Page 47 of The Science of Attraction

As if he could read my mind, Jules gave one of those shy smiles that always did my head in, swiped the glistening thread onto his finger, and then locked eyes and lifted it to my lips. I sucked it clean, then swirled my tongue around and around to catch anything I’d missed. The second I popped off, he crushed his mouth to mine, his tongue delving hot and hard, his dick rutting against my own—and okay, that felt really fucking good. But before I could start humping him like a rampant teenager, he abruptly pushed away.

“Not yet. Jesus,” he gasped, grabbing his dick around the base and looking like the words cost him his soul and then some. “I’m not done with you yet.”

I groaned and fell onto my back, arms and legs starfishing, my frustration leaking all over the sheets. “Go on then,” I grudgingly surrendered. “But fair warning, my body is now a multiple hazard area and may explode at any moment.”

He flashed me a cheeky smile. “Noted.” Then he tucked my arms and legs close to my sides and rolled me onto my stomach so the whole investigation process could begin again.

Which, to be fair, wasn’t... terrible.

In fact, it was pretty fucking awesome.

Light touches, lighter kisses, gentle strokes, firmer kneading. A hand on my lower back. Fingers trailing over my arse, in my crease, ghosting my balls. And with every caress, I flew higher, until I was squirming and cursing into the pillow, fucking the mattress while trying not to look like I was fucking the mattress. That worked like... not at all, which I figured out when he chuckled, kissed my butt, and told me to cut it out.

Next thing on the torture list, he straddled my hips, his hard cock slapping on my spine as he leaned down and pressed kisses to my hair, my neck—humming his appreciation as he worked his way south, his fingers painting circles on my skin behind his clever mouth.

He kissed the small of my back, dipped just the tip of his tongue into my crease, nibbled my butt, and licked down to the crease of my knees as I groaned and swore and arched up into his touch, fists clenched at my sides, my cock on a hair trigger.

“How are you so good at this?” I grumbled, spreading my legs, hoping to redirect his attention to where I really needed it.

His rhythm faltered, and in my mind I saw him staring at my arse and considering his options, that tiny frown forming between his eyes, debating what, if anything, to do about my wanton display of need.

I didn’t have to wait long for the answer, because the next thing I knew, his hand was sliding between my thighs and under my balls to where my cock lay squashed into the mattress. I lifted my hips to give him room and he gave it a test squeeze, which almost sent me over on its own, lights out, done and dusted. I held on by the slimmest of margins, hoping he’d try again. He did. But this time I was ready and I fucked hard into his hand, groaning my relief. He jerked back in surprise, then refastened his hand and did it again with the same result.

I was desperate.

“Damn, that foreskin feels amazing.” He slid it up over the head of my cock and back down several times.

“Okay, that’s it.” I flipped onto my back and tugged him down for a hard kiss. “It has to be my turn. Too bad if it’s not. Can I touch you? Tell me I can fucking touch you, or I swear I’m gonna combust all over your sorry dick and then go to sleep and leave you hanging.”

He blinked. “Ah—okay?”

“Thank Christ.” I scrambled to my knees and pushed him flat, my flushed, eager dick bobbing somewhere around his shoulder. The image was kind of electrifying.

Jules obviously thought the same, staring at it, almost surprised, like he’d forgotten I had a cock at all, and for a second I wondered if this was where it all went pear-shaped. Where the reality of what we were doing finally sank home and became too much. Where he ran.

But it didn’t, and he didn’t. And before I could offer him an easy retreat, he levered himself up on one elbow and ran a finger up my solid length to snag the drops of moisture at the top. Then he locked eyes and brought his finger to his mouth, sucking it clean. Just. Like. That.

Holy mother of God.

But when he winced and pulled a face, I laughed out loud—a welcome distraction from the problem I was having trying not to lose my shit and blow all over his chest. “You get used to it,” I assured him, sounding a lot more together than I felt. “And then bingo, one day, you fucking love it.”

I was waiting for him to sink back down on the pillow, but instead, he shocked the hell out of me by leaning forward and running his tongue really fucking slowly over my slit.

Christ on a bicycle. All I could do was stare as he licked his lips and shot me the smuggest of smug smiles ever to have smugged.

And then, in case I missed it the first time, he did it again, running his tongue in a circle around the head just as he’d done with his finger, his eyes dancing merrily, the little trollop.

He leaned back, grinning shamelessly. “It’s growing on me. But I’ll definitely need more practice.”

I wiped my thumb along his slick lips and brought it to mine. “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

He smiled, but there remained a shyness to it that he couldn’t hide. Jules might be talking a big game, but he was still nervous as hell.

I stretched out beside him and took his hard cock in hand. He rolled to face me, anticipation in his eyes. “I want to watch you lose it.”

He gasped and thrust into my stroke.

“Just like that.” I firmed my hold and added a small twist at the top. “Tell me how you like it.”

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