I can’t envision any scenario where that ends well. Or with me not in jail. What’s that, Jennings? No, no, I’m not a scam artist. Not technically. I was simply trying to earn some money from a job I’m not qualified for.
Not a scam.
Right.
Holy shit, why didn’t I think of this before now? I cannot have an arrest record or I am never getting another job again. This must be illegal, what we’re doing. I’m so screwed.
When we finally step onto the elevator the mood feels somber. At least to me. Jennings might still be thinking about my ass for all I know, but he’s quiet and so am I.
He pauses when we reach his door and waits until I meet his eyes. “You’re not married, are you, Daisy?” he asks, then corrects himself with a roll of his eyes. “Love? You’re not married, are you, love?”
“No.” I shake my head. “No one’s asked.”
A hint of a smile pulls at his lips and he shakes his head as the lock clicks and he pushes the door open.
“Well then, that was an incredibly honest answer.”
“I’m usually a very honest person,” I tell him, and yes, I hear exactly how that sounds after the words are already out of my mouth.
“So you’re usually an honest person.” He examines me with interest as he flips the keycard onto the dresser. It slides across the surface and comes to a stop when it hits the base of a lamp.
“I’m not married, Jennings. Not engaged, not anything. I just get off on you calling me ‘love.’ I’ve got a fetish for all things British, that’s all there is to it.” I’m such a liar. At least most of that was true. I do enjoy it when he calls me ‘love.’ It’d be even better if he called me Violet, but I’m working with the cards I’ve been dealt right now.
“So you’d have said yes to any idiot who asked then?” He’s back to that.
“Why are you assuming I date idiots?” Rude asshole. It’s true, but still rude. He raises a brow to challenge my denial and I glare at him for a moment before speaking again. “I was merely answering your question, Jennings,” I reply in a bit of a huff. “You asked if I was married and I was detailing how not married I am by explaining to you that no one’s asked.”
“Well, I’m glad no one’s asked, love.”
“Um, thanks?” I reply, throwing him a look. “I’m sure marriage is a big joke to you, playboy, but it means something to some of us.”
“I hadn’t meant to imply it doesn’t mean anything to me.” He frowns. “Only that I’m glad you’re unattached and here with me.” He closes the foot separating us and brushes my hair back as he runs his lips down the side of my neck. “Very glad,” he murmurs into my ear.
“Yeah, me too,” I agree a moment before he covers my mouth with his own and I forget what we were even talking about. Damn him and his magic mouth. My entire body is warm and relaxed and I’m melting into him, my fingers snaking under his shirt to his chest. I’m happy I decided another round with him was a good idea.
“Now.” He breaks the kiss and taps my bottom lip with his finger. “I want these lips on my cock, love.”
I pause for a moment, too drunk on his lips to realize what he’s just said. Then I swipe my lips with my tongue and gather my hair over my shoulders. “Did you just order me to suck your dick?” Holy crap, why does that make me so hot? I’m torn between glaring at him out of principle and begging him to say it again. I’m leaning heavily towards the begging.
“I did.” He’s blatant in his reply.
I eye his shirt, some vintage-looking concert tee from a band I’ve never heard of, but the way it lies across his chest has been distracting me all day. I push the hem up his chest until he takes over and flings it over his head, then I place my palms on his skin and lean in. “Say it again,” I murmur, because yeah, I liked hearing it.
He grins as he lifts my blouse over my head then stops to fondle my tits over my bra. “Knees, love. I want to feel your warm, wet mouth wrapped around me. I want to see how much of me you can take and then I’ll dig my hands into your hair and urge you to take just a little bit more, slide just a little bit deeper, suck a little bit harder.”
I’ve dropped to my knees before he’s finished speaking and I’m working his belt free, keeping watch on him from under my lashes. I pop the button of his jeans and yank the material to his knees without moving my eyes from his. Then I lean forward and kiss his flat abdomen while working my hands into his briefs and around him, pushing the fabric down as I do. And then I lose all my game.