Booty Call (Forbidden Bodyguards Book 2) (18 page)

I’m hoping croissants and lemon curd might help, though, so I’m holding Ali to my request for Sunday brunch.

Of course, that’s five days after she invites me over, and I fill the intervening days with as many orgasms as she wants—gotta keep her happy to distract her from the fact that we’re sort of dating again.

After Paris, I’ve missed sleeping with her, and this week I haven’t spent a single night in my own bed.

I’m pretty fucking happy about that, and Ali seems to like it, too.

Heading to Eastern Market on Sunday, though, she’s wary. Hence the lemon curd.
 

It’s going to be my secret weapon.

“Do you need coffee?” I ask her as we pick our way through the outdoor market.

“I’ve got coffee.”

“But do you have Jamaican Blue coffee?”

“Does that make a good vanilla latte?”

Jesus. “What did you say I drink? Boring old man coffee? This is the best of the best of boring old man coffee.”

“No vanilla syrup?”

“You won’t need it.”

She gives me a skeptical look and I grin and pay the man.

She stops and points her finger at me. “I thought you wanted to go out for brunch? You’re buying everything we need for a breakfast at home.”

I shrug. “I think I just said brunch. I didn’t specify where.”

“Interesting,” she says, looking at me suspiciously.

“Is it?”

“Hmmm. Very.”

“Good. I like to be interesting to you.” I offer her my arm and she takes it. “Raspberries?”

“Sure. After we have brunch, are you going to go back to your place and see if it’s still standing?”

“Have I been at your place that long?”

“A few days.”

“Is that a problem?”

She doesn’t answer right away. So prickly, my Ali.

“Maybe we should take this stuff back to my place to eat,” I say, not looking at her. “That way you could escape whenever you want.”

“I don’t want to escape.” She says it quietly, but it lands squarely and I puff like a peacock.

“No?”

“Not today, anyway.”

“K. Good.”

—thirty-three—
 

Alison

I wake up a week later to an empty bed. It’s such a rare occurrence now that my first thought is, “Where’s Scott?” in genuine confusion. It’s a good kind of weird.

My second thought is that I really want some of that damn coffee he bought. Then I realize that’s because I can smell it coming from my kitchen. But when I get there, I just find the freshly brewed coffee with a note explaining that he’s headed to the Mayfair Enterprises offices in Maryland for “boring corporate stuff.”

I roll my eyes and pour myself a cup of coffee, breathing it in before I pad to the fridge for the milk.

It’s good, but it’s still coffee. It needs a healthy splash of dairy.

Attached to the milk carton is another note, this one telling me to check my email. He’s drawn goofy smiley face with a body…and a raging boner.

Classy.

I’m still giggling as I search the living room for my phone. I think I may have shoved it somewhere when we were getting busy last night.

I find it under a cushion and check my messages. Twenty minutes earlier, Scott sent me an email with a couple of attachments. The first one is a scan of his medical test results. The second is a sworn affidavit—oh my God, he’s such a dork—signed by Wilson Carter as a witness.

My heart pounds in my chest as I read his sworn statement.

I, Scott Mayfair, do solemnly and faithfully attest to the fact that I have only had sexual relations with one woman, Ms. Alison Dashford Reid, since December of 2014.

I blink at the screen.
2014?

I pick up the phone and tap his name on my screen. He answers on the first ring and I launch into it before he has a chance to say anything. “You haven’t slept with anyone else in like
a year and a half
?”

“Well, you haven’t slept with anyone else, ever.”

“That’s different.”

He laughs. “How so?”

“I didn’t know how amazing sex was. Not truly. It was an academic notion.”

He grunts. “It wasn’t an academic notion while we were broken up.”

“True. But…you know.” I can’t imagine ever wanting to have sex with anyone else.

“What?”

“Shut up, that’s what.”

“So you accept my documentation?”

Of course I did. “I suppose.”

“I love it when you play hard to get.”

I snicker.

“I can be back in the city in four hours.”

That sounds perfect. Except…“Damn it!”

He laughs. “Oh no, what?”

“I’ve got a meeting with my advisor this afternoon.”

“Okay. Dinner, then.”

“Dinner and sex, so classy. It’ll need to be late.”

“Late is my speciality. We can make it pizza for that special touch.”

I chuckle. “And eat it in bed.”

— —
 

First rule of teasing in a new relationship: know what your hard limits are.

I stare at Scott as he plops the pizza box in the middle of my bed.
 

“No?” he asks, and it’s just cute enough that I change my head shake into a nod.
 

“It’s okay,” I squeak. “Let’s just move the quilt.”

If I were anyone else, it would be a family heirloom. Since my family doesn’t do quilts, I bought it at Goodwill. But it’s precious to me.

“We can eat at the table,” he says as he fires up my TV.

“Nope, this is…fun.” My mother would be horrified. Maybe so would his ex. I like that idea and strip down to my panties and a tank top and climb onto the bed. “Let’s do this.”

“What was that evil little thought you just had?”

“Nothing.”

He shoves his pants off and joins me, his gaze bright and knowing. “Not nothing.” He cups my cheek, holding me in place as he searches my face. “Tell me.”

“I was thinking…proper people don’t do this.”

“Ah. People like Madelyn?”

“And my mother.”

“Good that you put them in the same category,” he says. There’s an edge to his voice, but it’s not aimed at me.

“Yeah.”

He tugs me into his lap. “You want to know anything about her?”

Yes. No. “I’m still struggling with the idea that you were engaged to her.”

“You and me both. It was a mistake.”

“I got the impression you aren’t the marrying kind.”

“I wasn’t, and Maddie proved that point pretty hard core. Marrying her would have been a terrible mistake.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t love her.”

“But you proposed to her.”

“It wasn’t…whatever fantasy you’ve concocted of a proposal. No grand gesture, no bended knee. It came up one day and it seemed like the obvious next step for us. My cousin is her best friend, we had common interests…”

“And when did it become obvious that it wasn’t actually the next step for you?”

His jaw flexes and I wonder if I’m pushing too far. But he doesn’t tense up or pull away. He gives me an embarrassed look. “She cheated on me.”

“Oh.” That’s awful.

“She married the guy. He had me kicked out of the country. Super messy.”

“Wow.”

“We never would have gotten married. We couldn’t pick a date…we never lived together…I mostly feel like an idiot because it took being cheated on to make me realize she wasn’t the one for me.”

“I’m sorry she hurt you.”

“I’m not. Not anymore. It led me to you.”

“Still…”

He shifts me to the side and opens the pizza box. “No still. Really, it was a learning experience, nothing more.”

“What did you learn.”

He hands me a slice of pepperoni and mushroom and gives me a grin. “She’s not someone I could eat pizza with naked.”

I laugh, because we’re not naked. Yet. But there’s a kernel of truth there. I swallow hard. “Is that important to you?”

He licks a bit of pizza sauce off his thumb and grins as he leers at my boobs. “Feels pretty damn important, yeah.”

“God, you’re the dirtiest.” But I’m grinning too, because warmth is filling my chest and spilling down my arms. This is happiness. And neither of us have had nearly enough of that in our lives.

We eat in companionable silence, watching something on the TV but I’m not following it at all, and neither is he. I keep turning over in my head what he said.

“What else is important to you?” I finally ask.

“This is enough. This is plenty.”

“I know…” I take a deep breath. “But if I wanted to step outside my comfort zone and give you something else?”

His eyes light up. “Think I could keep my hands to myself if we went to a movie tomorrow night?”

“It would be a dark theatre. Why would you want to?”

“Is that a yes?”

“Depends what’s playing.” I reach for another piece of pizza and take a big-ass bite. “If nothing’s good, maybe we could go to the mall. Get fries and sit in the food court.”

He barks out a laugh. “So all the other kids in high school can see that we’re going steady?”

“Isn’t that what you want?”

He pinches the pizza out of my hand and pulls me on top of him, tugging the hand that he’s gripping all the way to his mouth. He sucks off the pizza grease, then keeps sucking until my eyes go soft and my breath goes funny.

“Yes, I want to go steady with you, Ali.”

Well, that’s fucking terrifying. I swallow around the lump in my throat. “Okay.”

“How close is my girlfriend to freaking out about the pizza sauce on her sheets?”

Less than I was before, because it makes my boyfriend happy, but I’m not going to give him that yet. That little bit of knowledge is just for me. I’d do anything to make him happy. Anything. And that’s just a few steps away from losing myself completely, which is so not the plan. I shrug. “This is why we’ve got washing machines, right?”

He can’t see the freakout in my head, thank God. He’s just looking at me with the best look on his face, and I make myself focus on that. It’s easier when he traces my bottom lip with his thumb.

Everything is easier when he’s touching me. Grounding me.
 

I swipe at his thumb with my tongue, inviting him into my mouth. His eyelids droop as he slowly presses his thumb over my lips. “I like calling you that. My girlfriend. Like it gives me all sorts of special privileges.”

I suck in response.

He growls.

I suck harder.

“Not that kind of special privilege, you minx.”

I let go of his thumb with a wet pop that makes me slick between the legs. “You sure you don’t want the boyfriend blow job?”

He groans. “How is it different?”

“I’ve been doing my Tumblr research.”

“God yes.”
 

I laugh as he falls back, his cock popping to attention. Kissing my way down his chest, I lick his nipple, then the line of hair down the furrow between his ridged abs. It’s narrow and sparse, then a little thicker right before I get to his erection. It smells like soap right now, but beneath it is a raw, masculine scent of skin and virility. Do all men smell this good? I’m guessing not.

And the fact that I don’t know—and, Lord help me, I may never know—turns me on like nothing else.

I kiss my way down his shaft, pausing at the head to lick the pearly drop of pre-come there. I’m quite sure other men don’t taste as good as him.

Sad to be other girls, then.

Awesome to be me.
 

“You taste yummy,” I whisper, and he groans helplessly. I grin. The power of a blow job. And Tumblr promises me that if I trail kisses down the bottom of his cock, all the way to his balls…

My face heats up as I remember the rabbit hole I went down when I looked up why people shave their balls.

I keep going anyway. When I reach his sac, he rocks his hips. Oh good, he wants my lips there. But a dark thought crosses my mind. I don’t want to ask him, of course. Jealousy has no place in the boyfriend blow job. It’s a sex act of assuredness, one filled with the dirty deeds protected by the trust between two people who love each other.
 

But if that British skank sucked on Scott’s balls…

Okay, being dirty maybe makes me petty.

Maybe.

Definitely.

I brush my lips over the tender skin in front of me and he shudders. Feigning an indifference I definitely don’t feel, I ask, “Do you like having your balls sucked?”

He freezes. “Would you?”

“Answer the question.”

“I’ve only imagined it, but yeah…fuck, yes.”

“Nobody…?”

He groans and rocks his junk closer to my mouth.

Good enough for me.

In comparison to his thick erection, his nuts are smallish. I think. Maybe it’s just by virtue of scale, like a walnut next to…Jesus, I don’t even know what foodstuff to compare Scott’s cock to. Zucchini sounds rude.

“Ali, suck on me.” He’s begging. Oh, I like that. Enough thinking. I soften my lips and open wide, sliding one ball into my mouth with my tongue.

He immediately makes his grunting, gonna-come noise, and his hand closes around his erection.

A tingly satisfaction ripples through me and I suck a little harder—just a little—to see if he likes that, too. He does. Thank you, Tumblr porn. Softly, I release him, and suck the other side into my mouth. Again, I work up to sucking hard, and again, he sounds close to coming.

And I haven’t even worked on the relaxed-throat, how-deep-can-I-go game.

His hand is working pretty hard right now, but I want his come in my mouth. I want to suck him over the cliff and into oblivion. I shift a little higher, letting my boobs brush the insides of his thighs, then his wet balls. He shivers as my mouth finds the flared head of his cock, slick and coated with his pre-come.

About to be a hell of a lot slicker.

As his fist jerks down again, I swallow the top half of his cock. When he lets go, I replace his hand with mine.

His fingers tangle in my hair, and I let him set the pace. If he wants to fuck my face a little, he can. He’s earned it. My circled fingers bump against my lips as I pump him up and down, catching a bit of spit each time until he’s coated and it’s all slick and smooth as he uses my mouth, faster and harder.