6

“Take out my cock.”

She obeys, unbuttoning my jeans and pulling out my rock-hard shaft. Christ, even the gentle brushes of her fingers feel like delicious electric shocks.

“Good. You may no longer use your hands.” I gather her hair into one fist and guide her lips to the tip of my cock. “Open.”

Erin closes her eyes and opens her lips, and the first touch of her tongue on my skin is what I imagine heaven will be like. It’s hard not to thrust deep and fast when all I want is to feel more of this warm perfection. But I hold myself back, keeping my thrusts into her mouth even and measured, if a little deeper every time.

By the time I’m reaching the back of her mouth, her lips are stretched around my shaft, and she’s gazing up at me with those pretty blue eyes. I could probably come right now. I’m not going to. She’s given me free rein to enjoy this, and damn, I’m going to.

I keep my cock in her mouth, tightening my fingers. “Can you deep throat?”

Her eyes go wide, and there’s a combination of shrugging shoulders and a small shake of her head that tells me she doesn’t know. “You’re going to find out.” There’s no way I’m not going to be the first man who fucks her there.

She said she was with just one other person before me. A boy, she'd said, and I think what an idiot he was to not know the treasure he'd had at his fingertips. His loss is my gain.

Pulling her back so she can breathe, I wait until she catches her breath before I fit myself to her lips again and drive home. I use my hands to find that perfect angle to slip past her mouth and deeper. Everything tightens around the head of my cock and holy fuck that feels so good.

More. I need more of that. I push deeper and feel Erin’s throat jerk around me. Not all the way in, but close, and I pull back. She takes a deep breath that makes her breasts heave, and I want to fuck those too. There’s nothing that I don’t want about her.

“Oh my God,” she says with a small grin. “I’ve never done that.”

“You’ll do it again,” I say, pushing into her mouth again.

This time she’s eager, diving back down my shaft faster than I was going to guide her, and when I’m firmly seated in her throat, I begin to fuck. I hold her head in place and drive my hips deeper. Deeper. Until her lips are sealed around the base of my cock like they belong there.

And they do.

Jesus.

I close my eyes and revel in the impossible sensation of having my entire dick encased in warm mouth and throat, every tiny thrust sending zinging pleasure back through my balls and up my spine.

She breathes again, and I take her again. All this time it’s been amazing. But careful. Slow. I want it to be harder and faster. Messier. There isn’t anything that I love more than a woman with makeup running down her face because I was fucking her.

That’s what I do. I barely let her breathe because pleasure is building at the base of my spine and oh fuck. Driving deep into her mouth, I come, spilling everything I have straight down her throat.

Erin hauls in a breath when I let her go, and she’s messy. Just the way that I like it. And the smile on her face. God. I need to stop my thoughts before they go down a road that’s thinking that this is more than temporary.

“That was fun.”

I smirk. “I’m glad. Because you’re excellent at it.”

The air goes taut between us, that overwhelming magnetic feeling that I haven’t felt in ages, and never this strongly. “Go write the chapters, and I’ll be in to see you before we leave for dinner.”

“What time?”

“Dinner’s at seven.”

There was clear hunger in her eyes when she walked away. But I doubted that it had anything to do with food.

* * *

I knock on the door to the small office at six-fifteen and find her still typing. “How’s it going?”

“Almost finished,” she says.

Her fingers fly over the keyboard, and then she taps the period key emphatically. “There. Ready.”

“You need your reward first.”

Erin stands and comes over to me, almost pressing herself up against my body. “I’m starving. Can we come back after?”

I lift an eyebrow. “Yes, we can.”

The whole afternoon I thought she’d be begging for an orgasm by now, but maybe Erin is even kinkier than I thought, if she’s denying herself.

Dinner is at a tiny hole in the wall Italian restaurant. I’m one of the few authors who would attract attention from paparazzi, and I don’t want Erin and me in the papers together. Not because I’m trying to hide her, though I’m not ignorant. The sight of me with my graying temples and her looking like a teen pop star would cause a stir. No, this is about the fact there are only a few weeks to go until the book’s due date. I can’t afford any speculation about whether I'll finish it in time or who Erin is, if she's helping me.

“Okay,” I say when we’ve ordered and she’s sipping a coke. “I have questions.”

“Oh?”

“My main one being, how the hell is it possible that you’re not published yet? Your writing is excellent.”

A pink blush rises on her cheeks. “That’s nice of you to say.”

I frown. “What’s wrong?”

“Michael has made it very clear that I’m not good enough and not ready. And I believe him. I just showed him a draft, and he said it still needs more work. It sucks, because I was hoping that I finally nailed it, but it is what it is, I guess.”

“That’s why you were in the office that day?”

She nods. “Yeah.”

“Honestly, that doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, you’ve only read what I’ve written for you,” Erin points out. “Maybe I’m just better at mimicking than I am at original stuff.”

“I highly doubt that.”

She shrugs and takes another sip. I make a mental note to talk with Michael about that, because he won’t lie to me. And he’s been my agent since the beginning. If there’s a problem, he’ll tell me.

But by the same token, if she wasn’t good enough to write for me, he wouldn’t have suggested it.

“And I think you have things to tell me too?” I ask.

Her eyes sparkle. “Negotiations? Maybe.”

“Let me propose something, and we’ll go from there.”

Erin leans forward on the table, the position putting her breasts in the perfect position to stare at them. I need to spend some more time with them, because even clothed, they look delicious. “I’m listening," she says.

“If there’s no reason that you can’t, I propose that for the rest of this gig, you live with me. During work hours, you’ll write, and the rest of the time, you’re mine.”

She’s close enough that I watch her pupils dilate. The idea fascinates her. “I need to be able to leave for things,” Erin says. “Things I’ve already planned.”

“Of course.” I incline my head.

“And what kind of things do you want me to do in this time that I’m yours?”

I take a sip of my wine. I wish I could have bought her a glass, but she assured me it was fine. Erin didn't make a fuss about how she isn’t twenty-one yet, didn't even ask me to sneak her some wine or sway the waiter. It was like she was aware of her age compared to mine but didn't give a fuck.

I say, “We can figure that out together. But very little of it will involve clothing.”

She laughs, eyes bright. “I can’t believe that I’m doing this.”

“So that’s a yes?”

Lifting the glass in a cheer to me, she says, “Yes.”

“Excellent.”

The waiter comes over, and Erin sits backwards quickly. Pity the view is gone.

“Shit,” the waiter says, and that’s all the warning that we got before spaghetti falls all over Erin. Sauce is everywhere, sliding down her shirt, soaking into the fabric, and staining her lap.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” the waiter says, placing my food down. “I’ll grab a towel.”

I hold up a hand. “That won’t be necessary. Bring me the check and put my food in a to-go box. Seems we’ll be dining at home after all.”

The waiter, looking guilty, goes to do what I ask, and Erin is still blinking, confused. I can’t help but grin, because her covered with sauce is honestly hilarious. “Well,” I say, “now I have a valid reason to get you out of those clothes.”

“As long as I get food,” she says. “Anything.”

We’re out of the restaurant and heading back to my place in five minutes flat. Fine with me. I can’t want to be alone with her again.

6

Erin

Being covered in tomato sauce is not my idea of sexy. In fact, it’s kind of gross. Cold and sticky. But at the very least I’m not hungry anymore, having devoured half of Malik’s giant portion of alfredo.

I need to get out of these clothes now that my stomach isn’t screaming at me. “I’m not planning on going home and getting things until tomorrow,” I told him. “Have anything that I can borrow?”

He’s leaning over the kitchen island, looking at me with dark, hungry eyes. This arrangement that we’re about to have. I can’t believe that I said yes. But how can I say no? I want him, and when he looks at me like that, my body instantly responds. I’m wet. Just another thing to add to what’s all over my clothes.

“The washing machine is through there,” he points to a small hallway. “Meet me upstairs once you put your clothes in.”

I swallow. That will mean that I’m going upstairs naked. But I would have ended up like that anyway. “Okay.”

His eyes don’t leave me until he’s out of the room, and I shudder. The sheer heat in his eyes is enough to drive me mad. I don’t think that I’ve ever put together a load of laundry so fast. I don’t even care that technically these clothes need to be in separate loads. They’re going together today.