Page 179 of Jaded

But he didn’t.

Granted, we were tired. The TV’s still on, but paused on the classic and iconic “are you still watching”screen. I reach over to the bedside table to turn it off, and the slight movement shifts the blankets. Nat’s breathing hitches, and the faintest moan escapes his parted lips.

He nestles in closer, turns his head towards me, so I catch the flutter of his dark lashes. So his words whisper against my throat. “Morning.”

My stomach flips over. Or it’s more like a whole cluster of hummingbirds has launched into the sky—a sort of fizzy fluttery feeling in my gut and emanating through all my limbs. “Morning.”

“I really wish there weren’t two kids in this house.” He nestles closer, and ah, there is our south-of-the-border phenomenon I was expecting last night.

I chuckle. He’s adorable, let’s be totally honest here. “Think you could be quiet if I put my mouth on you?”

“Hey, I am quiet—” He winces, and it quickly dissolves into a grin. “Okay, I'm not quiet. But I have a better idea.”

I freeze solid as ice.

“Let me go first.”

And before I can protest or ask him if he’s sure, he slips down, taking the covers with him. So I get an unobstructed front-row seat to his show.

His fingers drag down my underwear in a quick, efficient thrust, and without warning, his mouth closes around the tip of my cock.

“Holy fuck.” I gasp at the zing of pleasure that shoots through me. “Holyfuck.”

His tongue explores the head, trailing over the slit and along that sensitive ridge—then slides down the shaft. Slowly, he works his way back up, then down again, and I swear I can’t even tell if he’s good at it or it’s just the idea of Nat Taylor sucking my cock making this so goddamn enjoyable but . . .

Holy fuck.

It’s goddamn enjoyable.

My fingers weave into his hair, pressing him gently lower, lower, until his nose brushes my abdomen, until my cock’s fully engulfed by his wet, warm mouth.

I am not going to last long. Like, at all.

When his green eyes flick upwards to meet mine, so I’m looking at him, meeting him eye to eye while he sucks me, that’s it.

“I’m gonna come,” I groan, my hips flicking in little pulsing half pumps. “I’m gonna come . . .”

He takes me all the way down, and I’m done for. My groan gets caught in my throat as the orgasm tears through me, so my back arches up and my head tilts against the pillow, and my mouth opens in a silent scream of pleasure.

I spill into his mouth, down his throat, and he swallows me like a goddamn pro. Leaving me panting and boneless as he climbs up beside me. “How was that?”

“Jesus H,” I manage.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He bites back a smile, but as he curls against me, the brush of his hard cock against my thigh tells me this morning fun is only half over.

My turn.

I slide down and get to work. Doesn’t take long before he’s bucking against my mouth—his own lips parted in a silent moan—and not long after that before I’m swallowing down the proof that I’m very, very adept at pleasing him.

Honestly, it’s quite flattering.

“I’ll make you breakfast,” he says after we’re done coming down from our respective highs.

“As payment for my services?” I ask, lifting my eyebrows in what I hope is an expression of mock chagrin. “You think I’m only blowing you for the free breakfast?”

He grins, kisses me on the nose in a move that might possibly be the single most adorable thing a man has ever done. “I was sort of hoping you were blowing me because you liked blowing me?”

“You caught me.” I nestle against him, so soft and sated, and maybe that’s why the next words slip out. “I like it. I like you.”

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