Page 28 of Hero Hair

“Fucking perfect,” he mutters.

He looks at it for a second or two, just breathing heavily, almost like he’s forgotten that body part is attached to a live human, and then he takes my nipple between his teeth. I grind myself against him while the coolness of the window presses against my back. I hear the traffic below us, a honk of a car horn punctuated by the wet laps of his lips sliding around on my skin.

I’m almost there. My thighs tingle and the ball of pleasure is right at the cusp of spiraling out of control. I’m about to have a dry fucking orgasm. I’ve never been this worked up without penetration or oral sex before in my life. I know it’s this insane crackling chemistry between us. He feels it too. I sense it in every harried, frenzied touch. Every time his lips glide over mine, in every sound or begged plea of release. What does it mean? I don’t ponder long because his lips are back on my mouth, teeth clashing, moans synching in a ballad of ecstasy. My core clenches one final time before I cry out, eyes closed, orgasm tilting the room sideways, my arms wrapped around his chiseled neck tightly. I inhale the scent of the perfect male specimen, while I come apart in the cradle of his arms.

Macs places his lips right below my ear. He doesn’t kiss. He merely leaves them there, letting the wetness and his presence in the moment be known. “I can do whatever I want to you, can’t I?” he asks. His words ricochet to my core.

Breathing heavy, I wait to come down from the high, but it’s not happening. Not while his dick is pressing against me. Not with his sweaty skin so close and his words laced with so much promise for more.

“Can’t I?” he says again. “I wanted to hear you come. I wanted to see you come. I wanted to kiss you until you came. I do what I want.” Macs keeps his lips against my neck as he speaks.

“Yes. You can do whatever the fuck you want as long as you give me orgasms like that.”

His throaty chuckle rumbles against my chest. “You aren’t filtered when you’re satisfied. Noted.”

I shiver against his words. “You’re not filtered when you have blue balls, are you?”

He lets me slide down his body, sinfully, slowly, his hooded eyes concentrating on my face. My eyelids flutter closed as the rippling wall of his muscles slides against my body. I watch his face. He doesn’t respond, but I can see he wants to say something. His mouth is already open as he pants out long, drawn out breaths of longing.

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “I’ve never had blue balls before.” He smiles.

It’s all teeth and seduction. In the same breath, he drops me and backs away, his hands balled in fists by his sides. When he reaches my bed, he bends over and places his palms flat on the mattress and lowers his head.

“Kissing’s over?” I ask. I’ve nearly caught my breath, but everything else is on fire. “I can help you with the problem, you know. There’s no need to be scared.” I giggle. It sounds so petulant given the type of man in my bedroom, but I can’t do anything to stop it. He causes me to giggle, and I think I hate that fact. I can’t be sure.

My stomach flips when he turns his focus back to me.

“I have twenty-two cents riding on this. I can’t be sure, but I think what you did against that window probably doesn’t count as just kissing. I know for a fact you helping my aching stomach and balls is off-limits. Second date, remember? I want to fuck you. No amount of time with your mouth spent on my cock is going to fix the problem,” he says. He runs the palm of his hand down his erection and cringes a little. “Fucking you is the only thing that will put this thing to bed. Do you understand?”

“You’re underestimating my blow jobs, Macs. Just saying,” I reply, pushing my lips to one side. He is well and truly underestimating me. “Three minutes tops.”

His eyes widen as he interlocks his hands over his head, and I can’t help but look at his shorts and the huge hard cock that lies just below the surface. I want to drown in his naked body like come in a bukkake porno. My heart races along in anticipation even though the words coming out of his mouth make perfect sense. My friends don’t matter right now. Neither does Vegas or the bet, or even my goddamn self-worth.

“I want you,” I say.

I step toward his direction, but he moves away briskly. It’s like a game of cat and mouse. His grin transforms into a laugh as he walks backward out of my room and into the living area. I follow him.

“You may have escaped my dungeon, but you’ll be back.” They always want back. Even men like Macs.

“That’s a promise,” he says.

I lick my lips. “Another drink then?”

He’s already shaking his head before the full question leaves my lips.

“Water? An ice pack? Something for the pain?”

He flops down on the white linen sofa. I try not to make a face. It’s not really a sofa for sitting. More for admiring. It took me several weeks to locate the throw that’s perfectly draping over the left arm. I saw it on Pinterest and located it using reverse image searches and a lot of phone calls to random home décor stores. Macs leans down and puts his head on it.

I sit on the opposite end, the one where there aren’t any expensive, clean blankets and drop his bare feet on my lap. “Okay, what next then?” I ask.

“Give me a few. I’m still trying to erase the image of you writhing against me while moaning from my mind.”

I bite my lip as my core clenches again. Tightly this time. It wants sex. Macs’ sex. “After you do the impossible, what then?”

My cell phone buzzes on the countertop. He turns his head. I’m not sure if he’s wondering if it’s his, or if the sight of my cell phone reminds him of something, but he stands up. Pacing back to the window, he looks down again. I fluff the blanket and go to stand next to him.

“I should go,” he whispers. When he looks at me, his face is changed. It’s weird having him here and not naked in my bedroom, so it’s hard for me to not agree.

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