Page 59 of Something Spontaneous

It’s not the throaty moans he lets out as my core clenches around his thick fingers that wind me up.

And it might have a little to do with the bottle of soda that my eyes keep drifting to on the coffee table when they’re not rolling into the back of my head.

It definitely has something to do with that innocent, carefree side of him that’s keeping count of how many times he can get me off like it’s a game that his life depends on winning. That’s the part of him that is so acutely aware of my needs and wants before I can even think about them myself, much less vocalize them.

Just like he did years ago, Sly Sterling lives in my mind, rent-free. That part isn’t new, though. As much as I’ve tried to ignore it, he’s always been lurking in the recesses of my mind.

The last two days have reminded me of what he does with that access to those parts of my soul. He doesn’t use them for himself, he uses them for me. My impending orgasm is a prime example of that.

I’ve all but told him he means nothing to me. A younger version of him told me the exact same thing once, but I could tell by the way he wanted to talk minutes ago that he doesn’t feel that way now. I know he’s hiding his own feelings, and maybe selfishly, I don’t care. No one has ever, or will ever, make me feel wanted the way he does. No subscriber with obscene tips or requests with sky-high price tags. No guy trying to pick me up at the bar. No one-night stand. No one will ever make me feel the way the man between my legs can right now.

I know I said I don’t want something that comes with strings attached. I’ve gotten so used to no-strings over the years that I forgot what it felt like.

No strings might be safer—might be easier—but this is better.

This closeness, this undefinable connection where our bodies know what we need without saying it, is what comes with strings.

That’s why I’m chanting some incoherent mixture of swear words and his name while gripping his thick cock.

“God, Sly. Yes.”

He groans his approval and laps at me. My vision blurs with one more flick of his tongue. I snap, coming apart while his fingers ruthlessly work me and drag out my orgasm. My back arches while my pussy clamps down on his fingers, and I cry out loud enough that I’m sure anyone in the room next to us could hear it.

“That’s my girl,” he rasps against my core, swiping his tongue over my hypersensitive clit again. I spasm, and my fist tightens around his length. “Fuck,” he hisses when I swipe my thumb over the head and swirl the bead of pre-cum coating the tip.

He sits up and angles himself toward me just as I come down from my high, slowly catching my breath and regaining my senses. My body might be a spent shell sunk into the couch, but when my eyelids flutter open and I glance up at him, my mind is very aware of his presence.

His broad figure is imposing as he looms over me, but somehow calming in a way I wish I didn’t crave. Sitting next to my waist on the edge of the couch, he delicately runs one of his hands up my thigh, letting his fingertip barely graze my skin.

I try to ignore his proud and satisfied grin, but I can’t ignore his eyes. They’re still the same, flawless shade of blue as the lake at the overlook we used to hike to growing up. I silently watch them follow his hand and sparkle with admiration as he trails the pads of his fingers over my hip. Those fingers—still wet from being inside me—dance along my heated skin until he grips my ribs. The only sound I hear is my heart pounding in my chest as he traces his thumb under the tattered hem of my homemade crop top and over the pinup girl tattooed there. I’m glad he’s appreciating my body right now because if he looked into my eyes, I would melt on the spot.

The other night was so frantic and fueled by anger that I didn’t fully take the time to appreciate all the details of how he has truly grown into a man worthy of being studied. His body and his features are breathtakingly masculine, but it’s the sullen look in his kind eyes that has me searching for air again.

He grins and leans down, bringing his lips to the shell of my ear. I don’t dare move because the sensation of his chest pressing against mine is so grounding. His beard drags over my exposed neck, and I feel his hot breath before he kisses me right over my pulse point, spiking my need again.

“Four,” he rasps with a low husky voice that’s equally infuriating and sexy.

A breathy giggle escapes my lips, and I stroke his shaft in my hand firmly, eliciting a throaty groan that I feel reverberate in his chest.

I whisper into his ear, “I think we both know that number can go a lot higher… for both of us.”

He tilts his head and looks at me curiously. That’s when I plant a hand firmly on his chest and push him back. Before he can react, I sit up and throw my leg over him so I’m straddling his lap. His eyes rake over me, and I almost giggle again when he finally fixates on my tits—or more accurately—my hard nipples and the outline of the hoops that are showing through my top.

His tongue darts out over his lips, and he reaches up under my top to cup my breasts. I rip it off and toss it aside before cupping his cheeks in my hands. I let my fingers run through his beard before I dig my nails in and pull his face to my chest. He kisses the inside of my breasts before his tongue finds one of my nipples and circles it, sending a jolt of pleasure that I feel from my flushed cheeks down to my toes.

I reach between my legs and grab his cock, notching him at my entrance. He looks up, and I see the same desperate, wanton lust and need that I feel pulsing through me.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Josie,” he says, dropping his hands to cup my ass. “I can’t believe I ever let you⁠—”

I know what he’s going to say, and I don’t need him to add to the flurry of emotions that I’m flirting with by doing this with him.

“Rule number two. Shut up.” I cut him off.

A flash of remorse and understanding crosses his face. He nods once before bringing his lips to mine. His kiss is hungry, and frantic, and finishes his earlier sentence. His tongue explores the back of my mouth, and mine does the same, pushing my craving for him even higher.

He only breaks the kiss when we’re both panting and need air. His eyes find mine, and this time, I don’t shy away from his unflinching eye contact like I did last night. Instead, I stare right back as I lower myself and take the first few inches of his thick cock. I gasp at the delicious sting of how he stretches me, and I don’t miss the way his eyes roll back into his head and the shudder that wracks his body.

“So damn tight,” he growls, pushing his hips up and driving himself deeper into me.