Page 69 of My Favorite Bad Decision
I come with a muffled cry and his mouth presses to mine, inhaling it, groaning as he lets go.
It’s exactly what I fantasized about, but better. He’s still hard inside me, twitching. His hands are on my ass. Mine are on his back.
His head falls to my shoulder, his breathing still fast, and the kitchen grows impossibly silent.
Any moment now, one of us will apologize and then the other will apologize and it will be awkward as fuck.
I should go. I should get out of here as fast as possible because this was such a mistake.
But God, what a mistake. What an amazing, fucking miraculous mistake.
One I now have to set right. My father’s plane is probably gone. I can still get a commercial flight out if I hurry.
I open my mouth to say all this, but his hand grips the back of my neck and pulls my face to his before a single word of it comes out. He is kissing me again, and it is no less desperate, no less raw than it was before.
Which is an odd way to preface the awkward apologizing we both are about to do.
He releases my neck, still kissing me, and tugs my bikini top off. Also a strange way to preface an apology, or the suggestion that we just got carried away. He steps back and looks me over, his eyes dark and hungry.
“Jesus Christ,” he says. “I have fantasized about doing so many things to you that I don’t even know where to go next.”
This is a bad idea. My sister will never forgive me, and we really should stop while we’re ahead, but the way that he is looking at me right now keeps me silent. I place my palm against his bare chest, and that seems to be all the agreement he requires. With his hands beneath my thighs, he scoops me off the counter and turns, moving us toward his bedroom, where he places me on the bed.
He climbs on the bed between my spread legs, looking me over with dark eyes. And then he descends to kiss a trail down my neck, brushing over my lips and my eyes. I gasp and his mouth curves into a pleased smile against my skin in response, before it begins to lower. He pulls one tight nipple into his mouth, soft and then hard, making me gasp and arch.
“Fuck,” he groans. “I want to go slow, and you make it so difficult.”
He continues working his way down my torso, his hand still on my breast as he spreads my legs wide and runs his tongue over me, from my entrance and up, circling my clit, using his shoulders to spread me wider as he does it. He places one finger inside me and then another.
“I love the way you taste,” he hisses. “I want to do this for the rest of my natural life.”
Some distant voice inside me argues that this is unrealistic. We can’t stay here, we can’t be together, we wouldn’t even survive if I continued to just let him go down on me twenty-four hours a day, but I can’t seem to form the words. I tug at his hair as if I’m drowning and he is all that can keep me afloat.
“I’m going to—” I cry out. I come before I can complete the sentence, and his tongue moves faster, his fingers plunge harder, prolonging wave after wave, not relenting until my back has settled against the bed and my body’s gone entirely slack.
I stare at him, astonished. “I didn’t even realize Ilikedthat. I apparently like that a lot.”
He laughs, but inside that laughter there’s a rasp of pain, and when he leans over to kiss me, he is like steel against my abdomen. I reach for him and he groans. Already, it’s as if I haven’t just come twice but have never come in my entire life and really, really want to see what all the fuss is about.
I should return the favor, however. I’m nothing if not fair-minded.
“Get on your back,” I tell him.
He shakes his head. “I want that. I am going to want that a million times. But right now, I really need to fuck you again.”
This time my gasp is half surprise and half desire. No one has ever been quite so open with me before, quite so filthy, and it turns out I really, really like that too.
* * *
We’reboth starting to doze off when I think of Maren, and my pulse triples as the guilt hits.
I throw off the sheets, suddenly in a profuse sweat and breathing too fast.
Oh God, I’ve really fucked up. I’ve really, really fucked up, and I can’t begin to imagine how I let this happen.
I pad to his bathroom and turn on the shower jets, simply to get some distance from him so I can calm the fuck down. My head hangs as the spray hits my face.
What the hell am I doing? How could I have let it go this far? It was such a betrayal. And whether Maren knows about it or not—I’ll make sure she never knows—it will remain such a betrayal.
