So I pull down the waistband of his briefs until he springs out, hard, and long, and hot. I look up at him again and he throws his head back and groans, like that gesture—me looking up at him with his cock in front of my face—turns him on more than my actual lips when they wrap around his tip.
“Swallow me,” he whispers, pushing my head into his hips. I take as much as I can, but I’m not a porn star and before long I’m gagging.
“Breathe, Tiffy. Just breathe through your nose. Relax your throat,” he says, dragging a fingertip up and down my neck. “I want you to swallow me so fucking bad.”
I gag again, and saliva comes spilling out of my mouth, dripping down onto my dress.
“That’s so fucking hot,” he says.
And the fact that it turns him on to watch me drool spit makes me so turned on.
He thrusts once, hitting the back of my throat and making me struggle to get away. He lets go, understanding I’ve hit my limit, and then bends down like he did this morning and kisses me hard. “Tell me to fuck you, Tiff.”
“Fuck me, Fletch.”
He laughs when I call him Fletch. “God, what are you doing to me?”
“Everything you tell me to.”
He stops smiling and stares hard, cupping my face with his hands. “I’m gonna fuck you now.”
I nod and he stands back up, taking me by the hand and pulling me with him. He reaches under my dress and pulls my pink panties down, throwing them over his shoulder as he twirls me around and pushes me up against the wall again. “Open your legs.”
I open them a few inches.
“Wider, Tiffy.”
I spread out, and the air rushes in, teasing my clit and making me throb again.
He takes off his shirt and I stare at those perfect abs in the gray dusk of early evening light while he throws that aside too. Then he kicks off his boots, drops his pants, and flings them away.
He stands there naked before me. His perfect, god-like body is all hills and valleys of taut muscle.
“Now you.”
I swallow hard and reach to the back of my dress. “The zipper.” It comes out as a hoarse whisper. But before I can explain that I need help, he reaches for my flirty skirt and drags it up my body, whipping it over my head.
“Fuck the zipper,” he says, reaching for the front clasp on my lacy pink bra. “Who’s got time for a zipper?”
Chapter Thirteen
She automatically crosses her arms, preventing me from taking off her bra. “Shy much?” I tease.
“A little.”
“You weren’t shy this morning.”
“I didn’t take my clothes off this morning.”
“Hmmm,” I say. “We’ll have to work on that then. Men like a little blushing, but they like confidence too. So how about we start with lesson number one.” I lean into her ear, thread my hands in her hair, and say, “You can practice with me.”
Her shoulder comes up to stop the tickle of breath against her skin. “If we’re going to have a professional relationship, then we shouldn’t mix business with pleasure.”
I can see her point. I can also see that it’s a copout. But whatever. She wants to rationalize this, and I’m OK with that. Because I’m horny. I want her. And she’s beautiful. “OK. But you’ve got to practice on someone. I can get one of the guys to come help you out. Mitch is a good decoy.”
She pulls back a little. “What do you mean? Decoy?”
“To practice, Tiffy. There’s so much more to this than licking your lips. You need real bedroom experience.”
“I have bedroom experience, Fletcher. I’m not some stupid college virgin.”
“That’s not what I’m saying. But Cole isn’t interested, right? I think we can both agree on that. So obviously you’re not his type. We need to make you his type. What kind of girls does he date?”
She scowls at me, still with those arms covering her perfect breasts. “I don’t know.”
“You’ve known him a while, surely you’ve seen him with women. Right?”
“He likes blondes, I guess.” She says it with an air of disappointment.
“I like brunettes myself. What else does he like?”
“They are tall. Taller than me.” Another frown.
“Hey,” I say, tipping her chin up. “Don’t do that. Don’t feel bad about who you are. My matchmaking works for two reasons. One, the women are confident. And two, the men understand that not everyone is blonde, Tiffy. Not everyone is tall. Not everyone who makes a match with me is even pretty. But all of them feel sexy on the inside. And that’s all it takes. So forget about looks. Tell me what he likes about them.”
She bites her lip and then sighs. “I think he likes their looks, Fletcher. And maybe status. I mean, one was a pro golfer. I know that. But another one sold him a yacht.”
Yacht. What kind of douche has a yacht? “Maybe it’s not golf and yachts that attract him, Tiffy, but the fact that they’re…” I want to say snobby bitches. But I realize Tiffy might fall into this category as well. “Refined and cultured.” Good recovery, Fletch. Besides, Tiffy’s not snobbish. Sure, I can tell she comes from money. She has a polished sophistication about her. Nice clothes, precise speech, and dignity. Mostly it’s the dignity. But she’s polite, resourceful, and hardworking too. “And you’re refined and cultured too. So this is an easy fit.”
“Can I put my clothes back on?”
I laugh. “Why? We’re just getting started.”
“But we’re not going to fuck again, right? I mean, that’s pleasure and this is business.”
“We don’t need to fuck to work. But if being naked makes you uncomfortable, then that’s something you might want to work on.”
“Why? Cole is not a stripper, Fletcher. He’s not going to morph into some sociopath BDSM guy and expect me to crawl on the floor and sit at his feet naked.”
I picture that and actually get hard. “Have you ever done that?”
“No.” She laughs. “No. I’m so not into experimenting. I like the normal stuff.” She takes a few steps towards her dress on the floor, but I grab her arm and make her stop. “I want to get dressed.”
“I want you naked.”
“I’m sure you do,” she quips with a tip of her chin. Superiority, that chin tip says.
“And that,” I say, taking her face in my hands and kissing her softly on the lips, “is sexy. Confidence is sexy, Tiff. So if you’ve got it, flaunt it.”
“Have I got it?” she asks, the insecurity spilling out again.
And fuck if that isn’t sexy as well. “In spades, princess. More than you even know. Cole is stupid for not noticing what’s right in front of his face. But maybe he’s just one of those workaholic types.”
“He is. He works like sixteen-hour days.”
“So where did he take these women he dated?”
“Um…” She thinks for a few moments. “Well, I think they mostly came to see him at lunch and they dined in his office.”
“So he likes lunchtime quickies.” What a dick.
“Quickies? He didn’t fuck them in his office, Fletcher.”
“Tiffy, please. If a man invites a woman to his office for lunch, he wants to fuck her on his desk.”
“That’s not true! My mom had lunch with my dad—Oh my God.” She waves a hand in front of her face. “Make it go away. I just pictured my mom and dad having sex on his desk.”
I laugh at her naiveté. “Did Cole take them out on any real dates? Maybe they were whores?”
“Whores! Jesus Christ, Fletcher. Cole Lancaster does not date whores.”
“Call girls, I mean. You know, high-class sluts? Cater to businessmen who are too busy to fuck?”