Page 47 of Confessions of a Smutty Romance Author

I fumbled for far too long with my keys, and she came up behind me, resting her chin on my shoulder. “A little drunk, are you?”

I gave her a look. “Me? How many mojitos did you get from the pretty boy?”

Her lips spread into an evil grin. “Are youjealous?”

“Maybe,” I huffed, finally jerking the key into the lock. The truth was I wanted to punch him in the face every fucking time he looked at Mara. Not a thought I’deverhad before, several tequila shots deep or not. “What’s it to you?”

She stepped through the open door. “It’s cute, you being jealous.”

“Cute?” I growled, shutting the door. I didn’t want to be fucking cute. I wanted to be fucking her.

She dropped her purse on the floor and turned toward me. “What?”

My eyes slowly slid to her cleavage and back to her face. “You’re sexy. I’m cute. That’s what.”

I was sober enough to know I shouldn’t be admitting things like that to her or getting all fucking pouty, but drunk enough not to care. My dick hurt, and I liked her, and I just wanted the games to stop already so I could take her on a fucking date. Why was everything socomplicated?

“You’re hard,” she breathed, looking at my pants.

She licked her lips again, and I groaned. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

“What?” She was still looking at my dick.

“Stop licking your lips.”

She stepped closer.

She did it again.

“Fuck,” I groaned.

She stepped closer yet, lowering herself to her knees, and before I could even think to object, she had my zipper between her fingers, had my jeans open, giving her a better view of my cock straining against my gray boxers.

Her face this close made my cock twitch, and she smiled up at me before peeling back my underwear and freeing my shaft.

Her eyes went wide. “I knew you’d be big, but...”

I waited for her to say but what, but her lips were on the tip of my dick and my nerves were going crazy. I moaned hard, my attempt at begging for more. I wanted to feel the back of her throat, the swirl of her tongue, the tightness of her soft lips over my shaft.

But there was something else in my mind. A small fucking annoying voice that told me if we continued, I’d regret it.

She opened her lips farther, taking me deeper in her mouth, and I groaned, hitting the wall before stepping back and buttoning up my pants, angling my cock so the blue balls of the century wouldn’t eat me alive.

“What?” She looked upset. Confused.

“We can’t do this,” I said, despite the fact that my dick was protesting otherwise. “We’re drunk.”

“And?” Mara replied, standing up. “Didn’t you hear Birdie say that sloppy drunk sex is fun?”

“I don’t want to have fun,” I said, walking past her. “Not with you.” Before I reached the guest room, I said, “You take the main bedroom. I’ll see you in the morning.”

I locked myself in the guest room. Literally, I locked the door. Not because I didn’t trust her, but because I didn’t trust myself.

I’d been staring at her all night. Not just thinking about her body, but abouther. Mara was already so much more than I imagined her to be, and we’d barely started getting closer.

I’d admitted to Cohen I wanted to date her while she and Birdie were dancing, no matter how impossible it seemed that someone like her, so sexually free and fun and uninhibited, could be interested in someone like me.

He’d put his hand on my shoulder and said, “Mara’s been hurt. It’s going to take a lot to show her that it’s safe to give more than just her body to you.”

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