Page 106 of Gap Control

“Mm-hmm.” I slipped between him and the counter. Close enough that his breath hitched. “You showed my work without asking.”

“I wanted her to see it. I knew she’d see what I saw.”

“You didn’t give me a choice.”

TJ looked at the floor. “No, I didn’t.”

I leaned in close and whispered, “You gonna be good for me now?”

He raised his head, a sparkle starting to appear in his eyes. “Define good.”

I spun him gently, pressing his hips into the countertop. My hand landed on his ass with a softsmack.

“That’s for taking my art behind my back.”

Another swat. Harder. “And that one’s for kissing Elena on the cheek like you weren’t hiding something.”

He let out a breathy little laugh. “Totally deserved.”

“You think I’m done?”

“I’m hoping you’re not.”

I reached around and unzipped his jeans. “You could’ve asked me. You should have.”

“I know.”

My fingers curled around his waistband. “But I probably would’ve said no.”

“I know that, too.”

Another swat, firm and low. He moaned.

“This is me telling you that you don’t get to steal my sketches…” I pushed him gently to his knees, “unless you’re ready to earn it.”

He looked up at me, breathless, eyes gleaming.

“I wonder,” he said, “if Picasso was like this in the bedroom.”

“Shut up, Jameson.”

His mouth opened to take me.

I watched him—no, I admired him—lips already parted, tongue peeking out, eyes hungry and unblinking and so goddamn in love it nearly made me laugh. Or maybe cry. But mostly, for the moment, laugh.

“Don’t dent the linoleum,” I muttered. Then, TJ’s mouth was on me.

Warm, slick, him. He settled his hands on my hips, bracing for a rough ride, and I raked my fingers through his hair.

TJ took me deep, like he’d been waiting all day, or all week, or maybe all the late-night phone calls and charcoaled stick figures that had ever happened between us. His cheeks hollowed out on the pullback, and my knees nearly buckled; he steadied me by squeezing my thighs—harder, then sweet.

“This is so—” My voice went up half an octave and I couldn't finish my thought because TJ swallowed my cock again, lips tight and tongue swirling on the head. His jaw flexed.

He wasn’t looking at me anymore. He focused. He treated me like I was a puzzle and he was determined to solve it with nothing but suction and willpower.

I gave up trying to stay quiet by the third bob of his head. TJ’s phone buzzed somewhere in the next room but neither of us cared. All that mattered was heat and friction and the obscene, syrupy slickness that made my toes curl.

“Damn, TJ.” He'd done something desperate with his tongue that made my hips jerk forward, and I was dangerously close tocollapsing in front of the fridge. If I died in the next hour, at least the last word I ever spoke was honest.

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