Page 82 of The Bodyguard Affair
“While doing oral,” I say, scandalized by saying it out loud. I would never say something like that in public, but on the phone I feel freer, probably because he’s not in front of me.
“Exactly.”
“That sounds hard. No pun intended.” My laugh is a little strangled, and I notice my fists are clenched at my sides.
His rumbly amusement vibrates through my phone. “Again, it’s not.”
“You seem very pro sixty-nining. Is it your favorite position?” I dare to ask, my mind circling back to the storage closet. The roughness of his beard against my temple. The spread of his fingers pressing into my ass, leaving imprints long after.
“One of,” he tells me. “It’s really hot, the angle, the view—everything.”
My body is on fire, pulsing everywhere. “You actually likeeating women out?” In romance novels, heroes love it. But I always thought it was a known fact that men in real life don’t enjoy it.
“Fuck yeah.”
At his enthusiasm, a raspy breath escapes my throat as all the tension pools between my legs. “You must be one of the few. Most guys don’t.”
“Has anyone ever eaten you out before?” he asks unapologetically.
“No. Not that I’ve ever really asked. I’ve always been paranoid. I don’t know—”
“Would you like someone to?”
“You. Only you,” I say reflexively. “And only if you want to,” I add, burrowing lower under the covers, tracing circles around my inner thigh, imagining it’s his hands and not mine.
“Are you kidding me? God, Andi. The way you would taste.” The way he says it, so longingly, so confident, my stomach tightens and coils to the point of discomfort. No one has ever talked to me like this before. “There’s nothing I’d rather do right now.” His voice rumbles through my phone, and it feels like he’s right here next to me, parting my legs. “Fuck,” he breathes over what sounds like the rustling of the covers. “I’m sorry I can’t be there to do it. To make you come in my bed. Do you want to come, Andi?”
Goose bumps erupt down my legs, over my arms, and my pulse goes into triple time. “Yes,” I whisper as my fingers circle back up to my breasts.
“Are you wearing those lacy panties again?”
“No. I’m in pajama shorts and a tank top,” I say, blinking hard to ground myself. This is real. This is happening.
He huffs a breath. “Fuck. Can you feel my hands, pulling those shorts down?”
“Yes.” I nod, sliding my hands down in unison to kick off my shorts. I swallow as the cool air hits me, a stark contrast to the warmth of the rest of my body.
“What are you thinking about? Be honest,” he rasps.
“How badly I want you. How I want to touch you,” I admit in a pained effort to keep my voice steady as I picture him and his ropy arms, hovering over me.
“Where would you touch me?” he asks.
I slow my breath. “I’d swirl my tongue up and down your cock, sucking harder at the tip.” I can’t believe those words just came out of my mouth. And most of all, I can’t believe how much I liked saying them.
He lets out a hard breath. “Fuck. Are you touching yourself?”
“I am,” I manage, a shiver cascading down my back. My eyes flutter to a close as I let my fingers dip dangerously close to where I want them. Where I want him. “I’ve touched myself a lot thinking of you.”
He lets out a strained groan that makes my pulse race. “Me too. Ever since that first night, I’ve thought about you more than I’d like to admit.”
“Even though I embarrassed myself?”
“Listen to me. I literally didn’t stop thinking about you for three fucking years. Do you know how hard I came just from thinking about you? Every time?”
I don’t know how to respond other than to let out a whimper.
“What do you imagine when you think about me, Andi?” he asks, his voice commanding, grumbly, and warm against my neck.
