The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue Book 2)

by Jessica Hawkins

  I shake my head. Everyday scissors will give you split ends, but he doesn’t seem to care. I suppose he shouldn’t if he spends his days getting greasy under the hoods of cars. Still. This feels like a betrayal to my industry.

  I find a pair in a desk drawer and return to the bathroom. As I set the scissors on the counter, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I don’t like what I see. My normally straight hair is wavy from the water and frizzy from the steam. Black makeup has smeared under my eyes.

  “That’s more like it, huh?” Andrew asks, coming up behind me. He meets my eyes in the reflection. “Now you look like you’ve been thoroughly fucked.”

  “I look like a mess.”

  “A mess I created,” he says, hugging me. Automatically, I place my hands over his forearms. “We don’t look so bad together, do we?” he asks.

  I study our reflection. His wet black hair drips water onto his chest. The colorful ink is like a layer of clothes between us, a stark contrast to my white skin. I don’t like marks. I take particular, painstaking care of my complexion, and aside from a bruise forming on my chest where Andrew sucked and kissed, I’m smooth. Flawless. “We look like opposites,” I say. “You’re dark and big.”

  “You’re light and small.”

  It’s true—we look nothing alike. His height dwarfs me, even though I’m somewhat tall. His hair glistens, reflecting the overhead light, while mine is platinum and matte thanks to a talented colorist.

  He sets his chin on top of my head. “Our eyes,” he says at the same moment I notice.

  I nod. “They’re the same.”

  “Almost.” He peers at me. “Yours are bluer.”

  “Yours are the same as your sister’s.”

  “And my daughter’s,” he says. “‘Indigo’ is what Sadie’s husband calls it. Totally creeps me out when he talks about how beautiful Sadie’s eyes are and then tells me in the same sentence how alike we look.”

  I watch as we laugh together. As he kisses the back of my head. He pulls a bench out from under my vanity to sit on. “All right. Let’s do this.”

  I drape a towel around his shoulders and get my comb from a drawer. “Do you normally make women work on the first date?”

  “This isn’t a first date.”

  “I was joking, because you freaked out earlier when I called it one.”

  “It’s more like a second date,” he says, ignoring me. “We already had dinner, a walk, and a night cap. And you put out—bonus for me.”

  I comb his hair off his face. I have no idea how I’m going to do this. “So how does date two go then?”

  “I don’t know.” Our eyes meet in the reflection. “It’s been a while since I had one.”

  My heart skips a beat—to my dismay. I ignore it. “Well, I can definitely say playing barber is a second-date first.”

  “Good. I like to set myself apart.”

  “You certainly have,” I mutter.

  “Use your fingers,” he says, lacing his hands in his lap.

  I set the comb aside and rake his long strands back. “How short do you want it?”

  “Hmm?” His eyes are shut, his shoulders slightly hunched.

  “Are you sleeping?”

  “No.” He opens one eye, says, “However you like it” and closes it again.

  “You aren’t going to watch? What if I mess up?”

  “You won’t.” He scratches his jaw. “Actually, I’ll watch if you do it naked.”

  I don’t even respond, just roll my eyes and shake my head to myself. I’ve seen stylists part hair down the middle. I start with that. “How do you normally style it?”

  “It’s complicated,” he warns.

  I furrow my eyebrows, surprised. “Really?”

  “Yeah. I normally shampoo it, towel dry it, then go to work.”

  “Um.”

  “Sometimes I brush it. And sometimes when it’s long and bothering the fuck out of me, I gel it back so I can see what I’m working on.”

  I sigh, trying to sound annoyed, but I can’t help my smile. “All right. If that’s how you want to play this, then sit back and enjoy. I’ll do my best.” I pick up the scissors and run my fingers through one side of his hair. When I have a chunk, I trim off the top.

  “That was the first snip,” I say, since his eyes are still closed.

  I wait to see if he’ll stop me, but he just says, “Great.”

  I continue, doing my best to make sure the trim is even, careful not to cut it too short.

  I want something I can get a handful of—even if it’s only for tonight.

  SEVEN

  Standing between Andrew’s legs, I make the final snip, and his black hair falls to the floor. Normally, I’d clean up the mess I’ve made right away, but I’m too busy surveying my work. For as much as my trade requires me to judge other people by their appearances, I feel like I should have a better idea whether or not I’ve done a decent job. “I’m done.”

  Andrew blinks his eyes open and looks up at me. “Yeah?”

  I nod. “You are officially my first client.”

  He grins, takes the scissors out of my hands, and sets them on the counter behind me. “You’re amazing.”

  “I’m blocking the mirror,” I say. “You haven’t even seen your hair.”

  “It felt amazing.” He takes me by the waist, and pulls me a few inches forward until he’s looking straight up at me. “And you did it how you want it. So I know I’ll like it.”

  I cup his cheek without thinking and look into his eyes. All at once, the moment feels overwhelmingly intimate. I remove my hand. “Are you leaving now?” I ask.

  “Leaving? No. Not now.” He parts my towel and slips a hand underneath. “Now, I’m going to fuck you again.”

  I suck my bottom lip between my teeth as my stomach flutters. I came by his hands in the bathtub twenty minutes ago, but already, warmth and need creeps up my chest.

  He pulls me forward to straddle his lap. “Wasn’t this the position you applied for?” I ask, undulating my hips once.

  He groans. “Woman on top.”

  I slide my hand over his pec. “You made me feel good. I want to return the favor.”

  “I won’t say no.” He wedges his hands under my ass and brings me closer. My towel parts, and I’m pressed up against his stone-like cock. I put my arms around his neck, gyrating over him.

  “Fuck,” he says into my neck, sounding like he’s got a mouthful of grit. “I need to be inside you.”

  “You can be,” I say, barely recognizing my own voice, “when I say so.”

  He runs his hand up to my scalp, grabs a fistful of my hair, and draws back. “You want to play boss for a little bit? Fine. I’ll let you.”

  “You’ll let me?” I ask, doing my best to look down at him as he holds me in a tight grip.

  “Sure. It could be fun to watch.”

  I grit my teeth and stop moving. I’ll show him how fun it can be to do what I say. “There’re condoms in my nightstand. Go get one.”

  In one motion, he stands, lifting me with him. “Yes, boss,” he says before setting me on the bathroom counter.

  As he walks into the bedroom, his towel loosens and falls off. He leaves it. His ass is tight and tanned, as if he regularly does naked squats outdoors. My mouth waters.

  I hop off the counter and follow him into the bedroom, where he’s stooped over my nightstand’s open drawer. He picks out a condom and holds it up.

  “Leave it for now,” I say. “You won’t need it to eat me out.”

  He straightens, arching an eyebrow at me. I open my towel and drop it on the floor. He takes a step toward me, but I say, “Stop.”

  “Why?”

  “Just seeing if you can follow orders.”

  By the way he clenches his jaw and swallows, I can tell he wants to take over. I level my gaze on him, and he stays where he is.

  “I have ideas,” he says.

  I hesitate. Andrew is used to getting his way. So was Reggi
e. A few times, toward the end of our relationship, he even intimidated me into sex. I let him. He abused his control. I need to know Andrew can stop himself, no matter how badly he wants to be in charge.

  “I’ve eaten a pussy or two in my time,” he says. “Have you?”

  “No,” I admit.

  “Then consider that a special skill of mine. A good boss knows when to delegate.”

  I have to admit, he can negotiate. Just the thought of him between my legs is enough to weaken my resolve. I concede. “A good boss also knows how to take suggestions.”

  “Great.” He comes around the bed and sits on the edge before pulling me to him by my wrist. “I suggest you sit on my face.”

  My heart thumps. I want control, but with every sentence from him, my knees quiver harder. “I think . . .”

  “Yes?” he prompts, his eyes gleaming. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

  “I think your idea is feasible.”

  He quirks the corner of his mouth and scoots back to the head of the bed. I go with him, crawling down the mattress until I’m straddling his thighs. For a moment, I’m tempted to skip to the fucking, but then he licks his lips, and my thoughts are reduced to how his mouth will feel on me.

  He puts his hands on my hips—a suggestion, not an order. I feel the restraint in his grip. I inch forward, grab onto the headboard and lower myself onto his mouth. He hums, vibrating the space around me, but doesn’t lick me.

  “I wonder how you’ll taste,” he says, inhaling. “Perhaps like apricot bubble bath?”

  My thighs tremble. “Try me.”

  “I will.”

  “Now.”

  He kisses me right between the lips. “Like that?”

  “It’s a start.”

  He licks along my slit. “Better?”

  “Better,” I say. My knuckles are white from gripping the headboard. “But not quite there.”

  “Mmm.” A few tense, anticipatory moments pass. “So am I hired?” he asks.

  Through gritted teeth, I say, “Yes, you’re fucking hired, now please just eat my pussy.”

  “Yes, boss.” He grabs me by the ass cheeks, pulls me onto him, and sucks my clit into his mouth.

  I throw my head back. “Oh . . . my G—”

  He spreads me apart with his hands and thrusts his tongue inside me. I squirm, trying to pull back because it feels too good, but he secures me against his mouth. I dig my fingernails into the wood, undulating over him. When he reaches around to play with my clit, I arch backward, overwhelmed by the assault. “Wait,” I cry.

  He slaps my ass and goes at me harder. My eyes cross. The words I try to form are barely squeaks. I want him inside me when I come, but he’s so relentless, I’m already on the verge. I do my best to distract myself to stave off my orgasm.

  New York Fashion Week is only five months away. That’s twenty—I squeak—weeks!

  Pantone announced two colors of the year for the first time—Rose Quartz and Serenity.

  I hate the word quartz, and the word quirky—apparently, I’m not a fan of “Q”.

  But I like quirky things.

  Man Repeller’s Instagram feed is quirky, and I adore Leandra Medine . . .

  Not as much as I adore Andrew’s tongue shoved up my—

  My thighs shake so hard, if I weren’t holding myself up by the headboard, I’d drop down and suffocate him. This isn’t working. “Stop, wait,” I plead. “Don’t make me come.”

  “Don’t make you come?” he asks, breathing hotly against my swollen lips.

  “Not yet.”

  Andrew slows, loosening his grip. If he was fucking me with his mouth before, now he makes love to my pussy. When he moans, I feel it everywhere. It’s not helping. Gentle or rough, he knows how to work me.

  I pull his hands away from my hips and climb off his face toward the nightstand to get the condom.

  Andrew wipes his mouth with his shoulder, a smile spreading over his face. I hold out the condom, but he shakes his head. “Your move, boss.”

  I smirk at him and tear the foil. His cock is practically vertical, waiting for me. I sit back on my calves and watch his face as I stroke him once. He thrusts his hips, a preview of what’s to come. I let my eyes wander, appreciating his long, firm, artful body, the abs that flex as he lifts his head to look at me.

  “Amelia.” We make eye contact. “I’m trying to be patient,” he says, “but I’ve been hard since the bath. I already know how good you feel, and it’s killing me.”

  I’m still throbbing from my core, but teasing him is making me even hotter. I glance down just long enough to place the condom over his tip, and then back to him so I can watch his expression as I roll it on.

  His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath. “Let me fuck you.”

  “You’ve been so patient,” I say, throwing a knee over him. I lean forward onto my hands, trapping him against the mattress. “That’s a quality I value in my employees.”

  He lifts his head to kiss me, but I pull away. His hand is in my hair in a split second, bringing me back down.

  I tsk. “Are you challenging my authority?”

  He removes his hand, but his frustration is clear in the way he grits his jaw. I see the agony in his eyes. Slowly, I bring my mouth to his and touch our lips together. He stays still. “Good,” I whisper against him, reaching between us. I position him against my opening. “Now kiss me.”

  He rakes his hands through my hair, groaning into my mouth with a bruising kiss. I lower myself onto him and slide up and down a couple times, adjusting to his size.

  He fists his hands against my scalp. “Can I fuck you yet?”

  “No.”

  “How about now?”

  “Let me do it.” I sink down until I’m seated. We breathe into each other’s mouths, but as he goes to kiss me again, I push off his chest, straighten up, and swivel my hips over him.

  “Christ, Amelia,” he says, grabbing my waist. I ride him, forward, backward, around in circles. I find my rhythm, drawing up quick and coming down hard.

  Andrew pinches his eyebrows together, gasping open-mouthed, as if he’s in pain. He thrusts his hips up a little, a small act of insubordination, but it feels too good for me to scold him. I throw my head back when he takes my breasts in both hands, kneading them, tugging on my nipples until I squeal.

  “Fuck me,” I say.

  He slams into me, and all at once, even though I’m still on top, I’m no longer riding him. He’s in control again, holding me in place by my middle as he fucks me.

  “Jesus,” I breathe. “You are so hired. And you’ve earned a bonus.”

  He sits up suddenly, flips me onto my back, and cages me with his big body. “Game over. I’m not your employee. There can only be one real boss—”

  “But—”

  “And that’s me.” He captures my wrists and raises them over my head, pinning them to the mattress.

  “Wait.” I struggle to free my hands, but his grip is firm. “I don’t like to be tied up.”

  “I didn’t think you would.” He doesn’t budge. “I like you at my mercy, though.”

  We stare each other down. He sets his jaw with determination. He hasn’t given me any reason not to trust him, but with the sudden racing of my heart, I know I don’t.

  “I could own you right now, Amelia. But not if you don’t submit, at least a little.”

  I swallow. After the pleasure he’s already given me, to be owned by Andrew sounds exquisite, but I won’t be able to submit if I can’t relax. “Stop.” I don’t feel good about testing him. I need to know he isn’t carried away, though. “Let go.”

  He releases my wrists. “I wouldn’t fuck you like that unless you asked me to.”

  I shake my head a little. “I won’t.”

  “Okay, but . . . what’ll I do with you instead?”

  I squirm on the mattress. “Fuck me.”

  “Yes. But how?” He looks down my body, lingering on my breasts, licking his li
ps. “Slow? Fast? On your hands and knees? In the ass?”

  My mouth drops open. “My ass? You’ve lost it if you think I’ll agree to that.”

  He suppresses a smile, then drops his hips between my legs. “I think right here will be fine,” he murmurs, gliding his shaft along my clit.

  I lose my breath. I want him back inside me, and I don’t care who’s in charge.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “Yes, fine.” My body flushes, craving him as he teases my slit.

  “Yes, fine, what? You want me to take you like this?”

  “Andrew,” I demand. I grab a fistful of his hair. “Stop teasing me.”

  “Tell me you need it. I want to hear the desperation in your voice.”

  I grit my teeth, bite my lip, inhale through my nose. If I don’t give in, he’ll keep this up. I know he will, because I would if I wanted control more than I wanted to come. I don’t. I just want release. “I need it,” I say huskily. “Please, Andrew.”

  He lines his cock up against my opening and buries his face in my neck. “Good girl,” he whispers and plunges inside me.

  I gasp, overcome by how good he feels, how eager he is. His fingers tangle in my hair.

  “God, this is heaven,” he breathes onto my neck. “Tight, hot heaven.”

  I recover from my state of shock and meet his thrusts, taking all of him as deep as I can, moaning as he hits me the right way with each shove of his hips.

  “Christ,” he bites out near my ear. “I’m going to come. So are you. I feel it.” He lifts up, propping himself on his hands. I wrap my legs around his waist right before he rears back and slams into me. I grab onto his unforgiving biceps as he fucks his way to the finish line. All his muscles work together, and the anguish on his face turns me to putty. I dissolve into my orgasm like butter on hot toast, like how I imagine it’d feel to have my soul drift from my body. I barely register Andrew coming along with me, even though he growls loudly enough to wake my neighbors.

  Andrew’s big, sweaty, spent body pins me to the mattress. I don’t move as we each catch our breath. As distant as I’d like to remain, I have the urge to touch his back, guide him down from his climax. I know better, though. This, in the moments when endorphins are flowing and everything feels good, is when bonds are formed, and neither of us can afford to take that chance.