The Player and the Pixie(44)

I raised my eyebrows as his attention refocused on me. His expression was irritated, though you’d never know it to look at his cock.

His cock looked happy.

“Oh, come on, it’s not my fault. I’m usually drunk. Drunk sex is quick and sloppy.”

“Well, you’re not drunk now.”

“You’re being unreasonable,” he huffed.

I climbed on top of him and his hands gripped my thighs. I was wearing leggings and a shift dress. I pulled off the dress, leaving me in a black lace bra. His eyes went instinctively to my breasts.

“The next time you’re inside me, don’t you want it to last a little longer? Don’t you want to savor it with me, Sean?” I whispered huskily, and all he could do was nod and swallow. He seemed almost entranced by my body. “Good, then let’s try this. When I put you in my mouth, I want you to close your eyes and think of something bland. Something that doesn’t excite you in any way.”

Leaning forward, I planted a quick kiss to his chest and he sucked in a harsh breath.

“Like what?” he rasped.

“Like doing your taxes.”

“My accountant does those for me.”

“Vacuuming your living room, then.”

“I have a cleaning lady for that,” he said disdainfully, like the very idea was insulting. I tried not to judge him for it, because I knew the kind of family he came from, and talk like that was par for the course, learned from childhood. He didn’t realize how spoiled he sounded.

“Isn’t there any menial task you don’t enjoy doing?”

He thought on it for a moment. “I’m not the biggest fan of leg day.”

Of course it would be something to do with sport. “Okay, well, imagine you’ve just been told to do two hundred squats.”

He scoffed. “You don’t just do two hundred squats, Lucy. You do sets.”

I cocked an eyebrow and pointed a finger into his chest. “Do you want this blow job or not?”

“Fine,” he replied huskily and it really was quite sexy. Goosebumps danced along my skin. “I’m doing two hundred squats. Preposterous, but I’m doing them. Now what?”

“Close your eyes and really visualize it,” I whispered, leaning back down to press my mouth to the defined V at his hipbone. His stomach muscles jumped at the touch and I smiled, enjoying how reactive he was.

Continuing to kiss my way down his body, I paused when I reached his cock. He groaned when I kissed it, featherlight. Then I licked him, this time with more force, before taking him fully into my mouth. He swore profusely.

“Really hard to keep thinking about those squats right now,” he grunted, hands fisting the sheets.

I moved down the entire length of him and back up, and a spurt of salty pre-cum filled my mouth. Man, he was never going to last ten minutes. I glanced at the clock.

12:07.

Sean reached down and pulled the tie from the end of my braid. He ran his fingers through my hair, freeing all the strands as I sucked him off. His warm palms cupped my face for a second, almost reverently, before clutching my hair in a tight fist. I looked up and our gazes locked. He cursed. My attention flicked to the clock again for the barest second.

12.09

“Jesus,” Sean grunt-gasped, his brow furrowing like he was concentrating really hard. I wanted to tell him to close his eyes like I’d instructed, but I was too foggy-headed with arousal and I couldn’t seem to manage it.

I let his cock fall from my mouth then licked up its length, cupping his balls. He groaned, the sensation rumbling up out of his chest.

“I can’t do this, Lucy. Fuck, you’re so beautiful.”

“Close your eyes. Think about those two hundred squats,” I told him shakily, because hearing him call me beautiful in that sexy gravelly voice had my knees going a little weak.

“I don’t want to close my eyes when I could be looking at you,” he whispered.

I took him in my mouth again, this time moving faster. His thighs tensed and his eyes flared, owning me with a single look.

God, I was done for. So completely done for.

He was beautiful. Despite all my plans and boundaries, my heart was clenching again with feelings I was too afraid to explore.

This was madness. I was mad. I tried remembering the face of that woman who’d taken a picture of herself with Sean while he slept. I reminded myself that he’d never had a girlfriend.

Sean Cassidy didn’t do relationships.

And even if he did, even if he wanted something more than lessons with me, there would never be an us. I was being ridiculous.

I blamed his body. His body made me want the impossible.

It was definitely his body and not the haunting vulnerability of him. It wasn’t his quick, witty rejoinders, or the way he’d discovered my darkest secret and hadn’t responded with judgment, but instead understanding, comradery, and concern.