Man Candy (23 page)

His eyes nearly came out of his head.

Before he could answer, I moved a little

closer and put my wet fingertip between

his legs, brushing over a sensitive spot,

then sliding it back a little to test him.

Would he let me? I wasn’t sure how far I

should go—this was something I’d

thought about but never done before. I’d

never felt close enough to anyone to try

it. But I wanted to with Quinn, wanted to

see what it would do to him, wanted to

experience that sense of power inherent

in penetrating someone, getting inside

him. What was that like?

“Yes,” he hissed through clenched

teeth. “Oh my fucking God, yes.”

Slowly and carefully, I pushed in

deeper, delighted by the way it made him

moan and curse, shocked at the tight, hot

grip around my finger. With my other

hand, I rubbed my clit, bringing both of

us that much closer.

“Fuck. I’m gonna come,” he

growled, barely able to speak. “So

hard…”

“Right here,” I whispered, moving

my other hand to my breasts.

With a strangled moan, he angled his

dick toward my chest. His fist tightened

and slowed, and I watched as he came

on my tits in quick, hot bursts, his ass

clenching my fingertip. I couldn’t move,

couldn’t talk, couldn’t take my eyes off

him. It was the hottest thing I’d ever

seen.

When it was over, I fell back onto

my hands and sat on the floor, panting as

hard as if the orgasm had been mine.

He dropped to his knees, pushed my

legs apart and lowered his head between

my thighs. Propping myself on my

elbows, I watched him devour me like I

was covered in Chocolate Cartier.

He dipped his tongue inside, licking

upward in short, tantalizing strokes. “So

sweet,” he murmured. “How can such a

wicked little girl taste so sweet?”

I’d been close to orgasm before, and

as he swirled his tongue over my clit, I

found myself right back at the edge, my

lower body humming with pleasure, my

breath coming fast, my knees opening

wider.

He slid a hand up my stomach to my

chest, which was dripping with his cum.

Stretching his fingers, he smeared it all

over my breasts while sucking my clit

into his mouth. The sight of it sent me

barreling over the edge, the orgasm

tearing me to pieces like he said he

would. I cried out repeatedly as all the

tension inside me eased in blissful beats

against his tongue.

“Enough, enough,” I panted when the

sensitivity grew too much to bear.

“Stop.”

He got to his knees and looked down

at me. Without a word, he took the hand

from my chest and rubbed two fingers

over my lips. I opened my mouth and

licked them, sucked the salty sweetness

off the tips, eyes locked on his.

The moment was so intense, it

frightened me. In the silence I heard

myself speaking words I didn’t want to

say, feeling things I didn’t want to feel. I

was on the hard kitchen floor, but it

didn’t feel solid beneath me. It was

splintering, breaking apart piece by

piece—I had to get up soon or I’d fall

through it.

“Wow,” I forced myself to say. “I’m

a mess.”

Quinn made a noise between a groan

and a laugh. “It’s so fucking hot. Do we

have to clean you up?”

“Yes, we do.” I sat up all the way

and looked down at my chest. “Or,

rather, I do.”

“Let me do it.” Quinn popped to his

feet, turned on the faucet, and started

opening drawers. “Where are your

towels?”

“They’re in the third drawer down,

but I think I might just get in the shower

and rinse off.”

“Oh. OK.” He turned off the water

and gave me a hand getting to my feet.

“Sorry. I guess I did make a bit of a

mess.”

“Hey.” I didn’t want him to feel bad.

“I asked for the mess, and I loved every

second of it. It was my idea.”

“You did ask for it. That surprised

me.”

“Really? After all the stuff we’ve

done?”

“Well, yeah. That’s like a personal

thing, jerking off. Not usually done in the

company of others. In fact, never, for

me.”

“No?”

He shrugged. “No. If there was a girl

around, why would I? And no girl ever

asked.”

“
Finally
, I’m first at something with

you.” I pumped a fist in the air as I

repeated his words from earlier tonight.

He laughed. “And what about you?

Ever asked anyone to do that to you

before?”

“Nope. Never even thought about it.”

“Yes! Another first. I feel like a

god.”

I giggled. “I can give you a third one

if you want.”

“Anal?” he asked hopefully.

“Uh, we’ll talk. But no, I was

actually thinking of inviting you into the

shower with me.” A shower was OK,

right? It was personal but not
too
too

personal. It wasn’t like doing it without

a condom or sleeping over or peeing

while he was in the bathroom.

“You’re inviting me into your

shower?” He put a hand on his chest.

“My God! This means you believe in

love now, doesn’t it! I finally did it! And

all I had to do was fuck my hand and

shoot my load on your chest. How did I

not think of it sooner?”

I shook my head and started walking

away. “You’re insane. And I don’t like

insane people in my shower, so I’m

taking back my invite.”

“No way.” He followed me through

my bedroom and into the bath. “You’re

stuck with me, sweet pea. Face it.”

After turning on the light and

blinking at the sudden brightness, I

opened the sliding shower door and

turned on the water. “Stuck with you,

huh?” Facing him again, I pretended to

look him over from head to toe. God, I

was so lucky. Tonight was
perfect
. “I

suppose there are worse things.”

TWENTY-ONE

QUINN

I MIGHT NOT HAVE a lot of talents,

but I can get hard again pretty quickly

after an orgasm. It’s not something you

can pay the bills with (unless you’re

Logan O’Toole, but that’s a different

story), and it really only comes in handy

in very specific circumstances, but I’m

kind of proud of it.

That said, I didn’t want to fuck Jaime

in the shower.

OK, that’s a lie—I
wanted
to, but I

told myself I wouldn’t.

I had a good reason.

Jaime could make anything about

sex. This wasn’t only because she was

the sexiest woman I’d ever known

without even trying, but because she felt

comfortable with sex. It was safe ground

for her.

I wanted new ground.

It had been a month since we’d been

dating, and I was crazy about her. I

couldn’t
say
that to her of course,

because it would probably make her

rock back and forth in agony, but the

more time I spent with her, both in and

out of bed, the more convinced I was

that she and I had something special. I’d

never had as much fun with anyone—she

made me laugh at myself and let me

laugh at her. I got such a kick out of

listening to her tell me all the random

stuff she knew—she was so curious

about the stories behind things and

people. Maybe it’s what made her go

into advertising.

“Did you know Faygo red pop was

created by Russian bakers who used

their frosting recipe to create a new

drink?”

“Did you know the Disney

princesses don’t look at each other when

they’re grouped together to preserve

their individual mythologies?”

“Did you know that in New York,

they call Coney Islands Michigan hot

dogs?”

She listened when I needed to talk,

too. I felt like she understood me.

And I understood her—I couldn’t

rush her.

She hadn’t said as much (surprise,

surprise), but I had the feeling she felt

more for me than she usually felt for men

she dated or men she just slept with.

What she’d said tonight sort of

confirmed it—in the past, she hadn’t

allowed great sex to inspire feelings,

and she’d never allowed herself to

develop feelings where there was great

sex. We had both, but where she was

comfortable expressing her sexuality,

she was totally
un
comfortable

expressing her feelings, so she used one

to do the other.

I wanted to encourage her to let her

feelings show in ways that didn’t

involve an orgasm. I didn’t need words

necessarily, but this was nice—she was

letting me into her personal space after

sex, inviting me to stay a little longer

with her. I wanted to show her that I

liked it, not because it would lead to

more sex, but because it made me feel

closer to her. I wanted her to like feeling

closer to me, and more importantly, to be

OK with it.

So I washed her hair (I’d, um,

sullied it a bit), soaped her body, and

rinsed her off while ignoring my dick,

which was not in favor of the no-

shower-sex plan. In fact, he was
firmly

against it and showed his displeasure by

twitching agitatedly every few minutes.

Once, it hit Jaime on the butt, and I

apologized.

She giggled. “Don’t be sorry. It’s

funny, I like it.”

“Funny? My dick is funny to you?”

Yes, jokes were good. Jokes would

distract me.

“I’m sorry, let me try again.” She

peeked at it. “You’re right. It’s a very

serious cock. Very no-nonsense.

Businesslike. Maybe even presidential.”

I pinched her ass. “I thought you

were going to say stiff.”

She glanced down again. “Not yet,

but getting there.”

“Don’t look. You’ll only encourage

it, and I’m trying not to get hard.”

“Why on earth would you do that?”

“Because I’m trying to be a good guy

and show you that we can have fun

together without having sex.”

“Silly boy,” she whispered, stroking

me softly. “I know we can have fun

together without having sex. But I

happen to love having sex with you.”

My plan to not fuck her was

unraveling at an alarming speed—the

speed with which my dick was getting

hard. I made one last effort. “I know, and

I love it too, but I also like just being

close to you. Talking to you. Listening to

you.”
But please put your finger in my

ass again. That was fucking amazing.

“Listen to me,” she said, sliding her

hand up and down my flesh. “I feel

closer to you than I’ve ever felt to any

man, ever. I’ve let you in deeper.

Revealed more of myself. And my

favorite way to share that with you, the

only way I’m good at, is with my body.

It’s the language I speak. Does that make

sense?”

Her words stirred something inside

me, and it was enough to overcome my

restraint. “Yes,” I said, letting my hands

go where they wanted, putting my lips on

her warm, wet skin. “Yes.”

She laughed throatily, slinging an

arm around my neck. “You’re so fucking

easy.”

TWENTY-TWO

JAIME

SO FUCKING EASY
.

It would be so fucking easy to just

let him slide inside me, hot and hard

and wet.

We’d made it onto my bed,

ostensibly to get a condom, but neither of

us had reached for one. Too impatient to

even dry off, our bodies dripped onto my

sheets as we lay on our sides and clung

to each other, my leg thrown over his

hip, his cock trapped between us, our

lips locked in a feverish kiss.

But should we?

The one time we’d done it without a

condom I’d been able to dismiss as a

spontaneous, heat-of-the-moment oopsy,

like a crime of passion. I wouldn’t be

able to do the same this time if I kept

thinking about it—this would clearly be

premeditated.

But I wanted it. I wanted it so badly.

I wanted him to have me in a way no

one else ever had. I wanted to share

myself in a way I never had. I wanted us

to experience each other skin to skin,

nothing between us. This whole night

had been a series of breaking down

barriers, from our conversation at dinner

to the sexual adventure in the kitchen to

inviting him into my shower—and the

more I opened myself to him, the further

I wanted him to go.

I’d told him things tonight I’d never

told anyone, done things to him and let

him do things to me I’d been scared to

even think about before. And he hadn’t

judged me—he never judged me. He

was so patient with me, so sweet, so

stubborn, so sure that I had the capacity