want answers, dammit. Not only that, I deserve them. It’s one thing to have a one-night stand that leads nowhere, but there’s got to be some kind of rule after the second night that at least entitles you to a succinct conversation. Hell, I don’t know. Maybe he’s comfortable with no boundaries at all, but I need the border of what zone we’re in to be at least faintly defined.

“What’s happening here? With us. This,” I finally emphasize, dropping the sheet to wave both hands wildly between us.

Jude shrugs, a shameless smile lighting his undeniably gorgeous face, and flicks his gaze from my eyes to my bare breasts and back. “It’s fun.”

Fun, he says. It’s fun. That’s great and all, but what in the hell is that supposed to mean?

My mind races neurotically, and he slides his feet into his shoes.