Page 20 of Afterglow (Ottawa Regents #3)
We Can Save the Blowjob for Another Time
Behraz
I’m never kissing anyone but Fletcher Donovan ever again.
It wouldn’t live up to it. Not even close.
I’m his first kiss. And he doesn’t know it yet, but I’m sure as fuck gonna be his last. No way is anyone else ever gonna have sweet, perfect Fletcher Donovan after me.
I shouldn’t have picked up the phone. A ten-minute conversation turned into three hours, and then it was too late to recover what we started.
My thumbs hover over the keyboard in a message with Fletcher.
It’s 7 a.m. He’s gotta be up. If not, he’ll see it soon enough.
Me
I can’t stop thinking about last night
There’s no response. Two minutes pass. I get impatient.
Me
Tell me I’m not imagining it
Dreamboat
Imagining what?
Me
I can’t be the only one who can’t stop thinking about us kissing
Dreamboat
You’re not
That’s it. I’m going over there.
I dash to the door and open with an overeager pull, only to find a flushed Fletcher Donovan waiting for me on the couch.
My feet continue at their scurrying speed, before pouncing on the poor guy.
We crash together, mouths and teeth and tongues and tangled limbs. His hands roam from my face and through the mess of my hair, settling around my back to position me across his lap.
“I can’t believe” —I gasp between brazen kisses— “you’ve never” —another gasp— “kissed anyone.” He groans against my mouth. “You’re so fucking good at it,” I praise, nipping at his swollen bottom lip. “How is that possible?”
“Who fucking cares?” He laments, glassy-eyed. “Please don’t stop.”
I don’t know if he means the praise or the kissing, so I keep going with both.
“You’re sweet and gentle and kind and perfect,” I continue, catching my runaway breaths between heavy kisses.
“The color of your hair” —I swirl my fingers through the sides of it— “the splatter of your freckles” —the backs of my hands stroke down his pinked cheeks— “are what forlorn folk musicians write about. And these lips?” I draw two quick kisses from them.
“How could they never have been kissed? I don’t believe for a second that no one wanted to. ”
“Maybe they did, but I didn’t want them to.” Fletcher steals another kiss.
“Why not?”
He runs the tip of his nose back and forth across mine. “I wanted more than a kiss.”
“A blowjob?”
“Fucking hell.” His blush deepens, staining the shells of his ears with crimson. “No, I wanted someone to want me. For me. To know me and want me.”
My palms uphold this sweet man’s face. “I know you. And I want you. And I want to kiss you some more, too.”
So, we do.
The alarm on my phone rings for me to get ready for work, but we keep kissing through giddy smiles and rolling giggles and tight cuddles.
“Okay, one more and then I really have to get ready for work.” Fletcher tips my head up by the chin and makes the kiss count. “We can save the blowjob for another time, I guess.”
How am I supposed to focus on studying now?
I can’t even focus on getting out of the truck after Fletcher drives me home from the law firm. He kisses every knuckle, every finger, the inside of my wrists, all without breaking eye contact. “What’re you thinking about?”
“So many things,” I blurt. “But mostly about how you’ve got the prettiest pink mouth.”
Fletcher freezes, his lips pressing against the throbbing pulse.
“And how pretty it’d look all over me.”
Auburn freckles disappear behind the beet red of his blush. He curses under his breath.
“Can we go inside?” I ask, sounding whinier and more desperate than is usually acceptable. But the truth is, I am needy and desperate for this man. “I need you to keep kissing me, touching me, all over. Everywhere.”
Fletcher lifts and tugs me across the cab, placing me in a straddle over his lap. “Can we take it slow?” His hands climb my thighs, dragging the hem of my dress upward.
“Of course.”
“I wanna make you feel good.”
“You do?—”
“Teach me,” he begs, burying his face into the crook of my neck. “God, I want you so badly. Tell me you want me, too.”
I nod rapidly. “I want you.”
“Tell me how.” His plea fissures the weak walls of my heart.
I lift his head. “In all the ways I can have you. In all the ways that matter. Actually, in all the ways that don’t, too. I want you in every way possible.”
“Oh, thank God. Because you can have all of me.”
I can?
“You hear me, Bea?” Fletcher catches my chin in the crook of his finger, forcing my gaze. “You have all of me.”