Page 11 of Operation Annulment (Silent Phoenix MC)
ten
Kate
“ H ere we are,” Nate says, helping me out of the car.
“Your house—it’s, um...” I swallow hard as I take in the spinning metal shelves and bare walls, feeling like I’m on the merry-go-round from hell. “It’s nice.”
“Well, this is just the garage.”
Thank god.
“Right. I knew that.” I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to remember whether it was The Modern Gals Guide to Casual Sex that suggested complimenting a man when you visit his home for the first time or Nan.
Shit, what am I supposed to say— “You have a huge cock, Nate, and I appreciate you letting me go down on you?”
When Nate loops an arm beneath my knees and growls, “Jesus fucking Christ, Katy. That mouth of yours,” I realize there’s a possibility my internal dialogue wasn’t so internal after all.
He carries me to his bedroom and tosses me on the bed before stripping off his t-shirt. I push myself onto my elbows to watch as he tugs his jeans down over the v of his hips, committing the sight to memory.
I knew Nate was in shape, but watching his well-defined muscles ripple as he undresses is on an entirely new level. Dark bands of ink wrap around his torso and trail down his thick thighs, and I don’t know that I’ve ever seen a more beautiful canvas in my life.
His nostrils flare as he stalks toward me, and my stomach clenches in anticipation.
“Come here,” he growls through his teeth, grasping my ankles and tugging me toward the side of the bed.
I lose my balance and fall back against the mattress with a breathless giggle. “I like seeing you go all caveman on me.”
“Then, you’re gonna love this, babe.” He pushes my dress up past my hips and tugs my panties to the side before kneeling before me.
He plants his palms on the inside of my thighs to hold them open before pressing his lips to my skin. “Fuck, Katy girl. You’re so wet for me.”
I shiver under his intense gaze. I don’t know what things will be like in the morning. There’s nothing beyond this moment, with all the lights on and him staring up at me like I’m a goddess he wants nothing more than to worship.
He kisses the inside of my thigh, higher this time, before asking, “Is this okay?”
My lips part with a soft sigh, but I’m no longer capable of complicated things like producing words, so I settle for a nod.
His fingers brush over my clit before sliding one into the slick heat of my body, and my hips instinctively roll forward, seeking more.
“So fucking tight. You still with me?”
I bob my head up and down, but I’m burning up. I free my arms from the straps of my dress and reach back to unclasp my bra, tossing it aside with a ragged exhale.
Nate makes a sound of approval before burying his face between my legs like his only purpose in life is to please me.
I arch my back and moan against the hand I’ve clapped against my mouth, shuddering as his beard scrapes over my sensitive flesh. He strokes my tight bud with the flat of his tongue, sending goosebumps racing over my skin and tightening my nipples into hardened points.
My inner muscles clench and flutter wildly around his fingers, and he exhales a soft laugh against my core. “I think she likes it.”
Like it?
The man is a damn sex magician. And his tongue—sonnets should be written in honor of his tongue.
He switches positions and tempos, and with a sudden sinking feeling, I realize the pressure building inside me isn’t an orgasm.
Nope. It’s vomit.
“Don’t do this to me,” I moan, pleading with my body. My palms grow sweaty and numb as the blood migrates south to my stomach.
Nate immediately pulls back with his hands raised and eyes wide with alarm. “I’m stopping. You’re safe?—”
I shove past him and into the attached bathroom, dropping to my knees in front of the toilet as the tequila makes a sudden and violent reappearance.
“Go away,” I groan when Nate knocks at the door several minutes later.
He ignores me and enters the bathroom armed with a bottle of ibuprofen and a glass of neon orange liquid.
My dress is still haphazardly bunched around my midsection, and I tug at it before giving up and lowering my face back to the toilet seat. “I’m disgusting.”
“Nah,” he says, offering me the glass before sitting on the tile beside me. “Gatorade. It’ll help replenish the electrolytes you just lost.”
“What are you a doctor now?” I ask with a weak laugh before squeezing my eyes shut and muttering, “Oh, god. I’m never drinking tequila again.”
“First time?”
“Yep. And last.”
His fingertips stroke lazy circles over my back. “Almost every bad drinking story begins with tequila. ”
“Ugh, I know that now,” I say, smacking my lips with a grimace. “I sort of hoped I’d be the exception.” I take a couple of sips of Gatorade before lurching forward to retch again.
Nate holds my sweat-soaked hair off my face as my body purges the alcohol and everything I happened to have eaten over the past five years.
“I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say that you’re probably not going to be the exception when it comes to tequila,” he quips once I’m finished.
After brushing my teeth with a spare toothbrush, I swap my dress for one of his t-shirts and let him help me into bed.
I’ll just wait for him to fall asleep before ordering an Uber to take me home.
His body molds around mine like a warm blanket, and I melt into his embrace with a wide yawn.
Maybe I’ll close my eyes.
Just for a couple of minutes.