“Fucking Christ. You’re so goddamn gorgeous.” His thumb brushed my nipple and it pebbled under this touch. I released a pent up breath, arching toward him, wanting more.

And he gave me more.

Sliding down and propping himself up on both elbows, Con’s big hands squeezed and kneaded my breasts, flicking at my nipples until I was writhing against him. My legs wrapped around his waist, and I desperately sought the friction that would send me over the edge. I didn’t care that this was ridiculous. I didn’t care that this was insane. I just wanted Con to make me come.

It’d been so damn long since anyone other than me had gotten me off. But when Con pulled away and untangled himself from my legs, disappointment filled me. I was so close.

“Please. Don’t stop. I just want to—”

“You want to come?”

I nodded helplessly.

“Don’t worry, babe. I got you.” On his knees, Con stared down at me. “I want to taste you first.”

I blinked as his words crystallized in my brain. “Wh—”

“You going to let me get you off my way? Or are you going to make me leave you wanting more?”

My mouth dropped open. “You would seriously—”

Con’s grin was wicked, and at that moment, I wanted to slap it right off his face, the arrogant son of a bitch.

“You want to try me? Or do you want to come?” He raised an eyebrow, and his hand trailed up my thigh, teasing me with the promise of an orgasm.

The same stretch marks were there, but in the mostly dark room, he wouldn’t see them.

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Make me come.”

“Good girl.”

His eyes stayed on mine as he lowered his face between my legs. My muscles clenched as his hot breath ghosted over the tiny scrap of lace separating his mouth from my pussy.

Con didn’t know it, but he was the only man who’d ever gone down on me. The memory sent quivers racing through me. I’d never known I was capable of multiple orgasms until that night. The things he’d done… the things I’d begged him to do again...

One blunt finger skimmed along the crease at the top of my thigh, lifting the edge of my panties away from my skin. Con’s eyes darted up to mine for a split second before he tugged at the delicate fabric and it gave way.

My mouth dropped open, but no words came out because he was already leaning closer to trace the seam of my pussy with his tongue. My nipples puckered, and my hands grew a mind of their own and tangled in his hair. His eyes lifted to mine again, and his grin damn near stopped my heart. The devilish mischief was almost an even bigger turn on than his tongue. Wrapping one huge hand around my hip, Con’s thumb followed the neat landing strip of hair left after my last wax.

“I like this.” He paused just above my clit, pressing only slightly. Not enough to send me over the edge. The glint in his eyes said he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was enjoying the hell out of teasing me. “And I like that you kept your lips bare.”

I squirmed under his close inspection, and his grin faded as his thumb slipped into my heat. “Jesus fucking Christ, Van. You’re soaked, baby.” When he lifted his hand and brought it to his mouth, I thought I might lose my mind before he finally gave me the orgasm I desperately wanted.

Sucking his thumb between his lips, he groaned. “Just as sweet as I imagined.”

A memory of him saying the same thing once before slammed into me, and I had to wonder if that night had been a fluke. If he hadn’t been drunk, would he have still brought me home?

I forgot to care about the answer to that question when he finally lowered his mouth to me and feasted.

All the pent up tension twisted tighter and tighter until it just… snapped. My fingernails dug into his scalp, and if I’d been capable of coherent thought at that moment, I might have been embarrassed. But I wasn’t. I could only focus on the orgasm ripping through me in muscle clenching waves.

I woke up on the couch with a thick arm wrapped around me, just under my breasts. The heat and hardness of the chest at my back clued me in to the fact that I’d spent the entire night with Con.

Oh crap.

I struggled to free myself, but the arm tightened, one hand slipping to cover my left boob. “You trying to run out on me again, princess?”

I tugged at his arm. “No. I have to go. I have meetings. Appointments. A schedule.”

Con released me, and I stumbled to my feet. My destroyed panties lay draped across one of my sandals. Lost cause.

My head pounded, and I realized the whiskey from last night must have been a lot more potent than I’d thought. I usually only drank wine, so my tolerance for hard liquor had been mostly unexplored. Note to self: take it a little slower next time. And then I remembered that if I wanted the next time to end with actual sex and not just oral, there would be no alcohol involved. Con’s decree was more than a little intimidating.

I snatched up my panties, balling them in my fist, as I slipped on my sandals. I did a quick pat down, straightening my skirt and camisole, and then I looked to Con. He was watching me intently through shuttered eyes. Considering I wasn’t very good at reading him, even when his expression was more transparent, I was at a loss for how to gauge his mood.

He seemed to be waiting for something.

“Do you mind giving me a ride, or would you prefer I call a cab?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. Just kept watching me.

I waited.

And waited.

“Con?”

“You regret it?”

It dawned on me that he was wondering if this morning was going to be a repeat of that morning.

“Do you think I regret it?” I waited to hear his answer, hoping it would give me some insight into this complicated man.

He leaned back, one arm resting along the top of the couch. His expression morphed into a more familiar, arrogant smirk.

“No,” he replied with a shake of his head. “I think the only thing you regret is that I didn’t fuck you.”

My inner muscles clenched at his words. “Pretty sure of yourself, aren’t you?”

His smirk softened into a lopsided grin, and he reached up with his other hand and scratched the back of his head. I tried not to focus on the way his bicep bulged when he bent his arm. Or on how sexy his shaggy blond bedhead looked.

“Not sure enough, Van. Can’t say I’ve ever worked this hard for a woman.”