When I reach for him, sliding my fingers along the veins on the sides of his shaft, he groans, low and deep. I lick my lips, preparing to
take him in my mouth, when he returns to his seat, lifting his shirt up, showing me hints of his tight abs. He spreads his legs wide and I shuffle forward, draping myself over his lap, hair falling onto his bare thighs, hand running up his six-pack, while I take him deep between my lips.
“Fuck,” he groans, tossing his head back.
Keeping my eyes on him, I watch as he looks at me again, eyes hooded. I slide my tongue around the rounded tip, remembering how much he likes that. I lick along the sides, up and down, hearing his soft moans, seeing the flex in his jaw. His fingers move to my cheek and his touch tickles along my jawline as I run my tongue down the other side, right down to my hand.
“That’s perfect,” he murmurs.
Encouraged by the throaty moan he gives, I squeeze my hand around the base of his thick shaft and then stroke him, watching the smolder build in his eyes. I can tell by the way he’s trembling, by the intensity in his eyes and the hardness of his cock, that my touch is the first he’s had in a while. I don’t intend to make him suffer.
I glance away from him, shutting my eyes and taking him deep into my mouth, thinking only of his pleasure. I move my wet mouth up and down, dragging my lips over him. My hand follows the path of my lips, and I squeeze tight, hoping he’s imagining it’s my inner walls hugging his cock.
Another deep and urgent moan sends a hot shiver down my spine as I do what he loves, and I use both hands now, stroking them in opposite directions, faster and faster, sucking with my mouth.
His legs tense under my arms and his grunts are louder now, closer together, until his semen spills across my tongue. Then I do what I said I would. I finish the job, swallowing every drop, and thanking him properly.
Chapter 8
Darius
While the tabloids stayed busy all of Wednesday with the story about me and Alex, creating a love affair out of fictitious facts, an urgent business meeting in New York to ensure that a lucrative deal didn’t fall through kept me from seeing Taylor again after she left my office. Now that I returned to San Francisco the following afternoon, and before I return to Bennett, Inc., I enter a used bookstore tucked into one of the corner buildings on Columbus Avenue.
“Can I help you?”
I turn toward the soft voice and smile at the middle-aged saleswoman. “No, thank you. I see what I need.” And that’s the gorgeous blonde standing with her back to me, nose deep in a book.
The woman follows my gaze and then smiles sweetly at me. “If you need any help finding something, please let me know.”
I nod, not saying anything more, ensuring Taylor doesn’t hear me. For now, I want to watch her. That beauty right there, who amazes me with her strength and softness all at the same time. Christ, I can still feel her lips dragging against my cock, slow and gentle, until she became rough, wanting to take in all of me.
So warm. So wet. So perfect.
My greedy dick swells in my pants, as easily as I breathe, because that’s what she does to me. She drives me crazy. She makes me need her in ways no woman has ever made me need her. She can harden me with a smile or a simple look. Even now, I want to take all that she can give me and then ask for more, simply because I can.
I move a little closer to Taylor now and lean against the side of the tall wooden bookshelf as I gaze upon her. There’re only a few customers moving about the store, and it’s no surprise to me that she’s so lost in her book, she doesn’t hear me clear my throat behind her. I imagine she has no idea who’s come into this store and who has left. Books do that to her. They are, and I suspect always will be, the bones to her soul. They take her away. And that’s all I want to do, too.
Eventually, she shuts the book, and her shoulders rise and fall with her long exhale. I can’t help but wonder what world she’s gone to or where her heart lies from what she read, when she turns around.
She blinks. “Oh, my God, what are you doing here?” Her worried eyes scan the room from left to right, clearly on the lookout for the paparazzi who I’m sure she thinks are following me.
“I was careful when I came here,” I tell her, moving even closer now. Any distance between us has never been something I’ve been very good at maintaining. I like her close. It’s what made her moving away so hard; a void happened, a piece of me left. And I’m fully aware that piece feels like it has returned now.
When she continues to scope the area, I add to reassure her, “There were two photographers who tailed my driver for a quarter mile before we lost them. No one is outside. No one knows I’m here. It’s fine. Relax.”
She doesn’t look convinced, standing on her tiptoes and glancing over my shoulder toward the store’s front windows. “Are you sure they didn’t just stay back so you thought they didn’t follow you?”
“Taylor.” I sigh, frustration tightening my jaw. “No one followed me. I made sure of it.”
“Okay, okay.” She gives me an apologetic smile, lowering back to her feet. “It’s just scary, you know. This innocent meeting could end up all over the tabloids tomorrow with some terrible story that we’ll end up stressing about.”
“Yes, I know,” I gently acknowledge her worries, shoving my hands into my pockets. “And I’m doing my best to make sure that doesn’t happen again.”
Right then, a female customer walks by us, and Taylor watches the woman, slowly frowning, which I take to mean that the woman is checking me out. I can’t help but grin with pride. I like her jealousy. I always have.
“What book were you reading?” I ask, getting her focus back where it should be: on me.
She sighs, her glare slowly fading as she turns to me. “Oh”—she hugs the book to her chest, her eyes twinkling—“it’s a total gushy romance that you’d hate.”