Page 50 of Personal Foul
I take another bite of cake, closing my eyes to taste it without the sight of gory blood from the screen, but it’s replaced by thoughts of him and his tongue.
“Wren.” My name is a rough protest ripped from his throat and my eyes pop open to see him staring at me.
“What?”
“The moaning.Fuck.” His pale green eyes are practically burning.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. It’s the cake.” I smile at him, but I don’t get an answering smile in return. “What’s wrong?”
“How bad I want to compete with a piece of cake.”
The laughter tumbles through me, and I have to set my fork down with how hard it hits me. “Very funny, East.”
“What if we go slow? I’ll talk to you for as long as you want first. You can tell me when or not at all. We can see if it’s something you like or not,” his voice has switched from funny friend I watch horror movies with back to incredibly dangerous man who I can’t resist.
“Do I get sex if it doesn’t work?”
“I will do anything you want if you let me have a taste of you.”
Damn he’s good. So good. He has a reputation for a reason though, right? A reputation that is sitting next to me in a luxury hotel suite on 1000 thread-count sheets begging to be used. Except if this goes badly, it is definitely going to sour our hateship. Easton has a big ego, but it has recently created craters that are visible if you look hard enough. I don’t want to add to that.
“I’m worried if I don’t like it, it’s going to make things awkward. And I don’t want to fake things with you,” I say quietly, staring down at the bed.
“I don’t want you to fake anything. I won’t take it personally. If you don’t like it, it’s fine. Give me a shot? You just eat your cake, slowly. I bet by the end of it, I’ll have you wet and then you can decide.”
A hard bargain to say no to, so I’m definitely not going to. But I still can’t help the whisper of apprehension that runs through me.
“Okay. We can try.”
He kneels on the bed next to me and rearranges some pillows while I watch. He’s just a mess of muscles; abs, arms, traps. You name it, he has it. Sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s mortal. I feel another well of anxiety wash through me that I’m going to let this gorgeous man down, so I take another bite of cake.
He smiles and slides behind me on the bed, still on his knees as his hands run under the fabric of the robe I put on after my shower, and he gently slides it off my shoulders. His fingers push my hair to the side, and his lips go to the tender skin at the nape of my neck.
“I know you’re trusting me tonight. I hope you know I don’t fucking take that for granted. I just want you so much. Want to give you what you need.” His lips explore my shoulders and neck as he talks, his fingers sliding over my skin and inching my robe further down. I’m completely naked underneath and nervous about being stripped bare for him again but wanting more from him makes me stupid. Makes me want to give him every little thing he wants.
He pulls the robe down further, and I put the fork down, sliding my arms out of it. His hands still, and I can feel the weight of his eyes on me as he takes a breath.
“Fuck. Every part of you is more beautiful than the last. I need copies of all those photos of you. You think you’d let me have some now?”
“Maybe.” I smirk.
“Some day when I’ve earned it, and you ride my cock again… I can’t wait to watch you. We could spend a whole afternoon doing that.”
His hand skims down over my breast and his thumb flicks over my nipple. I close my eyes and take another small bite of cake, and honestly, already it’s hard to stay focused on it rather than him.
He leans down further, his lips nearly touching my ear, “And I will earn it. Every little thing you give me. Every breath, every moan, every single time you say my name.”
Fuck me.
Again, I know the boy has a reputation for a reason but I’m literally not built to withstand this. I’m ready to cave to anything he wants, and it’s only been a minute. I reach for the fork again, taking another little bite of cake because I need to buy some time.
“Seriously,” I mumble around the bite, trying my best to deflect. “I need to know how they make this frosting. It is a-fucking-mazing. You’re missing out.”
He lets out a wordless laugh, one that tells me he knows exactly what I’m doing, and he doesn’t care. His hands drift down over my spine and around my ribs, kissing my shoulder again.
“Yeah?” he asks. “Then let me taste it again.”
I go to cut him a bite.
