Page 60 of The Love Playbook

With her hands still on my face, I drop my mouth to hers. The kiss starts off gentle, almost chaste. But then she surges against me, her lips parting, her tongue seeking mine, and that’s all the encouragement I need to take what I want from her—which is everything.

Maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe I’m setting myself up for heartbreak. Maybe everything Eli warned me about with Autumn back in the beginning will come true.

But I can’t bring myself to care right now. Not when she’s offering herself to me. Not when she’s kissing me like she needs me as much as I need her.

And besides, isn’t everyone’s first … well, notlove, but first person they have serious feelings for—doesn’t everyone’s first relationship like that end badly in some way? Aren’t I just inducting myself into a normal part of the human experience? A part I’ve been avoiding for so long out of some misguided fear of impregnating a girl.

I still don’t want to do that. But clearly there are so many ways to enjoy ourselves without risking that at all.

I sink down into the cradle of her thighs, giving her more of my weight, grinding my growing hard on into her. She moans into my mouth, canting her hips up to meet me. Sweet baby Jesus, I want to be inside her.

After last time, after knowing what that feels like, I want to know what her pussy is like. It seems like the last thing left to explore.

But if we do that, if we cross that last thing off the list, will this all be over?

If so, I’m not ready to do that. Not at all.

Autumn’s hands slide away from my face, moving between us and down my torso until she’s hiking up my shirt, her fingers slipping under the hem and moving over my chest, my sides, my back, like she can’t get enough of the feel of my skin.

I can’t blame her. I feel the same way about hers.

Sitting up on my knees, I yank my shirt over my head and off. Autumn’s eyes gleam with appreciation as they track down my torso. Then she’s yanking at my shorts, making quick work of the button and zipper, shoving them down enough for her to reach inside. I gasp when she makes contact with my dick, my hips unconsciously thrusting into her grip.

Her thumb swipes over the head of my cock, and she shifts, pulling her legs under her. I know what she’s about to do, and as much as I love the feel of her mouth on my dick, I need her naked.

Now.

“Clothes. Off.” The command is little more than a grunt, and some distant part of myself is chastising me for being such a caveman. This is entirely unlike me.

But something flashes in Autumn’s eyes, and it’s not anger or irritation. No. It’slust.

She likes the caveman routine. Duly noted.

Her top comes off and goes flying while I hook my fingers in the waistband of her shorts and give a hard tug, lifting her up enough in the process to get them over her ass.

She lets out a yelp and a surprised laugh that turns into a sigh as soon as I pull her shorts and panties all the way off and skim my hands up the insides of her thighs.

With a happy sound of pleasure, she scoots back to lying down, and when I settle over her it’s with my fingers stroking her pussy and my mouth on her tits.

Her fingers thread through my hair and she hangs on as I tongue her nipples one by one, biting them gently just the way I know she likes. Then I kiss my way down her sternum and settle between her thighs, kissing all the skin around her pussy—the top of her mound just below the gentle swell of her belly, the join of her thighs, and her inner thighs on both sides.

She lifts her hips, trying to get more friction from my fingers or encourage my mouth where she wants it. And that’s my cue. Because even though she won’t complain about my tongue on her pussy too soon, I’ll be licking it for a lot longer if I don’t warm her up properly. And she likes the slow build. Even if she hadn’t told me as much, I would’ve figured it out by now, because she’s a lot more passive in the early stages, enjoying my touches, but not demanding. If I tease her for long enough by touching all around but never her clit, she gets demanding, both in actions and words.

“Please please please,” she begs.

I grin against her pussy. The begging is new. “Please?” I keep my voice pitched deliberately low and don’t lift my face at all. “Please what?”

Her eyes are little more than slits as she glares at me. But she answers in a breathless voice. “Please lick my pussy.”

I give her a lick from opening to clit with the flat of my tongue.

She jerks, letting out a moan when I don’t do anymore. “Jackson,” she whines, and I kinda like this begging, moaning, pleading side of her. I’m so used to teacher mode Autumn or demanding sex kitten Autumn. This is a fun change.

“That not enough?”

Another glare. “Please,” she begs, the word drawn out, nearly a wail. “Please suck on my clit. You’re killing me.”

Instead of doing what she asks, I decide to keep playing, giving her another broad lick, then pulling my face away so I can work my fingers inside her.

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