49. Emily

49

EMILY

I stifled a yawn with the backside of my hand as my date prattled on about his day. My eyelids heavy while the sound of his voice lulled me into a sleeplike trance.

I know! It was rude. I needed to be more attentive. Which was why I ordered the steak, hoping the persistent chewing would be enough to keep my mouth active and my brain stimulated. Unfortunately, my second glass of wine had the opposite effect. A third would knock me on my ass for sure. Though I had to admit the idea was tempting.

I glanced across the table. Grant Nielson was a decent-looking guy. A strong jaw and chocolate-brown eyes that sparkled an amber color under the flickering of the candlelight. His face clean-shaven. His hair brushed back and neat and his mannerisms open and engaging. I also had to admit his cologne smelled nice whenever it wafted between us.

I continued my visual perusal as my gaze drifted along his bobbing throat to his wide chest. His dress shirt was freshly ironed, an off-white color tucked into perfectly creased suit pants. It was clear he made an effort to impress me tonight. Which was more than I could say about my dating life over the last couple of years.

I was living, breathing man repellent. Someone who couldn't even pay a guy to take her home. Not that I'd stooped to that level. Yet. I wasn't far off though. A battery-operated boyfriend could only get you so far. I mean, it got me there. Obviously. Shit was an investment well-made. Until the damn thing found a way to leave me too.

I mean, who loses their vibrator?

It also wasn't the same as being fucked into unconsciousness. Hurting so good you couldn't move the next day.

My glare flicked across the table again. And I couldn't help but wonder if Grant was the type of guy who'd be willing to throw me up against a wall. It was always the quiet ones. The ones you least expected who were the freakiest in the bedroom. At least that's what all the articles said. I was out of practice, remember?

"You wanna go back to my place?" I arched a brow and watched my date nearly choke on a mouthful of mashed potatoes before washing it down with his glass of sparkling water.

"Um, yeah, let me get the check." Grant fumbled with his cloth napkin while waving a waitress over with more vigor than I'd seen him display all night. I could only hope that was a good sign.

A short cab ride and a lot of heavy petting later, Mr. Nielson and I were stumbling through my front door, tearing each other's clothes off on our way to my bedroom. He was a little clumsy but that could have had a lot to do with the two whiskeys he'd downed at dinner without me giving him the chance to finish his meal. Poor guy was probably starving.

Speaking of…

The underside of my knees hit the edge of my mattress and I tumbled backwards. Grant dropped his slacks and attempted to crawl over me.

Nice try, pal.

I shoved at his shoulders, until his head was exactly where I wanted it. I was gonna get mine first. It'd been too long and I couldn't risk the chance that Grant here was a two-pump chump, prone to passing out before his balls even finished unloading.

Clearly catching my drift, Grant tugged my underwear down my legs and lifted my skirt around my waist. His face hovering and his hot breath sending tingles up my spine. I spread my arms out, clinging to the sheets as I prepared my body for the first lap of his tongue. Which would be everything or nothing, depending on his skill set and my possible disappointment. When the front door slammed shut with the force of the wind and I realized I'd completely forgotten to lock it.

"Want me to…?" Grant hitched a thumb over his shoulder, and I groaned my annoyance.

"Yes, please. Lock the deadbolt too, if you don't mind?"

He nodded once in the pitch blackness of the room before pushing up from his knees and towering over the bed. I watched under my lids as he stalked out the door, his bare feet slapping against the wooden staircase as he made his way to the front of my tiny split-level condo.

A few minutes later, his footsteps came pounding back up those stairs, sounding both heavier and softer before a dark silhouette hovered on the threshold for a second longer than seemed natural. I didn't have time enough to question it because he rushed forward. Spreading my thighs wide and shoving them roughly back towards my head.

The first stroke of his tongue was hungry. Like this man I barely knew certainly knew me. The second teasing while the third had my legs shaking. My eyes rolled back and my chin pointed towards the ceiling. My spine wasn't even touching the mattress anymore as I tugged at the sheets for purchase. The sounds coming out of my mouth embarrassingly animalistic, if I cared enough to maintain my dignity right now.

I didn't.

Not when the first orgasm ran through me, and I shot up off the mattress like I'd been electrocuted. Not when he shoved me back down, his large palm sprawled across my face as he licked, nipped, and sucked me until I came twice more. My chest heaving and my muscles liquefied. And not when he circled his tongue, slow and methodical, up over my clit, then lower. His nose pressed against my pubic bone as he literally fucked me with his mouth. Moving in and out. Back and forth. And side to side.

I was overstimulated but too exhausted to do anything about it, as this man played my body like a well-practiced instrument. Moving to a rhythm shared between him and my nerve endings while I remained the not-so-silent observer.

A satisfied smirk curled my lips, just barely. Even those muscles were tired. Before my thighs dropped to my sides and my lashes fluttered closed.

That was how you fucked a girl into a coma.