Page 67 of The Girlfriend Agreement (Conwick U #1)

And I am losing myself, too. Each shift of her hips only stokes the fire burning inside me, and I dip a bit lower, probing her entrance with the tip of my tongue, teasing her just enough to make her whimper.

She’s so sweet, so fucking responsive, and I’m lost in the taste of her, in the feel of her pulsing against my mouth.

After a few minutes of this, I pull back, needing to see her face—to see what I’m doing to her—and her wrecked expression nearly has me coming untouched. My jeans are so tight now it’s agonizing. I trace the shape of her clit with my thumb while my other hand moves to free my cock.

“Why’d you stop?” I hear Blondie ask, her voice a thready gasp, and I flash her a devilish grin before kissing the dip where her leg meets her pelvis.

“I was just wondering if I should tell you what you taste like,” I murmur against her skin, and she shudders from the heat of my breath. “Don’t worry, it’s good,” I promise.

I lick her again, and she groans when I slide a finger inside her slick entrance, my hand working in tandem with my tongue. With my other hand, I slowly stroke myself—not enough to come, but just enough to stave off the ache. For now.

Blondie’s breaths grow more rapid with each ravenous swipe of my tongue, and I sense her impending release a moment before it happens as her inner walls tighten.

She presses something—a pillow, I assume—to her face, muffling the desperate wail that slips from her with one last lick to her clit.

I close around her again, unhurried and deliberate, savoring the sweet, heady taste of her climax, the pulse of her orgasm trembling against my tongue.

Sitting back on my heels, I let go of my cock, lest the night come to a premature conclusion, then rising, I climb onto the bed, hovering over Blondie on all fours.

The pillow is still propped against her face, though she no longer holds it there, her arms spread out beside her, her body perfectly still aside from her chest, which rises and falls in a steady rhythm.

I pull the pillow away, needing to see it—the blissed-out ecstasy I’m certain I’ll find on her face.

I saw what she looked like in the heat of the moment, and now, I need to see what she looks like when she’s been thoroughly taken apart. By me.

Blondie’s eyes are hazy, and a loose laugh bubbles out of her throat when she meets my gaze, her dimples popping out to greet me.

God, she’s beautiful. I want to kiss her, and I lean in to do so before second-guessing myself.

Maybe I shouldn’t. Some women aren’t okay with that—not after what I just did.

Not with the taste of her lingering on my lips.

But as I’ve already come to realize, Blondie isn’t like the other women I’ve pursued. She reaches an arm around my back, pulls me down, and locks our mouths together without hesitation.

This kiss is chaste, soft, and when it’s over, I just look at her—at the heat in her cheeks, the swollen plumpness to her lips. At those beautiful green eyes, which shine with an emotion I don’t recognize. It’s definitely not one I’ve ever seen in the eyes of the other women I’ve been with.

Whatever it is, it fades before I can try to make sense of it.

Next thing I know, Blondie is dipping her eyes to my erection, which hangs between us, neglected and leaking.

With a coy smile, she reaches down and wraps her soft fingers around my length, coaxing a groan to slip free of my lips.

Closing my eyes, I drop my head into the crook of her neck.

“Can I fuck you?” I whisper, wincing at the nervous waver in my voice.

Christ, I sound like a pre-teen who just asked the girl he likes to dance.

Blondie stills, and an ice-cold dread washes through me. Was that the wrong thing to say? She might have let me go down on her, but am I being presumptuous thinking she’d want to do more despite what she said on Halloween?

Those fears fall away like autumn leaves when she laughs. “Honestly? I might murder you if you don’t.”

Relief barrels through me, but it dissipates when a terrible realization hits me. “Shit.”

“What?”

I sink back onto my knees and straighten, running a hand through my hair. “I…wasn’t exactly expecting this to happen,” I admit, furious with Past Damian for being so short-sighted, “so I didn’t bring anything.”

Blondie immediately catches my meaning. “Oh. Well…” She bites her lip, that contemplative expression returning. Finally, coming to some internal decision, she shrugs and says, “I’m on the pill. And besides, I’m nowhere close to my fertile window, so we should be good.”

I bark out a startled laugh. “Fertile window?”

She looks at me as if I’m stupid. “Yeah, you know. Ovulation?”

“Women actually keep track of that?” I ask.

Blondie purses her lips. “What, like it’s hard? It’s just simple math.”

“What about STIs?” I counter. I hate that it sounds like I’m searching for an excuse to put a stop to this, but if I was going to look for an out—a reason to walk away—this would be it. I could still say no before I lose myself for good.

She stiffens. “I hope this isn’t your way of telling me you really do have the clap.”

“Are people saying that?” I gasp, clutching metaphorical pearls, like I’m channeling my mother and she was just told her favorite perfume has been discontinued.

Blondie shakes her head. “Just Ronnie.”

“How shocking,” I deadpan, failing to hide my glower.

“But to answer your question, no. I do not and have never had the clap or any other sexually transmitted disease. I’m one hundred percent clean.

Besides, I’ve only been with you since that day you nearly kicked my balls off my body. The, er, second time,” I amend.

Blondie snorts. “You’re the only person I’ve been with my entire time at Conwick.”

My jaw drops. “No way. Really?”

I suppose I’m not surprised she didn’t sleep with anyone else after the whole scandal with the bet—if I was in her shoes, that would’ve put me off penises, too—but before that? We’re talking a solid six months from the time she started at Conwick when she could’ve been going to Pound Town.

But then Ronnie’s words at the party the other night fill my head—about Blondie’s dickhead ex and how she’s so used to being let down that she never lets people in—and suddenly, I’m filled with a deep self-loathing that I became just another one of those people…

And a determination never to be that again.

Impatience wrinkles Blondie’s brow, and she averts her gaze, but she can’t hide the blush sweeping over her cheeks, leaving the skin a sexy burnished red. “Don’t let it go to your head or anything,” she mutters. Then, scowling at me, she adds, “Are we doing this or what?”

With a throaty chuckle, I sink back onto my forearms, and when my body brackets hers, those perfect, tantalizing breasts rub against my chest. So much for self-preservation. God, I am so fucked. “Only if you keep being bossy,” I purr, giving her an impish smile. “It’s quite the turn-on, you know.”

We don’t speak anymore after that, and any concerns she had about my abuela hearing us are long forgotten as I push my jeans and briefs down and sink into the welcoming heat of her.

I’ve wondered what this would feel like since that morning in September when I woke up to find her in my bed.

I’ve wanted to remember how it feels to be inside her since I realized who she was on the list. And fucking her is just as good, if not better, than I imagined—or remembered—it would be.

Blondie’s body molds to mine like we were made to go together, our every movement perfectly in sync.

My only regret is that we push our clothes out of the way instead of fully taking them off, so I miss out on the feeling of her naked skin—of seeing those gorgeous breasts bared to the world.

In spite of that, Blondie is a sight to behold, moaning and writhing beneath me, and it’s a struggle to hold out for as long as I do.

Thankfully, when I do come, she’s right there with me, pressing her mouth into my shoulder to muffle her cry.

“Fuck,” she breathes when I flop down on my back beside her a moment later. “That was…”

“Yeah,” I agree, my chest heaving.

An unfamiliar tingle of nerves ties my already tense stomach in knots. This would normally be the part where my hook-up for the evening would leave. Or I would, depending on where we were. But this? This is unchartered territory, and I don’t know how to react. Or what I should assume.

I opt for the safe option. The smart option.

Lifting my hips, I yank up my jeans, and move to slide off the mattress.

“Where are you going?” Blondie asks, propping herself up on one elbow.

“I just figured you wouldn’t want me to stay,” I answer in the most detached tone I can manage.

Her eyes narrow as if she can see through my bullshit. “You can if you want. I’m not that heartless that I’d fuck you and then kick you out of bed.”

I snort. “How romantic of you.”

Blondie collapses onto the bedspread with an exasperated sigh. “Do you want to go?”

Yes, the smart part of me tries to say. But the stupid part, the part that knows this is a very bad idea, takes control of my voice first.

“I mean, it is a long walk back to my room.” At Blondie’s skeptical glance, I shrug. “This is a large house.”

She sits up again with a grunt, then grabs my arm and pulls me back down with her until we’re lying side by side on the bed. “Then stay, you idiot,” she scolds. “Besides”—she snuggles closer to me, rubbing her face against my bicep—“you’re warm.”

I blink down at her in surprise—at the way she’s wrapped herself around me like she’s some kind of human koala bear. “Huh,” I muse. “I would not have taken you for a cuddler.”

She scowls at me, those green eyes flashing with warning. “Shut up,” she grumbles.

It takes some encouragement, seeing as back-to-back orgasms have Blondie on the verge of a coma, but I convince her to scooch up the bed and get under the covers. The second we’re both repositioned and settled, she contorts her body to mine again, firmly gluing herself to my side.

It’s strange; she wasn’t like this the last two times we had sex.

Not that I can recall, anyway. But then, we didn’t know each other like we do now.

We didn’t have this trust between us, albeit tentative on her part.

It’s enough to almost make me get my hopes up, but then I remember myself.

I remember this is temporary. And the mask slides back into place.

Bracing myself for emotional impact, I watch her as she begins to fall asleep, her dark lashes fanning across her still rosy cheeks, her lips parting with every soft breath.

“Goodnight,” she mumbles through a yawn as my thoughts drift to how much I want to kiss her again. As I think about rousing her and telling her that I also want to change the rules of our agreement. But not just about sex. About everything.

How I want this to be something real.

It takes so long for me to find my voice that she’s already fast asleep when I speak.

“Goodnight,” I murmur. Then I bite down on my bottom lip until the tang of copper floods my mouth to keep what I really want to say at bay.