Getaway Girl (Girl 1)
Sparks plume in her gaze. “How can I date, when you take up all my free time?”
“That’s not an answer.” I thrust into the notch of her thighs, the desk creaking underneath her. “Have you worn the black high heels?”
Until the question scrapes out of me, I don’t realize it has been on my mind. That every time I pass her shoe shelf, I check to make sure those heels aren’t in use. What would I do if they were? Is it any of my business? For a moment, she simply stares, letting my words hang in the air. “No, I haven’t worn the heels. No men, either.” She leans up and in, so close I can feel her breath on my mouth as she whispers. “Although, there’s always a possibility that I’m lying. Why don’t you taste my mouth and see if you can tell?”
My growl ends abruptly when our lips meet.
Oh. Jesus.
Her mouth has been close so many times and this? This was waiting for me? How have I managed not to fucking maul her? Our lips haven’t even parted yet and I’m in trouble. She whimpers a little and a devastating current passes through me, my tongue tracing her lower lip, rubbing more fully, our noses, chins, cheeks touching.
And the second she opens up for my tongue, I have no choice but to fuck her tonight. My best friend, my roommate, my conscience. The lines around our relationship blur immediately and fade into nothing. God. She’s nothing I’ve ever experienced.
There’s no resistance or pretense. She’s my sexy little offering with open thighs and an eager body—and she wants me to know it. Wants me to take. Her head falls all the way back, a gasp leaving her throat when my hands close over her tits. Hard nipples press into the center of my palms, plump flesh fitting and begging to be molded. I want to suck them, but I can’t get enough of her smooth bourbon and cool mint flavor. Her mouth corresponds to mine, meeting my movements as if maybe we’ve done this before but have been deprived of it for a very long time. Too goddamn long. Every time our tongues stroke together, she shifts around on the desk, like she’s hurting as much as I am.
And Jesus, am I hurting. I’ve never needed this badly. There’s a voice in the back of my head telling me I will regret jeopardizing what I have with Addison, but for the first time in my life, I can’t set aside the hunger of my body. It’s always been healthy, but it has never reared up before and stolen my common sense. In the past, sex has been a necessary exchange. Polite, even. There’s nothing polite about the way Addison pushes her tits into my hands, her hips rolling under the friction of mine. So the hell with it. If I’m giving in, I’m giving in hard. Is there even a choice?
Dropping my hands from her breasts, I shove Addison’s thighs wider and break our kiss, ready to unzip and ride out this lust. But when I see her dazed expression and puffy lips, affection catches me like a fastball to the chest. “Lord, you’re beautiful.” I run my thumb across her shiny mouth. “Aren’t you, sugar?”
Her gaze lifts to mine. “I wasn’t lying about the shoes,” she murmurs. “Or the men.”
“I know you weren’t.” I reach under her dress, snagging the side waistband of her panties and peeling them down her legs. “You tasted nothing but sweet.”
That seems to shake her out of her fog, although I’m not sure why. All I know is she sits forward and begins to unfasten my belt, her lower lip caught between her teeth. My zipper comes down a moment later, followed by Addison pushing my pants and briefs down, down, until they stop, bunched at my knees. Our mouths meet as she removes my jacket, my own hands fighting to lift her skirt at the same time. But everything—my blood flow, my coherent thoughts, time itself—stops when she begins to stroke me off.
“You’re so big,” she rasps against my mouth, a shuddering passing through her body. “And I’m not sweet, Elijah. You don’t have to be sweet with me, either.”
So many things demand my attention. The sight of Addison’s hand traveling up and down my cock, the bare flesh I’ve revealed by lifting her skirt, the sound of us struggling to breathe. My hands beg to touch and I don’t deny them, my fingers parting the folds of her wet pussy, a finger sliding into the heat. “Don’t you dare tell me this isn’t sweet,” I groan, twisting my finger to get it deeper into the tight space. “Same way you forget to be mean to me sometimes, this wet little pussy can’t hide its sweetness, either, can it? Yeah, it’s letting me know exactly how nice it’s going to be to me.”