“Mack,” I breathe, when his fingers go down and slowly raise my dress. “I really don’t—”
“Shhh,” he murmurs, his lips finding my neck.
Oh, shit.
“No, really,” I whimper. “I don’t—”
“Shut up, Lah.”
“Stop calling me that!”
“Shut up.”
“I don’t like it, I really don’t, this is awkward for me, and—”
He kisses me, his lips crushing down on mine in a scorching kiss that has my knees going weak and my hands going up to tangle in his thick, long hair. His tongue invades my mouth, dancing with mine, and silencing me in a way nothing else could.
“Now,” he rasps, pulling back. “We’re done talkin’.”
“You don’t understand,” I cry, pressing my hands to his chest. “What I said inside, it’s not the only reason I don’t want to do it.”
He stops, tilts his head, and murmurs, “What’s the reason.”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You got diseases?”
“What?” I cry. “No!”
“Then what?”
“I . . .” Oh, God, the shame. I wouldn’t say this if I wasn’t drunk, that I’m sure, but I don’t have the strength to push him away and he’s determined. “I get . . . overly excited.”
His body starts shaking.
“Are you laughing at me?” I cry.
“Sorry,” he says, though I can hear the laughter in his voice. “Excited?”
“Yes, you know . . .”
“No, honey, I don’t.”
“There’s a lot of . . .”
“Go on.”
My cheeks flame, and I cry, “I get really wet!”
He’s silent. “That’s it?”
“What do you mean is that it?”
“You get wet, that’s it?”
“That should be enough,” I protest.
“How wet are we talkin’?”
“What?”
He leans in closer, his hand going around my hip to pull me closer. “How wet are we talkin’?”
“I don’t know!”
“Then how do you know it’s too much?”
“My ex-boyfriend told me.”
“You a squirter, honey?”
I gasp. “NO!”
His body starts shaking again.
“Mack!”
His fingers go back to lifting my dress.
“Did you not hear me?” I cry, squirming.
“I heard you, and I can’t fuckin’ wait to have your sweet cunt in my mouth. Wet or not.”
Oh, God. I never knew Mack could be a dirty talker, though I won’t lie and say I haven’t heard the girls at the club talking about how he’s a maniac in bed, but still . . .
He starts lowering himself down my body, his lips grazing against my belly as he goes.
“Mack, I really don’t—”
He rips my panties aside, cutting me off. His hot breath is against my flesh, and oh man, I just convulsed in the best way.
“Mack, really, I don’t want you to do this.”
“You want me to stop?” he murmurs.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
He leans in and presses a kiss to my clit. My entire body jerks, and I cry out.
“Sure?” he asks.
“No,” I wail. “Yes. No.”
He doesn’t wait for any more; no, he just closes his mouth over me like I’m the food he needs to survive. He consumes me, devours me, his tongue slides up my flesh and down, then up again. I’m screaming, I know this, but I don’t fucking care. What was wrong with me? Why would I not want this? I’m a fool, a . . . oh, God, he just bit my clit. He bit it. I’m going to come shamefully hard in my boss’s mouth.
“Oh my God,” I scream, my legs giving way as the best orgasm of my life tears through my body. Mack’s arm goes round my middle and he holds me up.
“Fuck, so wet, wettest I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh God,” I whisper shamefully.
“You taste like fuckin’ heaven,” he rasps, sliding his tongue out and taking every ounce of my arousal.
“Mack, please.”
“Again,” he demands and he presses his tongue back to my jerking clit. Then his finger goes up, sliding inside of me. He makes a ragged sound, and I cry out his name as his finger does amazing things to the bundle of nerves already on fire inside my body.
“Mack,” I plead.
“Fuckin’ again,” he orders.
I give in to him again, long and slow, sweet and sexy, until my legs are jelly and my body is slumped in his arms. He pushes my panties back, slides his body up mine, and then shoves a deep, angry kiss onto my lips. I can taste me, and I protest for a moment, but soon I’ve got no fight left. I melt into him, and I take all of my cum off his tongue and lips, licking and sucking until he’s grinding against me.
“Fuck,” he growls, pulling back. “Fuck.”
“Mack,” I breathe.
“You have no idea how much I want to fuck you right now.”
“Then why don’t you?” I whimper.
He pulls back, letting me go gently. “Can’t.”
Then he’s gone.
Gone.
Oh, man.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MACK
Running my hands through my hair, I turn onto the highway, ready to end this shit with Gregor so that I know Jaylah is safe. Not just Jaylah, but . . . my . . . son. The very thought of the baby, my son, has my body jerking. I push it out of my mind as quickly as it came in, and instead take my focus to the party two nights ago.