Page 325 of Off Limits: The Firsts

“No talking about our pasts. No sleeping with other people—just for safety’s sake—”

“Woman, you could ask me to skydive and I’d say yes so long as I get to fuck you again. Shortly. Like in minutes.”

He must be dead serious.

I draw his shirt over his head and then pull mine off, my bra falling to the floor as I lean forward and suck one of his nipples.

“More like seconds.” His voice is strained and his hands grip tighter on my arms.

“This is such a mistake,” I groan as his hands slide into the waistband of my shorts and push them down.

“Mm-hmm,” he says against my lips. “You can call the first time a mistake. The second time, it’s called a decision. Make the goddamn decision, Em. Please. Before I die of desperation.”

I chuckle. “So dramatic.” I kiss him again and love how when I pull back, he leans forward to take more. It shows what I do to him. It shows he wants me. “No . . .” I can’t think of any more rules because his cock pulses against my hand, growing harder.

“What else can there possibly be?” he asks, exasperated as he shoves his own jeans down his hips so that his cock springs free into my hand.

“This,” I say before I drop to my knees and look up to him as I take the entire, rock-hard length of him in my mouth.

“I fucking love that rule.” He groans as his head falls back and his fingers sink into my hair, tightening when he hits the back of my throat.

The woman is incredible in every fucking sense of the word.

She eyes me from where she stands in the kitchen—if I can call it that since it’s little more than a hot plate, a mini fridge, a toaster oven, and a Keurig. It doesn’t hurt that the only thing she’s wearing is a pair of boy shorts.

No top. No nothing.

Talk about a morning view I’d like to revisit.

That fact makes it that much harder not to stare at her and her perfectly perky set of tits. I can remember so very vividly how her nipples feel against my tongue, and it makes my damn mouth water.

Fuck if my morning hard-on isn’t begging to take advantage of everything about her again, but there’s so much more at stake right now than coming again.

Like her not realizing that we’ve broken her first rule, not once but twice.

No overnights.

I would be surprised if she doesn’t already realize that and is making her coffee and plotting how to get control of the situation back. I’ll gladly give it to her if I get to end up sitting here watching her shirtless in her kitchen again.

“How do you want yours?” she asks.

“I can get it.”

“Relax. I’m perfectly capable of pushing a button and not screwing it up. If it were anything more than that, then you could be concerned.”

“Black, please.”

After putting in a fresh pod and pressing the button to start the machine, she pads to one side of the small loft and fires up her computer without looking at the screen. My attention stays on her as she checks her cell phone and gives it a roll of her eyes over something before flipping a file folder open and making a note in it.

A file folder.

Much like the one in a box on my table at home.

How the fuck can the little girl on that folder’s label be this same damn woman in front of me. Shouldn’t she be fucked up? Shouldn’t she be a mess of issues?

Maybe she is underneath and is simply doing a damn good job of hiding it.

Then again, it’s hard to see a thing when her self-assuredness, confidence, and strength roll off her in thick waves.