Page 9 of Safe Bet (The Final Offer Trilogy #1)

CHAPTER SEVEN

All the air left my lungs.

“You never slept with Maria, right?”

Of all the things she could have asked me, why did it have to be that ?

“I-I know that makes me sound”—Belmira’s tiny, weak laugh waned—“well, it makes me sound insecure, but I’ve…” her voice faded.

I hadn’t slept with Maria, but… my stomach soured. Shit.

“I’ve been compared to her my entire life, and I…” The warm perspiration lining her palm clung to the back of my heated neck, and I hoped like hell that my body’s tells didn’t give me away the way hers had. “I mean, if you… if you have been with Maria…”

I trapped the thick swallow in its place, refusing to let the bobbing of my throat give me away.

That fucking kiss was coming back to haunt me. Again. From the wrong Tavares woman.

Five years later.

But that’s all it was. A kiss. A kiss that shouldn’t have happened. Could she feel how hard my pulse was punching against her palm?

Think, Felix. Fuckin’ think .

Was it a lie of omission if I answered her question exactly as she worded it and didn’t volunteer more than necessary?

Alright. Option one, tell Belmira the truth. Maria and I hadn’t slept together. But my conscience wasn’t clean, either. Maria initiated the kiss, but I’d kissed her back. I’d been the one to pull her into my lap, and while I couldn’t remember who had started grinding on who, it didn’t really matter any more than my stopping of things before they progressed in a direction neither of us could come back from.

Option two… who was I kidding? I wasn’t a hero for not sleeping with Maria. I was another dumb guy guided by the wrong head who’d gotten excited by a girl making the first move.

But I wasn’t that guy anymore. I didn’t want to pay the price of a choice I’d made at eighteen forever. I didn’t want to lose the girl—who I was pretty sure was the ‘one’—over something I’d done five years ago. I’d repented for it already, hadn’t I?

Belmira chewed her bottom lip. “I just…” she shut her eyes, and I took the opportunity to let my Adam’s apple bob with a swallow. “If you have , I couldn’t…I wouldn’t be able to.”

Yeah, I understood.

If I told her the truth, everything I was so certain about where it concerned her and me wouldn’t matter because I’d crush her.

“Felix?” Wary, observant brown eyes latched on mine.

This was the part where I opened my stupid mouth and said, “Funny story. Five years ago, your cousin and I smoked a joint together—not the first, but it was the last—behind your uncle’s workshop. You know the one, right? The one we used to play in when we were kids? Well, not you. Your ma wouldn’t let you outside, so you’d stand by the parlor room window, watching in the distance. I dislocated my shoulder when I fell out of the loft when I was fourteen. Actually, that might be why I’m afraid of heights. We weren’t allowed in there after that.

“Anyway. The weed? Not great. Kind of tasted like chlorine, bottom-shelf shit, and left the weirdest aftertaste behind, but free weed is free weed when you’re eighteen and chronically broke—get it? ‘Chronic’… no? Weed reference you probably wouldn’t get. You don’t seem the type. Not that that’s a bad thing. While it didn’t taste good, it turned out, it was very fucking strong. My mind? Clear. The August heatwave? Irrelevant. My focus? Questionable, but I didn’t need to be alert to watch a movie I’d already seen twice. My delayed response to your cousin leaning over and pressing her lips to the corner of my mouth? Quickly overtaken by my eighteen-year-old urges and hormones, I made a bad judgment call, and I kissed her back. I situated her on my lap. But I also stopped it before it could go any further. What do I mean by further? Oh, well. Everyone kept their clothes on. That’s still first base, right? My memory is a bit foggy about who ground on who first, though. She did attempt to slip her hand past my waistband. That was when I stopped things. I got the spins after that. I didn’t think it was the weed. Just my conscience punishing me. We watched the rest of the movie. Think you could look past all that?”

I could barely look past that. Belmira would receive that about as well as anyone would. The fraught seconds stretched between us. Conclusive hurt bloomed in her eyes, her hands unfixing from my body, drifting to her sides.

The pawl of panic clicked in place. I couldn’t do it. “No,” I announced with zero falter. “No, I haven’t slept with your cousin.” And now I was officially the biggest piece of shit.

It didn’t matter it wasn’t my intention to be one any more than had I known she was in my horizon, I would have saved all my kisses and all my firsts for her.

“Really?” Belmira asked, her expression impossible to read. Her doubtful eyes, on the other hand, were a whole different story.

I could fix this. The unsteadiness of my equilibrium waned, a tremble I masked set off in my kneecaps, threatening to send me pummeling to the ground with contrition.

Alright, Felix. The complete truth. Now. And… go! Nothing happened. My vocal cords, like the rest of my body, decided they were on vacation. Or no longer facilitating calls from my fucking conscience.

“Really,” left my mouth instead. My tombstone would read: Here lies— literally —Felix, a fucking asshole.

How was I better than my predecessors again? I’d sworn up and down I’d never do anything to hurt her, committed myself to reversing the damage done before me, and I’d given her a half truth. Not once. But twice. In the same conversation.

The tension melted from the stiff set of her shoulders, accompanied by the relieved exhale escaping her beautiful lips.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

My molars connected. “Nothing to thank me for.” Really. Nothing .

“Yes, I do.” She faltered, an embarrassed half-smile forming briefly before she redirected her attention to the floor. “You could have laughed at me, and you didn’t.” Belmira drew a controlled breath. “Maria is beautiful, and”—her nose wrinkled —“sexy.” Clearly, she didn’t care for the word, adding on, “In that grown-up, mature way, y’know?” My stomach clenched. “And I’m…” she sighed, shrugging in a what can you do way. “Just me.”

This was why I’d kept my mouth shut. Why I needed to keep it that way, too. She didn’t see herself the way I did, and if I fessed up, I had the sense she never would.

“What’s wrong with being ‘just you’?”

Belmira lifted her head, her bangs falling into her face. I pushed them out of her line of sight, a charge dancing under my fingertips.

The unobstructed eye contact nearly unnerved me. “Well, I’m never going to be those things.” The way she said it, with such conviction, bothered me, fueling my point. The truth would destroy her. I couldn’t break her heart.

“Who told you that?” My attention dipped from her bashful gaze down to her lips, resting in their natural part. “Who told you that you weren’t all of those things and then some?”

She didn’t vocalize her response. She didn’t have to. Her experiences had influenced her perception. The world had eaten away at her self-esteem. I wouldn’t be another mark she couldn’t buff away. I’d sooner join the priesthood before I hurt her with the truth. That was my burden to bear.

“I meant what I said to you earlier.” Her eyes rounded with rapt focus. “The dress is killing me.” Belmira let out a disbelieving scoff, blushing. I continued, “Every time you lick the inside of your lip, I lose my train of thought. Hell, every time you speak”—I searched her face—“I feel like I’m gonna combust.” She could interpret that however she wanted because she’d be right. “So don’t, for even one second…” I cradled her jaw. “Compare yourself to her because she’s not you.” I swallowed. “Not even close.”

It wasn’t Maria’s mouth I’d memorized or her shallow breaths I’d matched. It wasn’t Maria I’d written out a life plan with in my head.

“It’s hard not to,” Belmira confessed. “That’s always been our dynamic, no matter what it was, and I… I’ll never be like her, so I stopped trying. But this is the one area where…” She steadied her hands against my chest for balance. “Well, I-I don’t want to be measured against her or compared. For… performance .”

It wouldn’t have crossed my mind to do that. Then again, I’d never thought there would be something I would be willing to keep from her, either.

The dream girl. My future wife.

No one had ever commanded my attention the way she had. I was tuned into her, retaining details like the way she held her glass, the slight slant of her head a little to the right when deep in thought, how careful she was when she smiled—not too broadly—or the embarrassed hue that highlighted the round apples of her cheeks when she forgot to. How, despite being two years younger than me, so much sadness lived in her eyes as though she’d lived two lifetimes already, and neither of them had been easy. But I wanted to change that.

“Nothing compares to you, Bel.” No one.

She broke out into a laugh, rolling her eyes. I liked it when she laughed, how carefree she looked, if only for a moment. “Give it a break,” Belmira teased. “You already got me alone. No need to quote Sinéad O’Connor.”

Our smiles slid in unison, understanding filtering between us. This was it. My conscience was still heavy with guilt, but the staccato of my thunderous heart quieted the worry.

I flicked my eyes from her heavy, dark stare to her mouth, the desperation to seal it with my own intensifying as the charged, short sounds of our breathing filled the stillness of the room. I needed to explore every tight curve of her body, follow the explosion of tiny ridges of goosebumps lining her skin like a connect-the-dot game with my hands, stroke my tongue along hers, and convince her with my touch to believe me when I said no one was equal to her. She was in her own stratosphere, and I only hoped God, a higher power, or some unearthly being took mercy on me despite my past, my transgressions, my betrayal, and forgave me by giving me this, giving me her.

I wouldn’t let anything jeopardize that. Not my past. Not her insecurities.

Destiny drove us here. We didn’t need to understand it. There was just her. Us. Hidden in our own universe inside of this cramped office where no one else existed, sprinting straight toward the unknown because when you knew, you knew.

Just like I knew I was gonna kiss her senseless now.

I guided her flush against the door again, the wood rattling against its jamb. She slanted her head back, offering me better access, while my fingers drifted to her waist. I wasn’t the tallest guy in the world, but God, she was short. Without those strappy heels offering her the extra inches, the tip of her head stopped a little past my shoulder.

A lifetime prescription for muscle relaxants was in my future, and I couldn’t think of anything better. I dipped closer, not hurrying to seal my mouth against hers.

It was strange. I’d thought of nothing but kissing her all night, and now that I had the chance, without an audience, nerves darted through my veins.

I didn’t want to rush through our first kiss. I wanted it to be movie-epic, the kind of kiss she remembered forever.

My overeager body strained when she sunk against me, her hip bones brushing my thighs, her pelvis seeking alignment with mine. Blood stirred below my belt, and I was dangerously close to incriminating myself. I hadn’t wanted her to think I expected anything from her. But in this position, with the beckoning soft heat between her creamy thighs and the rucking velvet hemline, my self-control was holding on by a fraying thread. It was an act of sheer willpower I wasn’t aware I possessed to not hook a hand under both thighs, position her how I really wanted, and rut against her.

Ah, yes. There was a visual not helping my stiffening dick. But who could blame me? Especially when Belmira wet her lips again, the dull rasp of her fingers digging a little deeper against my waist as she pushed up on the tips of her shoes, the distance between us shrinking a little more.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say she was as desperate to kiss me as I was her, if not a little more. A whimper as soft as her dress loosened from the back of her throat as I cradled her face in my palm, the sound careening up the length of my arm, down the stretch of my spine, straight passed my navel. I hadn’t expected her to be so responsive to touch, and if that was all it took to get her blood surging, she had no idea what was in store for her.

She was willingly malleable under my direction as I positioned her jaw at the exact angle I wanted her. My thumb settled against her chin, my mouth edging closer to hers. Warm breath sweetened by the orange juice in her drink wafted over my lips, my nose tracing hers, drawing out the anticipation a little while longer.

Her hands left my shirt, lowering to my waist, searching for a new place to anchor herself, slender digits roaming along my belt loops. I caught the shudder when her touch turned firm, confident even, tracing over the leather of my belt. Her hands wandered, tormenting the waistline of my pants, until the scrape of her short nails dinged against the belt buckle with a deftness that deceived the airs of innocence and inexperience she radiated.

Maybe I didn’t have Belmira pegged correctly after all. There was no hesitation in her exploration, only want. The tip of her tongue glided along the edge of her teeth, her knuckles skimming against my contracting abdomen. If I needed any more proof I was going to have the worst case of blue balls when I left this building, this was it.

Fed up with waiting or exhausted by my slow-burn game, Belmira launched herself at me. Her calves strained to compensate for the height disparity, her hands gliding under my blazer to link her arms behind my neck while her soft tits collided against my chest. Belmira’s plush lips feathered tentatively against mine—every single hair on my body stood at attention—while she tested the connection. My scalp prickled when she fingered my hair, crooking her head to the right, my mouth chasing hers, deepening the pressure with an eagerness she greedily responded to.

Yep. I was fucked. If I’d had any lingering doubts that I was delusional, twisting this into something it really wasn’t, that kiss confirmed otherwise.

My heart walloped in my chest as I let her drive and tested my own waning self-restraint. If I wasn’t careful, if I didn’t remember to breathe and check myself, I was going to end up dry humping her against a fucking door until we both came.

Decisive hands slid downward, tracing the dancing muscles in my back with her whimpered approval—where was a tape recorder when you needed one?—until her slender arms wreathed around my waist. Her kisses grew firmer, more assertive, and the little wallflower who thought she couldn’t measure up to anyone vacated the premises for this woman who knew exactly what she wanted.

Eager fingers clawed against my shirt, desperate to pin me in place, and my common sense hit black ice. I didn’t care where or if I crashed. I wanted to hit the accelerator.

Heat bloomed and fanned out from my chest down to my groin, and I lost the valiant, short-lived game to slow the flow of blood. Who was I kidding? I’d been straddling the line of hard-as-a-fucking-rock for hours. The jig was as up as I was.

But I had to keep this to just kissing. No matter what the slow ascent of her hands abandoning their perch on my back suggested as they sunk lower, settled on my ass, drawing me in closer, urging me to rock against her.

Or I’d intended to, anyway. I wasn’t fully aware when my hands cinched around the hollow of her waist, but I knew I’d remember the sweet mewl she drove against my lips when my cock pressed her belly.

My lips parted, and I tested her full bottom lip between my teeth, tugging it back, the motion granting me another delectable expression of her pleasure.

That melodic, beautiful fucking sound was going to be my undoing. My little temptress's hips undulated with a lethal combination of impatience and need, chasing ecstasy in the form of friction.

I met the second twirl of her hips. The collision granted me another one of her whimpers, and I swore I saw heaven on the back of my eyelids.

“Fuck, Bel.” I didn’t recognize the strained timbre of my voice when I bit out her name. She rewarded me by opening her mouth, her tongue dipping out, gliding against my bottom lip, gleaning the groan clawing at the back of my throat. The proverbial snapping of whittled-down strands holding the rope together cracked and freed, instincts of a man possessed taking over.

I broke the kiss long enough to reach down and fasten her legs under the bend of my elbows, forcing her further up the door. The quick motion lured out the unfiltered sharp gasp of surprise as she took stock of her positional change, elevated, peering down at me with heated eyes, body pliant and yielding with complete and utter submission.

I lost hold of the smile, grinning up at her. God, she was pretty—her hair mussed, face flushed, lips ruddy and swollen. Beautiful in a way people overlooked because of her steadfast need to remain unassuming and blend into the background.

But when you finally noticed it? You couldn’t look away. It grabbed hold of you and promised to never let go. I’d always remember how she’d looked out in the courtyard, how the fog had trundled back, and there was only her, haloed by silvery light and the calm that followed.

And when I got home later, I’d recall with perfect clarity how her dress had bunched at her waist, the supple curve of her shapely thighs coiled around me, the configuration of her pelvis and the pulsating heat pillowing my throbbing cock, while I palmed myself furiously. I’d remember that the only thing that had kept me from getting inside her was the flimsy barrier of high-waisted black panties, damp in the gusset with her building arousal.

This was as far as it would go, though. As far as I’d allow it to because I’d already gone further than I’d planned. As soon as my blood slowed down, I’d return to worshipping her mouth tenderly and not like a man starved.

Belmira had other ideas.

She ground herself against me, wedging my cock between her wet, clothed folds, releasing a pleading whimper. The sound threatened to rush me to a premature climax, and blowing my load—in my pants, no less, like I was a teenager—wasn’t on the table.

Wouldn’t that be anti-fucking-climactic?

I took the wrong course of action to remedy my problem. I touched her more. My limbs buzzed as the calluses built into my hands from hard labor slid up the smooth stretch of her thighs, stopping at the juncture.

Velvet and cotton was all that kept us from acting on what we really wanted.

I dropped my forehead against her shoulder, turning my face into her graceful neck to sample her throat. The scruff of my beard audibly chafed against the column, her pulse jumping in response. She smelled incredible under her ear, and I opened my mouth, tracing my tongue along the pronounced ropes protracted in offering.

Couldn’t remember the last time I’d given someone a hickey—high school, maybe—but the growing appeal of leaving my mark on her was overtaking what little remained of my levelheadedness. I teased the hollowed curve where her neck met her shoulder with my open mouth, my teeth aching with the desire to nibble and tease her soft skin between the even edges before replacing the sensation with the firm vacuum seal of my mouth.

“Don’t give me a hickey,” she said on a pant, her hands skimming up the trunk of my neck, brushing against the shorn strands of hair. “My ma will kill me.”

“Your ma would kill me if she knew the filthy fucking things I want to do to her daughter, too,” I murmured against her ear, earning her tremble—she liked hearing that—and the tightening of her grip.

If there wasn’t a party thriving a few hall lengths over, if I could have Belmira the way I wanted, her dress would have been puddled on the floor alongside her bra. I’d bend her over Jerry’s desk, neat piles of papers and writing utensils strewn, family photos tipped over, while I kneeled behind her in worship, sliding my tongue indelicately over her wet slit as a preamble before diving in for my feast.

Her whimpers would be quieted by her panties stuffed in her mouth, left with no other choice but to taste her pussy’s response to me. I’d make her actively participate by placing her hands along each pert globe to keep her cheeks parted and my meal unobstructed.

And just when her moans became too much for the trap of her panties, when those wide eyes grew watery from unshed tears because she’d never experienced pleasure like that… I’d take her.

I’d take her, and if Belmira let me, I’d keep her forever.

This was real. I wasn’t afraid anymore or even worried about how hard and fast I was falling for the woman whose soul and body spoke to mine.

Her hands fitted around my cheeks, my beard scraping against her palms. She held my gaze as her legs tightened around my waist, my cock throbbing when she bore down on me, throwing her head back while her hips found a rhythm I couldn’t help but match.

“Bel,” I groaned, looking down between us as I crushed her against me.

I’d meant for her name to come out like a warning, but it was kindling to her fire. She chased the cresting of her climax, her pelvis grinding against mine in a frenzied cadence, the rasp of her soaked panties dampening the crotch of my pants.

I didn’t care. I wanted her cum on me. Needed it. Might lose my fucking mind if I didn’t get it.

I captured her mouth hungrily, recreating the song that sent all the blood in my brain to my cock. She met the caress of my tongue with equal enthusiasm. I kneaded her ass, gripping her soft flesh tightly, crushing her against me for the next roll.

I met her next gyration, thrusting against her, the door shuddering under her weight.

Don’t forget you lied to her, Felix.

I tensed at the unwelcomed return of my guilt.

You didn’t fuck girls like Belmira like this.

You took them out to that movie you promised.

You told them the truth, not the sieved version.

You showed them your cards and the life you wanted to build for them—with them.

You sought permission from their families.

You made love to them.

You married them—her electric cry ricocheted through me, my tongue circling hers, the second piston of my hips colliding against her—but maybe you also made them come at least once for good measure before you sent them back home. A preview for the real thing.

I peeled us away from the door, carrying her with me as I sunk into the overstuffed leather club chair in the corner beneath the framed poster for “risk.”

How fitting.

My mouth never left hers as I swiped an indolent hand out, sending the blazer on the back to the floor—didn’t think Jerry’s clothes really wanted to be part of this—and arranged Belmira astride over my thighs, knees planted into the cushion, dress raised past her belly button, body dangerously close to being fully on display.

Fucking. Hell.

This position, my dwindling restraint, and my guilt were at odds with each other. I couldn’t discern one contending voice from the other. So, I heard none of it at all. I tuned it out. Focused on her. My beacon.

My spine reclined against the back of the chair, and I stole a peek at her. The halation of amber light radiant against her complexion, her heaving chest, lips swollen and plump from the wrath of my mouth. I never wanted to leave this moment. I would have given anything to stay in it with her forever.

Belmira’s hands twisted in my hair, her breathy, contented sigh sinking into my mouth when she kissed me. Every nerve ending in my body crooned and buzzed. Every part of me she touched lit up.

Her grip on my hair broke long enough for her hands to come to the ring of velvet gathered at her waist.

“The dress,” she said between kisses. “Undo the zipper.”

I didn’t stop to think twice about it. I fumbled with the pull tab, the teeth releasing a dull echo resounding in the room.

The zipper ended at the small of her back, and she leaned back, sliding her arms through the sleeves. I scanned her exposed upper body, and my throat closed up on me.

Hell. I was going straight to hell with zero chance of redemption.

Her tits were less than a palmful, enveloped by black demi-cups low on the swells, the same matte-black shade as her panties. With a heavy hand, I massaged the left in my palm, tender at first, until she shifted forward, whispering her request for “more.” I swallowed because bad idea. Very bad idea. But who was I to deny her? My grip worked her over more firmly.

I wanted to see her. Yanking the cup down, my gaze pinned to the rosebud-pink halo and the erect bead in the center of the tapered point of her breast. I appraised the flesh streaked with red blooms from my touch, pleased at the sight. Red looked really good on her.

Where else did she blush? I peeled the strap of her bra down, tucking the cup under her tit, forcing the soft muscle to perk up. My thumb and forefinger alternated between tweaking and grazing, each touch triggering a unique response from her I couldn’t get enough of.

I dared to look at her, my lungs burning with fire. She was a fucking vision like this.

Sooty lashes fanned against her cheekbones, her pretty features pinched with concentration, straining with each crash of her canting hips. My choppy pants matched hers, my hands bolting to her waist, driving her back and forth along my stiff length.

The cautionary kick of my cock had me slowing, my balls drawing up in that all-too-familiar way. Shit. “Bel,” I panted, squeezing her waist, her motions stuttering to a conclusion. “Slow down, sweetheart.”

Confusion muddled her brow. “Why?” she asked tentatively, peering down at me over the smooth slant of her dainty nose. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Far from it. I shook my head in lieu of a response because my vocal box and breathing hadn’t caught up with my ego yet.

“Okay.” Relief overtook her for a flash, but then came the curious tilt of her head again. “Then… why?”

I let out a throaty chuckle, reclining in the club chair, studying her with appreciation. Strands of her long hair stuck to the pearlescent glow decorating her face. Her hair was everywhere—tresses spilled over her shoulders, tangled at the ends. Dark eyes filled with curiosity and lust, waiting for an explanation.

I touched the ends of her hair. “’Cause I’m about to blow in my pants if you don’t,” I volunteered sheepishly.

“Oh.” She blinked at me. “Is that a bad thing…?”

Releasing her hair, I lifted a hand to cup her jaw, guiding her closer until her lips hovered over mine. “Not a bad thing.” Nothing was bad with her, it seemed. “But messy.” The idea of having to sit in the car next to my sister and her fiancé with a cum stain on my pants ’cause Ma had insisted we all go in one car was not high on my list of things I’d like to do.

“I like messy,” Belmira murmured against my mouth, sliding a hand between us. I should have stopped her because this couldn’t go any further… but I needed to know if she’d hesitate when she got to her destination.

“Oh, yeah?” I husked.

“Yeah.” She smiled, caressing her bottom lip with mine. “I want to help you clean up.” My eyes distended, her confident fingers skating over my cock, cupping me in her deft palm, the muscle jerking in greeting.

Yep. God hated me.

If this was a test, this was the moment I failed, and I didn’t think anyone could blame me.

I shifted forward, her legs banding like a vise around my waist as I stood upright, depositing her on the desk.

There wasn’t going to be a surface we’d left untouched in Jerry’s office at this point.

Her mouth never left mine as I shoved the personal effects on his desk out of the way in a dizzying haste, silently offering him an apology and a promise I’d rearrange it after I tasted the space between Belmira’s legs.

I freed the bind of her legs around my waist, parting them roughly. The back of my knuckles scraped along the inside of her calves as I made my ascent.

So. Fucking. Soft.

Teasing the crossroad where her thigh met her pelvic bone, her hips bucked impatiently as I played with the scalloped detailing fringing her panties. I took my time, loving her restless impatience as I toyed with the waistline, hooking a finger against the elastic band and letting it snap back. Her startled yelp drilled against the back of her teeth. She wiggled on the desk, and I sandwiched a knee between hers, preventing her from edging herself with the hard surface.

That was my job.

Sliding my hands up her thighs, the hemline of her dress brushed over my knuckles, and I curved my fingers around the velvet, my eyes locking on hers.

“Lift.”

She did as she was told, her hips levitating, allowing me better clearance. I slid it over her head, depositing the heavy fabric to the floor. One tit was still pushed up under the cup of her bra, her hands braced behind her, chest heaving. I scraped an open palm over the lower half of my face, my harsh exhales tunneling against my fingers.

My focus dipped between her parted legs, and I dropped my hand, stepping into her. Her head fell back, the delicate definition in her thighs jumping as I ran my thumb along the damp middle of her panty line. Soaked was an understatement. She raised her hips the second my fingers curved around the waistband, and I held my breath, drawing the black undergarment downward, holding her stare. The motion inspired color in her dewy face, her lips separating as her ragged panting filled the quietude.

She directed my attention downward, and I followed her lead. A groan of approval simmered in the back of my throat at the glossy sight. Neat, trimmed curls the same shade of her hair cushioned her bright pink center, a gnawing hunger aching in the pit of my stomach. I forced her legs to part as wide as she could withstand, studying the glazed sheen beckoning for my mouth. Her opening fluttered, and my tongue swelled, but it was nothing compared to the agonized bloating against the seam of my pants, desperate to be freed from the confines of boxer briefs and chinos, and seat even just the tip inside of her warm heat.

But I wouldn’t. Not tonight, at least. Not until I told her the truth.

Batting the thought away before the guilt could consume me, I dragged her closer to the edge of the desk, skimming my lips over hers. My mouth trailed an uneven line across her jawline, down her throat. Pausing at her chest, I folded the cup under her still-sheathed breast, drawing the perfectly hardened peak into my mouth. She squealed as my teeth closed gently around the sensitive bud, my tongue rolling around, her fingers thrusting into my hair with approval, pinning my face in place. She let me go long enough to repeat the motion on the other side, and with one final, teasing tug, I pulled away.

My hands fit around her silken ankles, situating her heels on the desk. Her chest pitched with erratic inhalations, her drunken stare hooked on mine. My fingers traipsed along the inside of her thighs, inching closer to her core, the sticky luster of cream leaking from her, making my mouth water at the sight.

Belmira’s hips launched up from the desk when I ran my thumb against her seam, her mouth falling open. Sinking to my knees, precum dripped from the tip of my cock, the sweet earthiness of her arousal filling my nose.

“What are you doing?”

Trailing my lips against the inside of her right thigh, I asked, “What’s it look like?” When she didn’t respond, I painted a clearer picture by gliding my taut tongue up the stretch of her thigh, getting closer to her core.

I lifted my head, expecting to find anticipation and lust staring back at me, but I found mortification instead.

“Belmira?”

“Yeah?” she squeaked, shifting further up the desk.

I tracked the movement, her butterflied thighs fanning to a close. “What’s going on?” I cut the motion off, my hands landing gently on either knee.

It was okay if she wasn’t into oral. I’d get her off with my hand, but… her inability to maintain eye contact and fidgeting made me think it wasn’t an aversion to the good ol’ cunnilingus.

“Has no one ever eaten your pussy before, sweetheart?”

Her fretting stilled. Pink traveled, settling in the apples of her cheeks. Her mouth opened, snapping closed just as quickly.

My jaw ticked. Without having uttered a word, she’d given me a complete sentence. “Has anyone tried ?”

Her throat shifted with a gummy swallow, shadowed by her quick headshake. “It’s gross… isn’t it? To guys, I mean. They… they don’t like doing that.”

My nostrils flared. Who the fuck had told her that? “It’s not gross.” She’d just been with the wrong people. That changed now. If she wanted it to, that was.

I relaxed my hold on her knees, dusting my thumb over the bent joint, studying her for a long time. She wasn’t giving me any indication she didn’t want it, but I asked anyway. “Do you want me to go down on you?”

Belmira licked her bottom lip, nodding quickly.

“I’m gonna need you to say it out loud.” My heated stare flicked from her eyes to her core, salivating at the thought.

The tension in her limbs relaxed, her hair slipping over her shoulders as her elbows dipped, coming to a prop on the desk. “Yes.”

My beard rasped against her thigh, nuzzling into her. “Yes, what?”

Ease slipped in, overtaking her intimidation. “Yes, I want you to eat my pussy.”

Music to my fucking ears.

“Lie back, sweetheart,” I urged. “Let me have the honor of being the first.”

And if I was lucky?

The last, too.