Page 24 of Father Knows Best (A Family Affair #1)

I worked with Geo a lot. I’ve obviously worked with Sutt a ton, too. And I saw similarities. Things about them that made me think of the other, and thought to myself, geez, if they ever did manage to work through the past, they’d get along so well.

I never stuck my nose in, not until Geo approached me.

His vulnerability took my breath away and when it came down to it, Geo only cared about doing what was right for Sutton all these years, even now, all along.

It was hard to hold any ill will toward him after that day, and once they talked and worked through things, our lives have completely changed.

They’re rebuilding. It’s not perfect. They aren’t instantly playing golf every weekend. I don’t call him dad.

But it’s better. So much better, and building toward something even better.

It’s why I don’t ever sweat not being close with my parents. I think sometimes that the universe showed me cheap rent in the city so I could come here and meet the Mercers. Because now that Sutt and Geo are making amends, Geo and I are growing closer, too.

The bathroom door opens, and steam fills the room for a moment before dissipating, leaving just the sight of Sutton, slacks open and slung low around his hips revealing his Adonis belt, muscled core and strong chest. He’s going to go downstairs and get a glass of water—he does this before every hot shower.

But the outline of his soft cock in his slacks and the feel of his cum still inside me from a few hours ago makes me reckless and I toss back the blanket draped over my legs, and slip out of bed, dropping to my knees.

The movement catches his attention and he comes to me, extending a hand. “Drop your earring?”

I tug on his boxers and his open pants. “I want you, before your shower, I want you again.” I slip one hand into his boxers but he stops me, and pulls me up to my feet with ease.

When I blink up at him, his brows are weighted by confusion, the slight stubble covering his chin after a long day at work not helping the pulsing in my clit.

“You want.. What?” he asks, and I answer by giving his pants a tug, adding, “You. In my mouth. I want you to finish in my mouth.”

His eyes search mine. “Avery, we made love earlier.” This is his way of saying that my pussy is still smeared all over him, and that if I put him in my mouth now, I’ll taste myself, I’ll taste the love we made, all of it.

“I know,” I reply, my heart racing, the unspoken sentiment that I want to taste myself and us lingers between us, and each moment that passes where he doesn’t say anything makes me exponentially more nervous.

The momentary tension splits when Sutton smiles, then presses a soft kiss to my lips. “I’ll shower first, okay?” He nods to the open door, where the water is running in the distance.

I nod, and try not to be disappointed that he said no.

Sex on the counter was hot. Expecting more out-of-routine behavior from Sutton in one day would be asking too much, pushing too far.

“Sure,” I smile, my cheeks flaring, embarrassment of rejection hitting me.

But as he pulls the door closed and I reach into my panties, finding myself ready for him again, I realize that it’s not just being rejected that hurts.

It’s mustering courage to show him that I want more, that I’m hungrier than he realizes, thirstier than he’s aware—only to be curbed, told to pace myself, to wait.

It's okay, that’s what I tell myself as I bring myself to orgasm while Sutton showers. It’s okay if he’s less adventurous, wants sex less than I do. Maybe over time, he’ll want more.

A few minutes pass before Sutton comes out of the bathroom, nothing but a towel slung around his waist. His veined hand disappears into his hair as he treads toward me, twisting the bedside lamp off with a click.

I wish he took the towel off before he turned the light out, and nothing will ever change that.

I love Sutton, but his modesty turns me into a puddle, I swear.

He slips under the covers, and my eyes struggle to adjust to the new darkness as he grabs my face, pulling me into a kiss.

Our tongues slide together, and his soft moans and partial erection inflame my lower half.

I shimmy down the length of him, positioning myself between his thighs, the blankets bunched at my feet so he can watch.

He rarely watches. I mean, he does watch.

But not the whole time. Most of the time, his eyes are closed, and I’m glad he enjoys himself.

I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t gotten myself off to the fantasy of Sutton holding my eyes as he comes into my mouth and down my throat.

I’ve had one of my most intense orgasms fantasizing about his thumb on my throat, groaning aloud as he feels me swallow his cum. So hot.

I slide his cock onto my tongue, giving his balls a gentle tug as I take him down my throat.

Sutton’s hand comes to my cheek, his thumb resting beneath my bottom lip.

Tenderly, he holds my face as I suck him, and as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I blink up, over the terrain of his godlike torso, and find his eyes.

He stares down at me, his thumb tugging slightly as I bob on his erection, hot and steely in the tight channel of my throat.

“You’re so beautiful, Avery,” he whispers, the praise throwing a cramp of desire in my belly, making me squirm a little between his legs.

His words urge me to take him deeper, my eyes burning as his head nudges the soft spot at the back of my throat.

With the tip of my tongue, I trace his crown, my clit pulsing when his eyes flutter closed, his grip tightening on my face as he groans.

Sutton rarely makes noises when I go down on him, but I live for each grunt and groan he does make.

I bob on his shaft again, this time using my hand to gently stroke him at the base, the part of him I struggle to fit in my throat.

I suck and twist, and he groans, the virile, cavernous noise of it arousing me even more.

He slides his hand to the top of my head, lazily pushing wisps of blonde hair away from my face, blinking down at me in the moonlight.

“Av, I’m close,” he warns, because Sutton does not like orgasming in my mouth.

He, in the past, has said it’s unnecessary.

The one time he did it was so absolutely and utterly hot that I orgasmed just from the taste of him.

And there was so much. And it was the best consistency, too.

But the idea of asking for that again after so many other rejections is just too nerve-wracking, even though it shouldn’t be.

I want to be Sutton’s slut. The thing is, he doesn’t want a slut, and I’m trying to be okay with that.

Pumping his shaft, I take his cock out of my mouth with a pop, and align his dark, peeking slit with my mouth, readying myself.

Sutton’s eyes, which closed a moment ago, pop open, and his abs knot as he attempts to raise up to his elbows in the bed.

“Let me,” I breathe, my heart racing so fast as my hands work him in skilled pumps.

“Oh, oh my God,” he sighs, sinking back into the pillows as I cup my mouth to his head, catching his cum as he orgasms, his entire body a twitching, moaning mess.

It happens right then, as I’m sucking him down, feeling his cum splatter my throat and coat my tongue, knowing how rare this gift is, how infrequent I get to receive it—my pussy clenches and spasms, orgasming without a single touch just at the erotic and heated feel of Sutton letting me taste and swallow his orgasm.

Afraid he’ll ask me to spit, I swallow it all as he gives it to me, and when the last of him is spent, I lick his shaft clean.

I climb up into bed, clinging to his chest, my body humming from the way he pants, struggling to catch his breath. “Avery–you know I don’t expect you to do that, right? To… swallow.”

The word is quieter than the others, as if even discussing it brings Sutton some discomfort. I don’t want to push him–he’s given me so much today. I nod my head and kiss his cheek. “I wanted to. I always want to. I want as much of you as you’ll give me, Sutt.”

He kisses me, but stands up long enough to pull on his boxers, and a t-shirt before the faint light of TV takes us into sleep.