Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
My legs quiver and I rest my head against the cushion, closing my eyes.
How is he so good at this?
No. No. No. I squeeze my eyes tighter, willing the question to go away. I can’t handle the implication of his talented tongue. How much practice did it take for him to get so good? With whom?
Nope. Stop it.
Dex’s blissful torture stops. “Emily? Are you with me?”
“I’m here,” I answer in a detached voice. “You’re so good at that.”
He lets out a wicked laugh and wiggles his tongue around my clit.
“Oh my God!” I shriek and curl my fingers into the nubby couch cushion. “Holy shit.”
Pleasure coils inside me, tighter and tighter until I’m ready to burst. The slow but determined attention to my clit drives me higher and higher.
My body seizes like a bolt of lightning racing down my spine. I arch my back, bucking my hips wildly against his face, too consumed by my climax to be concerned with anything but chasing this incredible sensation. He keeps at it, licking and fucking me with his mouth. Dear God, he’s relentless.
“Oh my,” I chant over and over as I float back to earth. I run my fingers through his hair. My brain fuzzes, and my limp body settles like an overcooked noodle.
What was that?
“You really are my little firecracker, aren’t you?” Dex kisses my inner thigh, then a ticklish spot near my hip.
“You…you are incredibly talented,” I answer, running my fingers through his thick hair.
His kisses travel lower again. I don’t know if my body can handle more.
Ding. Ding.
My hazy brain slowly recognizes the sound.
“Dex?” I tap his shoulder. Good Lord, the last thing I want him to do is stop. “I have to”—I gasp— “get that. It’s Libby.”
He groans, like he can’t tear himself away from pleasuring me, but he stops to kiss my thigh, brushing my wetness over my heated skin.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, twisting to reach my phone on the end table next to the couch.
He smooths my skirt over my legs. Such a gentleman.
“I understand.” He lifts his chin. “Is everything okay?”
My hands don’t seem to want to work. I fumble my phone into my lap, pick it up, and try again.
Finally, my sister’s text lights up my screen.
House emoji. Bird emoji.
“What does that mean?” Dex asks, peering over my shoulder.
I click my phone off and sit up, quickly buttoning my dress. “It’s code for ‘I don’t like what’s going on here but don’t want to seem uncool to my friends by complaining, so please come pick me up and be the bad guy,’” I answer.
“All that from two images? Clever.” One corner of his mouth curves to the side.
He’s impressed? He doesn’t think I’m an overprotective weirdo?
I file that away for later.
“Thanks.” I dial Libby’s number, anxious to hear her voice.
“Hey, Em,” she answers in a flat tone.
Everything in me wants to fire off a series of questions but I put a muzzle on my big sister mouth and calmly ask, “Hey, did you forget to take out the trash before you left?”
“Yup, sorry about that.”
“That means you’re grounded. I’m on my way to pick you up.”
“Aw, come on, Em, really?” she whines in her best stubborn teenager voice. “Can’t I do it tomorrow?”
“Nope. You know the rules. I’ll see you in ten minutes.” I finish our script, designed so that if one of her nosy friends overhears her conversation, it just sounds like her bitchy big sister has laid down the law.
“Fine,” she huffs. Then in a lower voice she adds, “I’ll be, uh, waiting right inside.”
“Got it.” I end the call and scoot to the edge of the couch, grabbing my underwear and searching for my shoes. “I’m so sorry, Dex.”
When he doesn’t answer, I look up, not finding him anywhere.
“Dex?” Where’d he go?
He pushes through the kitchen door and flashes a panty-melting smile. “Wanted to clean up before we leave.” He holds up his hands.
Heat sears my skin from scalp to toes as I try to discreetly pull my panties into place underneath my dress. Then my brain processes his words. “You don’t have to come with me.”
His smile slips. “It’s almost midnight. Do you know what spooked her so bad she wants to come home early?”
I glance at my phone. “No. We used our sister code.”
“Well, then just in case, I should go with you.” He waves his arms toward the door in a let’s move gesture.
“I have a baseball bat in the car,” I protest, slipping my shoes on.
“Great. I’ll keep it in mind.” He motions toward the front door again.
I’m torn between wanting his company and wanting to prove I can do everything all by myself, just like I’ve been doing since my parents died. The stubborn part of me wants to deny how much I’d like his company.