24. Lollipop Teacher

Monroe

"Fuck me," I groan from the center of my law-abiding soul. Okay, mostly law-abiding. There were those months in college when I hosted an underground poker game. But the money I nabbed from the rich frat guys? Worth the risk.

In the rearview mirror, a big, bearded guy in a hard hat and orange vest trudges toward me, his expression stern as a school principal's behind aviator shades. Shit. "I should get my license and registration," I say.

Juliet ends the racy song but gives me a doubtful look. "They don't need license and registration at a construction site," Juliet whispers, gently rubbing my arm in apology.

"Right, right," I say, shaking my head then peering behind me. The guy looks pissed.

"But still, I'm sorry," she adds.

I wave a hand dismissively, exonerating her. "I'll take a thousand pissed-off dudes. Hell, I'll take a thousand speeding tickets for being your?—"

I swallow blow-job coach, instead flashing a smile at the man frowning into my window.

"Did you miss the sign back there, buddy?" Doesn't sound like we're buddies.

"I must have," I say, contrite.

He flaps an arm toward said sign. "It did say slow down. We do work here."

And I am an asshole. "I know. I'm so sorry."

He peers through the open window again, all business. "No one was hurt, but maybe it's time for you to stop texting and driving, ya hear me?"

I wasn't texting. I was racing to have my dick sucked.

I give him an apologetic smile. "Yes, sir. I will."

Briefly, I weigh what to say next. Obviously, I deserve the reprimand, but I also need to know whether to turn around and go back the way we came or drive around those cones up ahead.

Then, my own voice fills the car.

"And this is your host Monroe Blackstone right along with Juliet Dumont on?—"

What the heck? That's our last episode of the podcast. Juliet jumps to stab the end button on the display. "My bad, sorry!"

The construction worker whips off his shades, studies me, studies her. Then, in slow motion, his frown turns upside down. "Oh man! Seriously? Seriously? It's Heartbreakers and Matchmakers in the flesh?" He taps his chest. "Big fan of the pod. And I'm telling you, I called it." He's punching the air triumphantly. "I can't wait to tell my woman."

I've never been recognized. Based on the way Juliet's jaw is hanging open—a good look—she hasn't either.

"That's great! We're so happy you like the show," she says, quickly recovering.

He points at her excitedly. "We placed bets, too, on the poet date last week." He curls his hands around the open window. "What happened with Mister Likes to Discuss Song Lyrics and Grapes? Was it a combo date? An extend-a-date? Gimme the tea."

A laugh bursts from Juliet. "He told me I was too old. Even though I'm only thirty and he was over forty."

The construction worker flubs his lips. "What a dick."

"I know, right," she says, so good with people. "But, tell the truth—did you bet against me?"

He sets his hand on his chest. "No way. Honestly, Dara and I both bet on you. You're the reason we're together," he adds, sweetly.

I tilt my head. "Is that so?"

His smile is endless, but he has no interest in me. His appreciation is for Juliet. "She is such a fangirl of your dating approach. She said your future is bright attitude is why she gave me a chance. So thank you. Seriously, thank you," he says with the kind of generosity that comes from the top and bottom of his heart.

"I'm so happy for you…" She pauses for his name.

"Dash," he supplies.

"As in short for Dashiell?" I sputter out.

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, but pretend you don't know that. The only other Dashiell I know is this brewer dude in town. Real nice guy. I'm on his softball team."

Talk about a small town.

"Dash is a good name, then," Juliet offers.

Dash looks from the passenger to me. "Thanks, and I am so stoked to find you're a couple in real life. You've always had crazy chemistry on the pod."

Ah, hell. Do I tell him the truth now? If I lie and he finds out we fibbed, that'd be bad for our reputation. But we look like we're together.

"Actually," Juliet cuts in with the save, "Monroe is acting as my dating coach."

Dash knits his brow. "Didn't know you were a coach too, doc. But that tracks." His tone, though, is downtrodden. "But I definitely got a vibe from the two of you."

Well, shit. I do not want to lead a fan astray. "We went go-karting. We had a great time. We were sort of…"

I turn to Juliet, and her cheeks are still flush from the make-out session. "Practice dating," she adds cheerily.

"But, it's for an upcoming segment," I say, "so if you could keep it on the down-low…"

Dash mimes zipping his lips. "Thanks for the insider tip." There's a considering pause, then he drums his palms on the roof of the car. "All right. Now listen, if you turn around and make a left onto Cedar Lane, that should loop back around past the construction site. But I do not—hear me now—I do not want to find out you were speeding again. Drive nice and slow. Take your time. There's no rush."

I nod like a good boy. "That's excellent advice."

"And I can't wait for that segment."

He slips his shades back on, and his smile burns off. "Drive safely. I mean it."

Then he's gone, and Juliet turns to me, lifting a brow. "You are a bad boy."

"Just you wait."

Ten minutes later, I swing open the door to our temporary home, and once it shuts, I meet her gaze and say in a low rumble, "The coach is in the house. Now tell me what you've disliked about blow jobs."

With zero hesitation, she answers. "I always feel like I'm going to choke."

"That makes perfect sense. Dicks are like choking sticks."

With a pinched look, she rubs her throat. "I don't like my throat being jackhammered."

And I don't like the image of any other man doing that to her. Ever again. But I've got to play the coach now. "And that's what guys have done?" I bite out.

"Yup. It's no fun at all. But, I'm pretty into your dick," she says, cupping my cock once again through my jeans. "So, what's the game plan?"

God, her bravery is so arousing. But then again, so's her hand on me.

It fries my brain for a moment, but fortunately, I have the answer to her dilemma. I reach for her hand, removing it from the ridge of my erection. "It's all about the hands."

She lifts a skeptical brow. "But that's just a hand job, then, and who really wants that after the age of fifteen?"

I kiss her palm, murmuring into it. "Let me show you how it'll be good for both of us."

Thank the lord for Eleanor. I guide Juliet to the room full of mirrors. She gazes around, looking at multiples of us. "There are so many Monroes and Juliets."

I reach for her face. "That's the point. You can follow Dash's advice and take it nice and slow, and I can just enjoy the view."

"You want to watch me all over the room?"

"I do," I say, stroking her cheek, playing with her hair, then curling a palm over her shoulder. I adopt the stern tone she likes so much. "Now, get down on your knees and take my dick out."

"Bossy." But she drops down, gazes up, and unzips me. Eyes on me the whole time, she pushes my jeans and boxer briefs down. When my dick springs free, her breath hitches, and she licks her lips. "Mmm. Like I said, I like your dick."

The steel rod between my thighs likes her too. I thread my hands through her chestnut waves, unable to, uninterested in looking away. "And I like the view."

Her eager expression vanishes. "But how do you want me to do this?"

I take her hand from my hip, bring it to my cock. "Just wrap a hand around the base and then play with it however you want."

She narrows her eyes. "How is that going to be good enough for you if I don't suck all the way?"

She has no idea. I wrap my hand around hers, both of us covering the base of my aching cock. "Want to hear a secret?"

"I really do," she says.

"A good blow job isn't about me fucking your mouth."

She looks doubtful. "I don't know about that."

"It's about whether you enjoygiving it," I say, moving our hands slowly together. "If you're not having a good time, I'm not going to have one." I rub the head against her lips. "So have a good time with my dick, baby. And I guarantee I will."

She smiles, like game on. "Okay then."

She flicks her tongue against the head, and a jolt of pleasure flies down my spine. "Like I said."

"Really?" she asks, licking me like a lollipop, making me shudder.

"Yes, really."

I rope my fingers through her hair, but I'm careful not to yank or tug. I just want to touch her, that's all.

Darting her head forward, she draws more of me into her lush mouth asking for approval with her pretty green eyes. "I told you so," I groan, then I look away from her, watching in the mirror.

It's a view I haven't seen before—her cheek pops with my dick, and the spark inside me turns into a crackle.

She hums against my dick. Yes, she's getting into it now, taking my cock at her speed, at her pace. She doesn't swallow my dick. She plays and teases, licks and sucks. She rubs my shaft against her lips, sighing happily as she goes. "Is this working?" she asks as she rubs my dick over her top lip.

I curl my hand tight around the base, squeeze out a drop of liquid arousal, and offer it to her. "You tell me if I was right."

She sticks out her tongue, moaning wantonly as she swallows me. "You taste good," she murmurs.

That jolt of pleasure? It hits me again and again as she plays with me. My breath comes faster. My chest heats up as I stare savagely at my Juliet in the scalloped mirror, the gilded one, the full-length one offering an obscene view of an outrageously sexy woman hellbent on having fun with her man.

She looks eager. She looks like…like she's enjoying herself.

"The sight of you," I rasp out. She lifts her chin, eager for more praise as she sucks me. "You look like you're having a good time," I venture.

She drops me long enough to say, "I really will if you come in my mouth."

I shudder from those words. "Guarantee," I say, then I help her along. I grip my shaft tighter, stroking the base with a firm but short touch.

After a few seconds, though, she bats my hand away. "I've got this."

And holy hell does she ever. With her hand covering half my dick, she sucks me only as far as she wants me, spitting on her hand.

That, right there, lights me up. "Do that again," I urge, trembling.

She lets go, spits again, then curls her wet hand once more around the base. "Watch me now," she says, and that's a tall order. I'm so worked up that I want to shut my eyes and just give in to the sensations.

But I need to make this good for her, and it's no hardship to stare at her as she shows my dick a good time while I barely thrust.

I don't need to own her mouth. She already owns my body and soul. As she plays with my dick, my breathing turns ragged, my pulse spikes, and pleasure barrels down my spine, lighting up my cock.

Bright, hot bliss seizes me as I come in her mouth. She groans salaciously, like I'm the best thing she's tasted.

That's how she makes me feel, especially when she lets go and murmurs, "I have so much more to learn, coach."

I'm still shaking, still shuddering as I drop to my knees and kiss her, my jeans unzipped, my dick hanging out, and my heart slamming hard against my chest, wanting more from her.

I kiss her like I can tell her something meaningful that way. Maybe I'm just saying I like the way you sucked my dick. But I liked it because it was her.

I break the kiss and murmur, "You just do it for me." But before I get too caught up in the meaning behind those words, I stand, tuck myself back in and offer a hand. "Now, let me do something for you."

She's up in no time, and we head for the bunk bed, but before we make it, there's a knock on the door. Then a voice. "Dude. Let me in. It's Sawyer."