by Whitley Cox
Adam cocked an eyebrow at him as he put plastic wrap over the extra guacamole and placed it in Liam’s fridge. “You going to see her?”
“Should I? See if she’s all right after last night? It was a huge mistake, wasn’t it?”
Adam shrugged. “You’ll only know if you ask. Where does she live?”
“Cliff and Palmer, near the Greek Orthodox Church on Westmont.”
“It’s on the way to mine.”
Mark shot his friend a look. “I’m going to grab my coat. Let me know when the Uber is here.”
“Liam and his anti-love tirades,” Adam said, shaking his head as they drove through the dark streets of downtown Seattle.
“Can you blame him?” Mark asked.
His made a face of acceptance. “No. It’s still hella depressing though.”
“Agreed.”
“Thank God for prenups.”
Mark snorted and focused his attention out the window. “You got that right.”
They couldn’t really hold it against Liam and his hatred for love and the sanctity of marriage and monogamy. His ex, Cidrah, had put him through the ringer.
She started cheating on him with her spin instructor shortly after their son Jordan was born. She kept it a secret for nearly a year, posing as the dutiful housewife, the loving mother. All the while, when Liam was busting his ass at work, putting in sixty-hour work weeks to make partner, she was putting Jordan in gym daycare for hours and screwing the spin instructor in the steam room at the health club.
By the time all things were said and done with their divorce, Liam was a jaded, marriage-hating, woman-suspicious, cynical wreck. Love for anyone other than one’s child didn’t exist, and monogamy was a big fat joke.
Nobody had met Richelle, and Liam intended to keep it that way. They were nothing but itch scratchers. Fuck buddies. Wednesday night nut busters (Scott’s words). So as much as Liam’s negativity about love, marriage and relationships grew tiresome on the other guys, they couldn’t fault their founder. His heart had been broken, and they weren’t sure there was a woman alive that could fix it.
Adam grunted, drawing Mark’s attention back to the inside of the car. “I found this the other day. Looks good.” He passed a brochure to Mark. “It’s a new dance studio opening up. They have all kinds of classes for kids. I mentioned it to Mira, and she’s gung-ho, so I registered her for Tuesdays. Looks like they have a class specifically designed for children on the spectrum too.”
Mark opened the pamphlet, and Adam leaned over and pointed at one of the registered classes. Sure enough, it claimed to be designed specifically for children on the spectrum, ages four to seven. Gabe was right in the middle of that. Would he like dance? He didn’t really dance at home. But when Mark put music on, his son did seem to enjoy it.
“Is it parent or guardian participation?” he asked, wondering if Tori would mind taking Gabe.
Adam lifted a shoulder. “Dunno. They don’t open until May, but they look good. You could always email them.”
“Hmmm … Benson School of Dance, huh?” He flipped the pamphlet over to see the picture of a pretty brunette standing en pointe. It said she was the teacher and owner, Violet Benson. He would have to Google her before he signed Gabe up, but it did sound like something his son might enjoy. He folded up the pamphlet and tucked it into his coat pocket. “Thanks for this. I’ll give it some thought.”
“No problem. So you going to call it quits?” Adam asked, switching gears faster than a Formula One driver. The Uber cruised right beneath the Space Needle, and the whole inside of the car was illuminated.
Mark made a noise in his throat but didn’t bother to face his friend. “Dunno.”
Outside, the night sky seemed to pulse with a billion stars. The air was cool and crisp. But the scent of snow lingered in the air. If clouds didn’t roll in soon, it would freeze hard.
“Do you like her?” Adam probed.
“Yeah.”
“Would it be the worst thing for the two of you to … ”
“Dunno.”
“Well, you better fucking figure it out soon, because we’re here.”
The Uber pulled up to a red brick three-story townhouse. A few lights were on, and Tori’s car sat in the driveway.
Adam grunted in approval. “Nice digs. You paying her well?” He snorted.
Mark rolled his eyes. “She’s house-sitting for a friend.”
Adam just gave him a look.
“Shut the fuck up.”
Holding his hands up in surrender, Mark’s friend simply shook his head, a cocky and knowing smile on his face. “We all know what you’re going to do, bro.”
Mark opened the door to the car and stepped out, hanging his head down to glare at his friend.
Adam’s grin was shit-eating. “Just remember, no glove, no love.”
“Fuck you.”
He slammed the door to the sound of Adam’s cackling.
Fuck. Had they used a condom last night?
Panic licked up his spine. No, they hadn’t.
Holy fuck.
He’d never been so careless in his life.
How had he forgotten? How had he not known until now?
Because you were blinded by orgasms and boobs and the thought of possibly getting more of them.
Now he had two reasons to be in her driveway. And neither of them were good.
Mark gulped the frigid night air into his lungs. It tasted delicious. The perfect thing to cleanse his mind from the negativity that had been hanging like a fog at Liam’s. Not to mention the beer. He needed to be sober. The Uber pulled away, Adam’s smirk visible from the backseat as the car headed off into the dark.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, and then up into his hair, Mark paced along the sidewalk.
What on earth was he doing here?
He should call another Uber and head home.
He should text her instead to see if she was okay after last night.
A text was okay, right?
No, a text was so not okay. Not after last night. And especially not now that he realized they hadn’t used a condom.
His feet agreed with him, and making sure he didn’t slip on his ass on the slick driveway, he headed up the steps to Tori’s front door.
Three knocks.
Rap. Rap. Rap.
Mark glanced at his watch. It was only just after eleven, and the lights were still on. Was she a night owl?
He knew very little about Tori to know if she was or not. Perhaps because she lived alone, she liked to leave lights on when she went to bed.
He strained his ears to see if he could hear any movement on the other side of the door. He heard nothing.
There was no mottled glass or cut-out windows anywhere for him to check for movement inside.
Should he knock again?
Rap. Rap. Rap. This time a touch stronger, a touch louder.
A loud thunk from inside had him pausing. Had he woken her up? What did she wear to bed? Did she sleep naked like he did? A million thoughts, ninety percent of them on the dirty side, raced through his mind when suddenly the door swung open.
“Mark!”
He raked her body from head to toe with a slowness that he couldn’t control. Committing each curve, each freckle to memory. She was exquisite. Her chestnut hair was piled high in a messy bun on top of her head, a few rogue wisps escaping around her temples and ears. She didn’t have an ounce of makeup on, and her cheeks and body appeared rosy pink like she’d just hopped out of the shower. An oversize, threadbare Foo Fighters T-shirt hung nearly to her knees, and her bright red painted toes with rings on them curled into the carpet as a frosty breeze swept past him and into the house.
“Hi,” was all he could muster. He heard the door slam in his head as his brain haughtily left for the night. His cock leapt against the zipper in his jeans, painfully struggling to break free.
“Everything okay?” she asked, blinking long, thick lashes at him.
He swal
lowed hard. “I—” She’d rendered him speechless. He was no longer Dr. Mark Herron, esteemed doctor of radiology. He had been reduced to an animal. His urges were all that controlled him now. His baser instincts. He needed her. He had to have her.
With one hand on the doorjamb propelling him forward, he pushed his way inside, threading the fingers of his other hand around the back of her neck and mashing his lips against hers. He vaguely remembered kicking the door closed.
She didn’t fight him. She welcomed him.
Mark pressed Tori up against the wall, cupping her jaw in both hands and exploring her mouth with his tongue, coaxing her to open wider for him, let him in, let him savor her.
She whimpered against him, melting into his touch and acquiescing to his demands. She grappled at him, clinging to his coat. But he could sense her desperation. Her need mirrored his own. He needed skin-to-skin.
“Where’s your bedroom?” he asked, his lips tracing a trail along her cheekbone and down her neck.
“Down the hall.” Her words came out in shallow pants.
Not lifting his lips from her body, he guided their bodies down the hall, backing her up, pressing a kiss to a new patch of exposed skin with each step.
She pushed his leather jacket off, and he let it fall to the floor. Next was his sweater. Her hands fell to the buckle of his belt just as they turned the corner into her bedroom, but he stilled her efforts.
His cock twitched in protest.
She pulled away from his kisses, looking up at him with curiosity in those incredible blue eyes. Hurt skirted the surface too. Did she think he was having second thoughts?
Never.
Instead he guided her to her bed, scooped her up and laid her down gently.
“Mark … ” Confusion colored her tone. Her fists bunched at her sides and then in the turned-down sheets, as if she was having to hold herself back from reaching for him.
He shed his boots, his socks, his polo until he stood in front of her in nothing but his jeans. Her eyes drank him in. Roamed his body from head to toe, just like he had her. A rush of color flooded her cheeks, and her pupils dilated.
He smiled. She was even more gorgeous when aroused.
“I want to taste you,” he said, climbing onto the bed. “I didn’t get to last night.”
Her tongue traced the seam of her lips as she watched him prowl toward her.
Starting at her feet, he slid his hands up each leg. She was so fucking soft. Like satin beneath his fingers. Toned legs, beautiful, porcelain skin as creamy as if she’d been dipped in white chocolate.
Hmmm … chocolate. He’d have to revisit that idea later.
Later?
Mark quickly pushed the thoughts of a future out of his head and focused on the now. On the stunning woman before him, devouring him with her incredible eyes. Watching his every move with anticipation and need. Her top teeth sank into her bottom lip, and she briefly closed her eyes as his hands worked their way up her thighs, massaging and caressing. Exploring.
“Mark … ” Her words were barely a whisper. “Please … ”
He dipped his head and kissed the top of her thigh, then the other one. Slowly, knowing how much it tortured her, he pushed the hem of her T-shirt up toward her belly.
Her panties were a dark pink, and he could see a damp patch forming. She was already so wet.
She’d been responsive and wet for him last night, too. They hadn’t had any foreplay, and yet when he took her, she’d been ready for him. Was she always like that?
He continued to press kisses over her thighs, trailing his tongue around, tasting her. She shivered beneath him, squirming as he nudged her legs farther apart and settled himself on his belly, letting his tongue wander closer to the apex of her legs.
He kissed right where he knew her clit would be beneath the thin layer of cotton, and her hips leapt off the bed.
The damp patch of her underwear grew bigger instantly.
Mark glanced up Tori’s body. She had her eyes shut, her mouth parted, and her ample chest rose and fell in quick successions. Her hard nipples created noticeable peaks in the light gray shirt. He ached to touch them. Taste them.
Tucking his fingers into the elastic waistband at her hips, he gently drew her underwear down over her legs. She helped him, lifting her butt and arching her back, which also caused her to open for him, giving him the perfect glimpse of her glistening pussy. All wet and ready for him.
She had a thin landing strip of hair that stopped at the juncture of her labia. It ran up her mound, but there was nothing more. Nothing to get in his way. He nuzzled her mound, inhaling her. She smelled like whatever fruity or vanilla body wash she used, and it was delicious.
He knew she’d taste just as good.
He wanted to dive in. Get his face drenched in her sweetness, imprint her scent all over him, so it was something that he’d never forget. But he didn’t. Patience. He wanted to savor this moment. Savor her. Last night had been quick. It’d been hot as fuck, but it’d been quick. He hadn’t gotten laid in forever and hadn’t whacked off in the shower in over a week. He was almost ashamed at how quick it had been. So tonight, he needed to make up for that.
His tongue flicked out and hit her clit. Just the tip. It grazed her hood, and once again, her hips jerked off the bed. She arched her back and pressed up, searching for his mouth, desperate for more.
He chuckled to himself. She was something else.
Another flick. Then a swirl. She moaned and churned her hips.
His fingers spread her wide, and he laved up her cleft with his tongue, focusing on the clit but not ignoring the rest of her. She bucked up into his mouth.
Patience.
Both of them.
She deserved so much more than a quick fuck. So much more than shifted clothing and her ass on his cold quartz countertop as he palmed her breasts over her shirt, pushed his sweats down just far enough, and took her hard and fast.
He slipped a finger inside her, curling it up and grazing the soft ridges of her anterior wall in search of that spongy, almond-shaped button that would push her over the edge. Push her over into ecstasy and fill his mouth with her arousal.
She tasted so fucking good.
He added another finger.
Tori moaned. “Oh God … ” She squeezed her muscles around him, welcoming him inside her body. He pumped and scissored, teased and caressed, until his middle finger grazed her G-spot. Her leg twitched.
He flicked her clit with his tongue and pressed up on her G-spot at the same time. Her hips bounced, and her leg twitched again.
She’d be terrible at poker. She had so many tells. She was so close.
His lips enclosed around her clit and he sucked. He sucked hard. Her mewls of pleasure and the way she tightened around his fingers and pushed her mound against his mouth said she was teetering on the edge. He needed to push her over. Hell, he didn’t want to push her, he wanted to fling her off and watch her fly.
When he knew that one more hard suck would do the trick, he pressed up even more with his fingers.
She detonated.
Mark Herron was a God.
Or at least he possessed the tongue of one.
Tori’s knuckles ached as she clenched the sheets between her fingers, her body writhing on the bed when Mark’s lips enclosed around her clit.
Yes.
More of it.
More of his mouth on her.
More of his fingers inside her.
More of him worshipping her.
More of all of it.
Fear and worry had plagued her all day after what happened last night. She worried about her job, about Gabe and losing him. She’d grown so attached to the little guy in the last few weeks, and in her opinion, he’d made a lot of progress. She would hate to lose him, lose her job, lose seeing Mark every day and getting to talk with him, all over their lapse in judgment last night.
But apparently Mark didn’t think it was such a lapse.
He w
as currently face-first in her pussy, his tongue on her clit and his fingers inside her, relentlessly coaxing another orgasm from her. She would give him one.
She would give him many.
She cupped her breasts over her shirt, feeling her nipples. They were pebble-hard. So sensitive. She wanted to feel his mouth there. Wet and hot and oh so amazing.
Her hands traveled down her body, over her flushed skin and to the top of Mark’s head. His hair was silky soft and thick. He continued to torment her with his mouth and fingers, plunging them in and out of her, sweeping up through her folds and around her clit. She was tightly wound, even after the orgasm he’d already coaxed from her. She needed more from him. She needed all of him.
Tugging on the satiny strands of his hair, she encouraged him to move his mouth up her body. Slowly, almost too slowly, he obliged, pushing her shirt up as he dragged his wet, hot tongue across her hips, her mound, her midriff, her ribs.
His short beard was soft against her skin as his mouth worked its magic up her body, sending daggers of need through her bloodstream.
Tori shut her eyes and tilted her head back into the pillow, savoring the heat of his tongue, his lips, his mouth. It wasn’t until his lips fastened around a nipple that her eyes flashed open.
Yes.
He sucked the hard peak into his mouth. A rush of pain mixed with pleasure sprinted through her body, landing directly on her clit, which was already missing his touch and aching for more of his undivided attention. His right hand came up and palmed the other breast, pulling at the nipple and twiddling it between his thumb and forefinger. She arched up into his ministrations, loving how every touch, every pinch and pull, suck and bite made her want him more, made her want him inside of her.
“Mark … ” she whispered. “Please.”
His long lashes fluttered open, and he gazed up at her with soulful, green eyes. His pupils were dilated and his lids hooded. Passion burned hot in those powerful emerald orbs as he scissored his teeth back and forth across her tender bud.
She ran her hands down his back. He was still in his jeans. He needed to be free of them.
With desperation and desire fueling her, she brought her hands between them and began unfastening his jeans. They’d been so quick last night, so caught up in the moment that she hadn’t had a chance to see him. She wanted to take the weight of him in her hand, stroke him, see him.
