Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
I pick up the pace on his shaft, using his own arousal to ease the path. He grunts, his right hand gripping the edge of the table, his left, scrabbling for a hold on me, finally settling on the waistband of my trousers.
As I stroke him, savoring the feel of his throbbing shaft, I reach into my pocket and take out a tin of lip balm. Letting go of his cock, I smear some onto my hand then return to stroking him with wicked intent.
“You like being watched,” I whisper. “Like when you play baseball. All those eyes on you.” He shudders, and I smile against his ear. “I’m right. Tell me I’m right. You can speak.”
“You’re right,” he says. Or, really, grunts.
My hand flies faster. The feel of his shaft in my fist is incredible. “And it gives you a bigger thrill that I’m going to jack you off right here, under the table, at my private club,” I whisper.
“So much,” he groans, his cock jumping in my hand.
He digs his teeth into his lip as I work him hard. “If I ever fuck you in my home, you can shout, you can growl like an animal. You can call my name.”
His shoulders shake and he nods.
“But right here, don’t say a word,” I tell him. “You’ll do as I require, won’t you, when you shoot all over my hand in a few seconds?”
He nods at rocket speed.
“Good. You’re a fast learner,” I tell him, gripping him tight, my fist a hot tunnel.
He shifts, punching his hips a little under the table, asking for more contact, more speed.
“You want it faster? Harder?”
Another nod.
Both. He wants both.
I give it to him. My fist flies under his briefs, the makeshift lube just enough with his own liquid arousal helping me along. He’s so fucking turned on I can get him over the edge in a few more strokes.
“If we were in my penthouse right now, I’d bite the inside of your thighs. I’d smack your ass. I’d twist your nipples,” I say.
Letting go of my waistband, he slams his fist against his mouth, jamming his knuckles against his teeth.
Well then, I suppose I should help him out. I bring my lips to his gorgeous, lush mouth, peel off his hand, and whisper, “Come.”
I seal my mouth to his and I kiss him wildly, swallowing all his sounds, all his noises while he shudders and spills over my hand.
I’m dizzy with pleasure—the pleasure of making him feel incredible.
This is another first for Gunnar and it belongs to me.
All mine.
Only mine.
The thought shocks me. Where did that come from, that desire to possess him?
Do I want him to be . . . mine? Mine at night? Or perhaps mine as part of an arrangement. Something with limits.
Once his breathing starts to slow, I reach for a paper napkin and wipe off my hand. I tell him I’ll return after I clean up and then he can do the same.
A few minutes later, we are both back at the table.
Gunnar still looks drunk on lust, but I’m focused on deal-making. As he finishes the last remnant of his meal and I enjoy another drink, I work through exactly how I’m going to make my proposal.
21
SOME KIND OF SEX MACGYVER
Gunnar
The thing about hand jobs is you’d almost always rather have a blow job.
That’s been my belief ever since, well, hormones.
Until tonight.
As Rafe and I get up from the table and make our way through the dining room of The West House, I tell him, “I’m going to mark this day in my calendar.”
He gives me an eyebrow arch, an invitation to go on.
And I will. A lot.
“Today is the day I discovered there are two types of hand jobs. Regular hand jobs. And Rafe jobs.”
He laughs, and that rich, deep sound sets off a burst of pride. I’m glad I can make him laugh. I like the occasional smile I see from the serious man.
We pass the hostess stand on the way out, and Rafe nods to the woman in skinny jeans. “Goodnight, Bethany.”
Her expression is cheery and professional, giving nothing away as she says, “Goodnight. Mr. Rodman.”
How much does she know about the clandestine affairs that go on here? I steal a glance back toward the dining room as we leave. We can’t be the only couple to indulge in under-the-table PDA.
This night has been a revelation of who I am and what I want when it comes to sex.
I feel a rush of appreciation for people like Bethany, discreet and poised, who open doors, help make desires come true. “Thanks for everything, Bethany,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” For a second, I wish she’d add, “Will we see you again?”
It would be an excellent question and one I want to know the answer to. Would Rafe want to bring me back here? And more crucially, what would he do to me on a return visit?