Page 167 of On His Schedule
“For what?”
He lifts his head. “For whenever you’re ready to let my face down there.”
I go red. I feel it move up from my chest to my face and I am glad it is mostly dark in the room.
“Don’t you have to get ready for practice?”
“Not for another hour, baby.”
I look down at him. His shoulders are so broad, and I can see his muscles flex. He’s grinning at me from between my legs with his chin on the front of my pajama shorts. He kisses mythigh again, and my skin is so sensitive that I hiss at him. He kisses higher up my thigh, where my thigh meets the seam of the shorts. He kisses there slowly.
I wrap my legs around his waist and tug him up.
“Was this your plan?” I ask.
“What?” His smile is wide.
“Keep me sleepy, so that I don’t really mind?”
“You don’t mind?” he asks, putting his face exactly where I mind it. His smile stays big as he kisses the front of my pajama shorts.
“Benson,” I plead, Camdenthless, reaching for him.
He says, “I could make you feel like you’re dreaming.”
I close my eyes at the pleasure of his hand rubbing my clit now. His hand tugs the waistband of the pajama shorts down. He pulls them off. He kisses my thigh again.
“What do you say, Lucy?” His voice is enough to send pleasure rippling through me.
I don’t want to say no, but I’m also not, in this moment, sure I can say yes. So, I open my eyes and settle in the in between. “Maybe.”
“Yeah?” he says excitedly.
I swallow. “Maybe.”
He licks his lips, and it’s so hot. He looks down at my naked body and says, “I like the sound of maybe.”
He kisses my thigh with his tongue. The skin on my thighs is so sensitive. I’m trembling underneath this man’s mouth. It’s so sensitive, I could die. To my luck, he doesn’t stay in the same place, so now the burning pleasure is bouncing from left to right and all around. He kisses higher. One stroke of his tongue against my slit, and my whole body freezes. He attempts to do it again, so I pull his hair.
“I’m sorry,” I sputter out. It feels so good, and I guess that’s why it’s so terrifying.
“Don’t be sorry,” he says back.
“I — it tickles too much.”
He smirks at me, climbing up my body.
I feel bad, like I’m rejecting him. “I’m sorry.”
He kisses the side of my mouth. “Don’t be sorry, babe. I just really want to.”
“Really?” I ask, not understanding why or how or likewhythat’s an impulse.Why?
“I’m just warming you up to the idea. You don’t need to be embarrassed with me.”
Heat floods my face, turning me beet red. I am deeply embarrassed about his face being down there.
“Hear me, babe? You don’t need to be embarrassed.”
