Page 83 of Delay of Game

Jordan trails more kisses along my thigh, his short beard giving me the sweetest friction. I’m sensitive and soreeverywherebut I want more. I need more.

I didn’t expect to sit on his face after he helped me get rid of that creepy photographer, just as I didn’t expect him to take my racy photos and wrap his hand around my throat. I wonder what else he’s willing to do. How far he’s willing to take this.

Maybe I’m a filthy fucking liar, because even though I told myself I wouldn’t want anything casual or fleeting with Jordan again, the truth is, in this moment, I’d take anything.

Feeling bolder after the mind-blowing orgasm, I thread my fingers through his curls and pull, dragging his mouth away from the spot on my thigh he’s found so fascinating. For a brief moment, our eyes connect and I’m taken aback by the pure unadulterated desire I see there.

His lips part but before he can say anything and break this moment, I guide his mouth back to my clit. Jordan closes his eyes and moans, his tongue roughly brushing my most sensitive spot. I hold his head in place with both hands and move against his tongue.

When his eyes open again, I watch him admiring me, writhing and moaning on top of him, drowning in the pleasure ofhaving him devour me whole. I roll my hips, feeling like I might actually come again.

Jordan lifts me off and flips me onto my back, and I land on the mattress with a thud. Kneeling by the side of the bed, he grabs my ankles and roughly pulls me to the edge of it. I yelp and grin at the look on his face.

He looks like he wants me. He looks on the verge of losing his goddamn mind.

Do it, I silently beg him with nothing but a look.

There’s no one else for me but you. Go ahead andruin me.

Jordan’s eyes flare in understanding and he positions my legs over his shoulders, then slips both hands under my ass, pulling me into his face.

The moment his mouth is on me again, my eyes roll to the back of my head and my muscles contract and shift. My ankles hook at his back and Jordan takes it for the encouragement it is. His tongue laps at me as he grunts and presses himself into the bed, searching for friction.

“Fuck, J. Your mouth feels so good,” I say, fisting the sheets at my side and arching my back as much as the position allows.

Jordan moves his mouth down by just a little, his tongue dipping inside of me. He hums contentedly and draws lazy circles inside me, and I feel like I might burst.

“Good boy,” I say, clenching harder around him. “I want you drenched in my cum.”

Jordan pushes himself further into the side of the bed with a grunt, his tongue returning to my clit, nipping and flicking while he pumps a single finger inside me. That’s all it takes for me to fall apart, crying out his name over and over again.

My head is facing the full-length mirror across the room, and I watch us unabashedly for a moment. He stays like that, face buried in my cunt, his beard scraping against me, ragged breaths warming me up. The hands at my waist squeeze once, twice,before his thumbs dig into my flesh. The pressure grounds me, makes me feel like this is real. That I didn’t just imagine it.

I hope he leaves bruises behind. I want to feel him for days.

I run my fingers through his hair and after what feels like an eternity, his grip on me loosens, fingertips trailing down my thighs as he pulls away, looking at me with so much intensity. I should look away, I should put an end to this, but instead, I reach for the collar of his shirt and say, “Your turn, hotshot.”

Jordan swallows but doesn’t say anything, and my stomach drops. Was this too much? Did I read things wrong?

“I—” he says, running a hand down his face, closing his eyes tightly. When he opens them again, the look he gives me is resigned. Remorseful, even.

Fuck.

“I can’t,” he chokes out.

I blink, taken aback by the sudden change. Did I do something wrong?

“Why?” I whisper, but I can tell he’s not going to respond.

Jordan looks away from me, his gaze snagging on my ripped underwear on the floor.

“I’m sorry,” he says, standing up and wincing. He presses his hand flat against his hip bone and steps away from the bed.Away from me.

I grab the discarded robe and throw it back on, fastening it as I follow him. As he reaches the front door, I breathlessly ask, “Are you okay? Is it your hip?”

“It’s nothing,” he says, avoiding my eyes. “I just—need to go.” With another wince, he leaves the apartment, leaving me more confused and bruised than ever.

CHAPTER 30

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