Page 79 of Sweet Thing

“Let’s talk about the future later, unless it’s important that I not promise you anything now?”

Said like that, it sounded weird.Can you guarantee that you won’t pursue me for a relationship after one smoking hot night? Sign here please.

“Maybe no more talking,” I murmured, my hands gripping the hem of his sweatshirt.

Ever helpful, he pulled it over his head and dropped it to the floor.

Wow. I’d seen him coming out of the shower—after cominginthe shower—so I should have been prepared. But that felt forbidden, a peek without permission. Tonight was different. I finally had leave to view this perfect man, all blocked abs and hard pecs with a light dusting of hair that made me itch to explore.

So I did. I ran my hands over his chest, mapping the topography of his body with a leisureliness I did not feel, committing to memory each bump and ridge, those copper penny nipples, that happy trail. If this was my one shot, I needed to make it my best one.

Placing my palm over his bulge, I squeezed through the denim and drew a grunt.

“Is this okay?”

“It’s all okay because it’s you.”

I undid the button of his jeans, pulled the zipper down, and blinked at the sight.

“Commando.”

“I was in a hurry to rescue the princess who didn’t need rescuing.”

I loved that he recognized his mistake, but I also adored that he’d shown up for me. Contradictory, I knew, but such was the lot of a modern woman. We wanted agency and wooing, often in the same moment.

Pulling his jeans down, I watched avidly as his cock sprang forward into my waiting hand, a magnet to my greedy grip. It felt like magic—hard, velvety magic.

“You’ll tell me how you like it.”

He nodded as I stroked, pulling on the skin, watching as the dark plum-colored head leaked at the tip.

“A touch harder, sweet thing. Don’t be afraid to get a little rough.”

His face was a mask of ecstasy, all because of what I was doing. Dull-as-dishwater Adeline Kershaw was turning this man on.

Maybe I could take it further. I pushed his jeans down. “Off.”

With an amused curl of his lips, he pushed off his shoes and jeans.

“Socks, too.”

He sat on the bed and removed his socks, a little slowly like it was part of the seduction. But then everything he did was. Before he had a chance to stand again, I fell to my knees with my hands on his thick, glorious thighs. Pushing them apart, I ran my palms up them and wrapped one around his cock.

“You don’t have to,” he gutted out, almost breathless.

“I know.”

And then I did. Because I didn’t have to. Because this was my choice, and I wanted to take charge in a way I hadn’t done before. Seduce the man of my dreams, exert some measure of control over a life that felt like a runaway train. Then I would decide what happened next.

Now wasn’t the time to think about the single blowjob on my resume, from my first year in college, drunk and delirious and desperate to get this rite of passage done. I’d watched enough porn to have some semblance of how it should go, but Lars was bigger than any guy I’d encountered. I found it easier to lick along the underside and use my hands to stroke and squeeze.

He pulled back and lifted my chin. “If you keep that up, I’m gonna blow.”

“Isn’t that the idea?”

“I want to come inside you.”

Oh. I wanted that, too. So much. I stood quickly and pulled at the tie for my dress.

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