Sugar Page 17

“Good boy.”

  I petted a hand down his flat stomach and sat on my heels. His arms were still resting behind his head, cheeks flushed, and his cock dark with arousal, a thick vein embossed along the side.

  I tilted my head, considering how I wanted to proceed. His eyes darkened to the deep blue of a midnight sky, and his breathing grew labored.

  “You’re torturing me.”

  “I know. But you’re being very good. I think you earned a reward.”

  Curling my fingers, I scratched my fingernails up his thighs and released a slow breath along the length of his cock. His body twitched, and I grinned. My hand slid over his hips, and I cupped his balls.

  “Somebody’s been manscaping.”

  He shut his eyes, a dark flush working across his neck and chest.

  “You have a beautiful cock, Noah. Should I put it in my mouth?”

  “Yes.”

  He forgot the magic word.

  I massaged his balls, still not touching his dick, I waited. Pre-come seeped from the tip, and I blew warm air over his length. My mouth brushed the smooth crown, moisture transferring from his hot skin to my mouth, and he groaned.

  Looking up so he could see my eyes, I slowly licked my lips. “Mmm.”

  “Fuck, Avery, you’re killing me.”

  I almost had him saying the words I needed to hear. This was exactly how it was meant to be. Me in charge, him at my mercy. “Tell me what you want.”

  “Suck my cock.”

  I tsked. “You have to ask.”

  “Will you suck my cock?”

  “Nicely.”

  His eyes narrowed as the word pressed through his teeth. “Please.”

  “Please, what, Noah?”

  His lips tightened, his jaw noticeably locking as muscles in his face twitched. “Will you please suck my cock, Avery?”

  “I love it when a man begs.” My mouth closed over his flesh, taking him deep to the back of my throat.

  He arched, his body bowing with the elegance of a musical instrument as he groaned in pleasure. My fist stroked with every pull of my lips and glided down with every mouthful.

  His knees drew up, and he let out a string of curse words. I worked quickly, driving him to the point of near explosion, showing him how nice I could be when he did as I said. And then I sat up.

  He looked ready to scream, his stormy eyes wide and his face tight. “Why’d you stop?”

  I held the silence, treasuring the anticipation, bathing in his needy desire as it swaddled me like a hot blanket. I wished I could fuck him, but that was too intimate, too personal. This was exactly what I’d been needing, exactly what had been missing the last time we hooked up.

  “Tell me how much you want me to keep going.”

  “Avery.”

  “Noah.”

  We faced off for several seconds, and then he huffed out a frustrated breath. “I need you to keep going. Please. I wanna come.”

  I bet he did. Lowering my mouth, I opened my jaw, rewarding him for being so compliant and straightforward, and letting me take the reins.

  With a few tugs of my fist, his dick pulsed heavily over my tongue and his balls tightened in my hand. My eyes watered, his thick cock pressing deeper still.

  A hand closed over the back of my head as he groaned and my concentration faltered. His fingers tangled in my hair, and my mind screamed. He was doing it again! Stealing my control!

  I jerked my head back, glaring down at him. “Your hands are supposed to be up there.”

  “What? Sorry. Don’t stop.”

  Breathing heavily, my jaw locked. He returned one arm behind his head and held his cock with his free hand, stroking to keep himself rolling toward the climax that I was giving him.

  I smacked his arm, shoving his hand off his dick. “Do you want to do it yourself?”

  He frowned. “No, I want you to keep doing what you were doing. It felt amazing.”

  “I know it did. I was doing fine without your help. Why did you have to touch me?”

  He scoffed. “Because I like touching you. Don’t ruin this.”

  I wasn’t ruining it.

  “I bet you’d just love to hold a fistful of my hair and fuck my mouth. Maybe pin me against a wall, so I have nowhere to go but down on you.”

  “Now, we’re talking.”

  “Well, that’s not how I do it! If you want that, go find a different girl. If you want me, get your hand out of the way and let me finish what I started.”

  “Why do you have so many rules?”

  I drew in a slow breath. “You know what, you ruined it. Make yourself come. I’m out.”

  “What?” His shoulders shot off the couch.

  I folded my arms in front of my chest and raised a brow. “Make yourself come.”

  “Are you fucking serious? Avery—”

  “Haven’t you ever jerked off in front of anyone?” This could actually be more fun than the blowjob.

  He scowled. “If I wanted to jerk off I’d be home doing it right now. I want your mouth back on my dick.”

  “Well, you should have followed directions better. I want to see you come and I want you to say my name when you do. I wonder which one of us is going to get what we want?”

  His eyes narrowed in challenge. I unlatched my bra and tossed it onto the floor, waiting him out. I had all night.

  “I’ll need my hands.”

  That little hint of seeking approval tightened my nipples, and I sighed. “You have my permission to touch yourself.”

  His gaze held mine as his hand gripped his cock, stroking as if every slow glide of his fist was somehow meant to reach my skin. “This is what does it for you?”

  “No talking.”

  “Only when I say your name as I come.”

  “Exactly.”

  His mouth twitched as if he was hiding a smile. He groaned and stroked harder. “Oh, Avery…”

  He was such a smart ass. Whatever. I was getting my way.

  “Avery…”

  I rolled my eyes. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

  “A—ver—y…”

  “You’re ruining it.”

  His hand tightened and jerked faster. “Avery’s mouth…” His chest flexed, his hips digging into the sofa. “Avery’s pretty tits…” He cupped his sack. “Avery’s tight little ass … squeezing my dick.”

  The sound of his hand stroking along smooth, hard flesh matched his fast breathing.

  “Avery’s pink little cunt…”

  His eyelids lowered, the blue irises rolling back under the fringe of gold lashes. “Avery’s tight cunt wrapped around my cock … milking every last drop…”

  I shifted my weight as I kneeled between his legs, pressure forming in my lower abdomen.

  “Avery’s long, blonde hair teasing my skin, fisted in my hand…”

  My eyes narrowed. He knew I didn’t like that.

  “Avery’s back arched as I pound into her sopping pussy and she screams my name…”

  “You wish.”

  His eyes opened, thin slits of promise watching my response too acutely. I held my breath, willing my skin to cool.

  “Avery’s body trembling as I make her come again, and again, and again.”

  “Maybe one of these days you’ll come.”

  His grip slid faster, his free hand shooting out and snatching my fingers, curling them around his. He double fisted his cock, jerking rapidly, my fingers now tangled in the mix.

  I flexed my fingers, trying not to appreciate his engorged size and intensity. “This wasn’t the deal.”

  “Avery’s pleas and moans as she begs me to…” His lips parted. “Never…” His head angled back. “Stop…” His spine bowed as he grunted, all of his muscles rippling under his flawless skin. Liquid heat spurted from his throbbing cock, coating our entwined fingers. “…fucking her!”

  My mouth hung open as I stared down at his slack face, his sated blue eyes, and his heaving chest. My gaze shifted to his erection, still pulsing
in our hands as pearly come dribbled to the base of his balls.

  He sucked his lower lip between his teeth and grinned. “Is that what you had in mind?”

  Turned on against my will, I swallowed and cleared my throat. “Something like that.”

  His thumb rubbed slowly over the back of my knuckle, the gesture incredibly intimate and full of implication. His stare held mine, our fingers sticky with his come. I pulled my hand, but he tightened his grip, holding me to him.

  “Noah…”

  “When do I get to see you masturbate?”

  “Never.”

  “So, sometime next week when the little red devil’s gone?”

  Or every night while I had my own private Noah show in the shadows of my bedroom. “I don’t think so. Give me my hand back.”

  “First, tell me something.”

  I pursed my lips, never quite sure what was going to come out of his mouth. “What?”

  “This thing you do … when you want to be in charge, is that like a kink thing or a permanent thing?”

  “It’s a me thing. It’s what I like.”

  His head tipped as his eyes continued to study me. “Have you ever just had normal sex with someone?”

  “Yes, but even then I prefer my vanilla with a little topping.”

  “My God, your porn collection must be fascinating.”

  “I think if you saw it, you’d get scared.”

  “I think you underestimate my curiosity and infatuation with your pussy—and all the things I can do to make it wet.”

  I glance down at his softening cock. “My hand.”

  He let go. I slid off his lap and washed my hands. He lounged on the couch, stretching out in all his naked glory.

  “Don’t get come on my pillows.”

  “You’re a little bit of a tight ass.”

  “I thought you liked my tight ass.”

  “I do. But, as far as your control freak issues go, every time you tell me not to do something it makes me want to do it even more, totally disrupt your perfect order and watch you get all flustered and bitchy.”

  I shut off the faucet. “You get come on my cushions, and you’re paying to have them reupholstered. Is that bitchy enough for you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. A little steam cleaning would get it out. You’re so extreme sometimes.”

  I snatched a dishtowel off the counter and tossed it at his chest. Grabbing my shirt off the floor, I slid it back on while he wiped himself clean. Still sprawled on his back, his gaze never left me, the soiled dishtowel now on the floor.

  “You can put your clothes back on.”

  “Nope. If I put them on, you’ll make me leave, and who knows how long it’ll take for me to convince you to let me in again.”

  “You think I won’t throw your ass out in the hall naked? And I didn’t let you in. You shoved your way in and wouldn’t leave.” He was more intrusive than a termite.

  “You regret it?”

  I paused, not wanting to answer that question right now, even in my own head. “I have to put my groceries away. And someone probably stole yours by now—it was the last loaf of bread in Philadelphia after all.”

  “Nobody’s stealing my stuff.”

  “That’s right. You’re the only thief in the building. I forgot.”

  My magazines now went right to the front desk, out of reach of men with sticky fingers. Speaking of which… “You should really wash your hands. Touch your face, and you might wind up with pink eye.”

  “That’s not how you get pink eye.”

  I went to collect my bags by the door. “Yes, it is.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s from shit.”

  This had to be the most unsexy, post-orgasmic conversation in the history of human existence. “It’s from bacterial secretions. What do you think come is? And can we talk about something else?”

  “You’re the one who brought it up.”

  I emptied my bags on the counter, frowning, as he just laid there—naked—on my couch. “Are you really not going to get dressed?”

  “Depends.”

  “On?”

  “Are you going to make me leave if I do?”

  I turned my back to him, stacking soup cans in the cupboard. A little smile pulled at my lips. I honestly didn’t want him to leave. I’d missed him, and this was the first time I actually felt settled in the last week.

  “I guess you can stay for a little bit.”

  When I turned back around, he was sliding into his jeans. “What do you want me to do with this towel?”

  “There’s a hamper in the bathroom.” He headed down the hall, and I shouted, “Wash your hands while you’re in there!”

  I heard the water running and smiled. He returned a few minutes later. “Hey, did you know your faucet’s leaking?”

  “I know. I told Winston, and he said he’d get a plumber out sometime next week.”

  “A plumber? I can fix it in a few minutes. It’s a simple washer replacement.”

  “I don’t know what a washer is.”

  “It’s a… You know what? I’ll just go grab one. The hardware store on Pine doesn’t close until eight.”

  I frowned, not expecting him to actually leave the building in order to fix my sink. “You don’t have to do that. The plumber will be here on…” He was already putting on his coat.

  “It’ll take ten minutes.” He kissed my cheek, and I stiffened. “I’ll be right back.”

  What was happening here? “O—okay.”

  The door closed behind him, and I stared at my empty apartment. Were we playing house or something? Was I supposed to feed him now? This was definitely not the way I did things.

  23

  Avery

  As Noah messed around in my bathroom, I scrambled to put together a nice meal. I didn’t do meals. I was used to only feeding myself or dining at fancy restaurants while my clients picked up the bill. Extremely unprepared for a two-person dinner party, I felt every bit of my inadequate upbringing.

  “How’s it going in there?” I called as I dumped a box of whole grain macaroni into a pot of boiling water and searched the cabinets.

  “Good. Almost finished.”

  He’d returned from the hardware store, tracking a decent amount of melted snow through the door with him, and carrying a little bag with the washer thing he needed. The ground outside already wore a dusting of white, and my wood floors now wore damp towels to mop up the puddles from the ice chips melting off his boots.

  I opened a can of tuna and let the liquid drain into the sink. I didn’t cook. I grazed on things like veggies and Greek yogurt and granola, filling up only when a client handled the bill. My culinary skills weren’t honed beyond my mother’s four regular dishes, and those recipes weren’t what anyone would call tasty.

  Forking through the tuna, I fluffed it in a bowl and squirted some mayo on top. Salt, pepper, and some chopped green olives and there you had it. Mom’s signature dish for funerals around the trailer park.

  Fuck. He was going to hate this.

  Noah appeared as the noodles were about ready to strain. “You’re sink’s all fixed up.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that.”

  “No problem. What are you making?”

  “Um … pasta.” That sounded better than tuna noodle surprise or whatever the hell this was called.

  “Need help?”

  “No, you did enough. Just relax, and dinner will be done in a few minutes.” No idea where this Suzie Homemaker talk was spouting from. My mother certainly never used words like that.

  I carried the pasta to the sink and drained the water. While it rested in the colander, I searched for a serving bowl. I didn’t own one.

  In my bedroom, there was a ceramic dish I used to hold my scarves, and I briefly debated using that but feared it might look stupid. Resigned to nothing but a saucepan, I brought down two plates.

  I dressed the table with folded paper napkins—diagonally because that seemed
nicer—and silverware I bought at the dollar store. Shit. I had nothing but water or coffee to drink.

  Noah was quiet as he waited in the living room, his head tilted down as he paged through something. I rounded the sofa. “Do you have anything to drink at your—”

  The blood drained from my face.

  I snatched the photo album out of his hands. “Where did you get this?”

  “Hey, I was looking at that!”

  I clutched the photo album to my chest. “This… This isn’t for sharing.”

  “You still look like you did in high school. Do you still have that cheerleader uniform?”

  My face burned. “No.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  Maybe he only got as far as the high school pictures. My mind rapidly tried to recall if there were any incriminating photos—Shit! Prom! We’d taken pictures in front of my mom’s tacky Precious Moments collection, the battered wood paneling and green carpet probably showing behind me and Bobby Pritcher.

  “Please don’t go through my stuff.”

  He frowned. “Okay. Sorry.”

  “Do you have anything to drink at your place? I just have water.” And now I was in need of something much stronger.

  “Yeah.” He stood, and the second he left my apartment I flipped open the album and winced.

  Me with pimples and horribly frizzy, mousey brown hair. Me with my belly hanging out of a shirt two sizes too small when I was going through my chubby stage. Me holding up a bedazzled denim jacket that had never been in style, even when I traded all my bracelets for it. Our shithole home, my dirty room, the parched, dusty lawn in front of our trailer. I slammed the book shut and stuffed it under the couch.

  Maybe he didn’t see past the first few pages. Maybe he just opened to the picture of me and the cheer squad and that was as far as he got.

  The door opened, and I returned to the kitchen. Noah placed a bottle of honey bourbon with four lemons and a jar of honey on the counter. “Where’s your shaker?”

  Who did he think I was, James Bond? “I don’t own one.”

  “I forgot you’re the girl who doesn’t have a corkscrew.”

  That wasn’t true. I bought one a few weeks ago after I couldn’t get my wine open.

  “How about two plastic cups? I can improvise.”