Page 86 of The Overtime Kiss

ASK AND RECEIVE

Sabrina

Look, I’ve only fantasized about this happening ten million times. But in all my fantasies, I somehow pictured variations on the same scenario—how I thought Tyler would pin me down, like he did the other week.

A rough, hard kiss.

A scrape of stubble.

A squeeze of my ass.

But instead, he scoops me up into his arms and carries me back into my own apartment. I never pictured this, but it makes me feel giddy, makes me glow.

The symbolism of carrying me across the threshold is not lost on me.

I don’t want to read anything into it, even though it feels like a do-over of my failed wedding night—both the failed wedding and my failed proposition to him.

But when he kicks the door closed without even lookingat it? With just a decisive thump of his foot? That feels fresh and new. And fucking hot.

Tyler doesn’t take me to the bedroom. He strides all the way across the living room, then sinks down on the couch, settling me on his lap, adjusting my legs so I’m straddling his ambitious erection as I face him.

I’m shimmering, vibrating with the need to touch him, the need to be touched. But I’m also waiting for him to go next. To spread me out on the couch.

To devour my mouth.

To kiss me everywhere and take me apart.

To do anything. To do everything.

Once again though, he surprises me when he lifts his hand—slowly, like a tease—and cups my cheek, stroking softly. “Tell me what you want, Sabrina. And I’ll give it to you.”

Like it’s that simple—ask and receive.

It’s a wild thought, and a wildly arousing one too. I melt a little more as I sink deeper onto the hard ridge of his erection, growing more turned on as I feel his length against me.

But I can’t fully consider what I want, not when he dips his face to my jawline, kissing me there—an unhurried tease of his lips across my skin—as he whispers, “Whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

My head swims with too many ideas. “I don’t know where to start.”

He chuckles as his mouth meets mine once more, then leaves a trail of kisses across my jawline before he stops, holds my face in his big hands, and says, “Remember—you are the deal. And it’s a big deal.” It’s a callback to the Night of 1001 Confessions, when he told me my pleasure wasthedeal. The point of it all—of sex. This feels like a promise renewed that he’d make it happen. I nod urgently and he keeps going. “But I don’t want to assume you want the same things youasked for in June. I need you…to tell me how you picture me making you come when you’re alone at night.”

I gasp from the boldness of the statement. The sheer accurateness of it too. “How do you know I do that?”

“Educated guess,” he muses, then meets my gaze again. “Plus, you did tell me that night. Your exact words were—My solo time? I’ve enjoyed that. And I’ve spent a lot of it picturing all the things I want. So many things.”

Holy shit. He’s quoting me back to me. I shiver.

He drops a scorching kiss to my mouth, claiming my lips with a possessiveness that sends pleasure rocketing through my whole body, straight to my core.

But he wrenches back, asking again, “So, what’ll it be?”

That’s the million-dollar question.

What do I want from this man now thatthisis happening?

Images flash through my mind. Desires. Wishes. Positions. Role-play. Games. I’m not sure where to start, but since we’re being honest, I start with that.

“I don’t know. I just want it all,” I admit, feeling too ravenous to know where to start at the Tyler sex buffet.

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