Dax

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

I stopped saying it aloud since I can’t enunciate at the moment. Not with Becca between my legs licking me like her favorite ice cream cone.

She’s not in a hurry, either. She’s going so slow that my brains have melted and oozed out of my ears. There’s nothing rattling around in my head. My body’s just a mangle of sensations. Her hot, wet mouth, the attention her tongue pays to the ridge around the tip of my cock, the way her hands massage my balls.

She takes me deep, then lets up. Cool air chills my damp flesh before she takes me all the way in again, until the tip of my cock hits the back of her throat.

“Fuuuuuck.” It’s strangled, but I manage one more. Hands on her head, I attempt to lift her off—I’m seriously close to going over—but she’s not stopping. Her fingers continue dancing around my sack as she picks up the pace.

And now I can’t breathe.

“Princess,” I pant. “Babe.”

She continues her work as my balls pull up, and a tingle at the head of my dick warns me I have few precious seconds left to stop her.

“Becca.”

She doesn’t even slow down.

I’ve never thought of myself as possessing superhuman strength, but that’s exactly what it takes to put my hands on her shoulders, pry her off my hard-on, and get my knees working well enough to stand. As I’m ripping my jeans off my legs, Becca sits on her knees, prettily swiping the corners of her mouth with her delicate fingers, and I swear to God I nearly blow right then.

I blink. Hard. Then open my eyes to find her still on her knees, looking up at me and biting her lip like every fucking fantasy I’ve ever had.

“On the couch, Princess. Ass in the air.”

Her eyes widen with interest and I fish a condom out of the pocket of my jeans. As I roll it on, I watch as she strips out of her dressy clothes, but I only let her get as far as her underwear before I wrap my hand around her thong and pull her back against my front.

Pressing my erection into her butt, I put my lips to her ear.

“Say it.”

“Yes,” she breathes.

I rip her panties free, toss them aside, and the moment she rests one knee on the couch, I join her and enter from behind in one long, smooth, mind-melting thrust.

She grips the arm of the couch, and I let her get one more knee beneath her before I stroke again. I free her of her bra next, reaching around to stroke her rose-tipped nipples with one hand while I brace her hip with the other and slide in again.

And again.

She cries out in pleasure and utters another “yes” for me before her breathy request of “faster” almost floors me. I can go faster.

“Harder?” I ask.

“Harder. Faster.” She drops her head, arches her back deeper.

“Hang on, gorgeous,” I warn, but she turns her face to the side to make sure I see her smile.

Absolutely. Missed. That smile.

I do as she requests. Harder, faster. When I’ve pushed myself to the brink and notice she’s not there yet, I find her clit and massage with my fingertips until she gives me another barrage of “yeses.” I’d love a “Yes, Dax,” but beggars can’t be choosers.

She’s squeezing me from within, her fists clawing at the cushions but unable to get a grip on the leather. She knocks off pillows and writhes amid her own shouts of pleasure.

Only then do I give in. I come hard, embedded deep, the slap of her ass against the fronts of my thighs making my release that much better and last a helluva lot longer than I thought possible. I finish us off and slide my hand around to her breasts, giving each nipple a gentle tweak.

When I pull out, it’s to the tune of Becca’s sated exhale before she slides from ass in the air to flat on her belly on the couch.

“Wow,” comes her muffled statement.

No shit.

“Don’t move.”

“Don’t worry,” I hear her say as I pace to the bathroom. “I can’t.”

“So this is becoming a habit.” Becca’s draped over my body. My back is flat on the couch and I’m wearing her like a blanket. She’s naked, and I didn’t bother with clothes either, so she’s wearing an actual blanket she yanked off the bed.

“That didn’t sound like a complaint.” I smooth my hands over her back and hug her tight against me. I like her here. Right here. I mean, yeah, I like the sex. The BJ is enough of a reason to beg her to stay, but this—her in my arms and the soft scent of her perfume in my nostrils—is somehow better.

Which is unbelievable, because that was some blow job.

“It’s not a complaint.” She doesn’t say any more, and for a long while we lie here, my hands stroking her back, until our hearts beat in sync.

My cellphone buzzes. Then buzzes again. Then once more. I turn my head in the direction of the phone, face down and half out of one of the pockets of my jeans.

“Need to get that?”

“I don’t know what I could do for whoever that is.”

Becca slides off me and drags the blanket with her, grabbing my cell and cradling it in her hand as I sit upright.

“Peggy,” she says, handing over my phone. “She’s insistent.”

I take the phone from Becca as it buzzes with two more texts from my mom. “What can I say? She’s been on my ass since birth. Can’t get her to leave me alone.”

“Your mom.” Becca guesses as I swipe the screen.

“Yes, she is.” I scroll through the texts. The first one says, Forgot to send you the pics from earlier today, and the following five—now six—texts are photos of her flowers. I hand the phone to Becca.

“They’re beautiful. She’s got quite the green thumb.”

“I’m glad she has hobbies.”

“What was your dad like?”

I train my gaze on her, but all she does is wait for my response. I guess getting personal and talking pasts is a thing we do now.

“He was outdoorsy. Loved to fish, hunt, camp, and take care of the acres of land my parents live on. He had a stroke last year and slid downhill from there.”

She doesn’t say she’s sorry, but she doesn’t have to. She snuggles close and covers me with the blanket, cocooning me with her. I wrap my arm around her shoulders.

“How old was your dad?”

“Sixty.”

“Young.”

“Too soon,” I mutter. Because it was.

“Did he play football too?”

“Not like I did. He played a little in high school, so he could throw a ball. Graduated OSU, which meant he was a huge Buckeyes fan.”

“I bet he loved when you were on the team.”

Warmth floods my chest at the memory. “He came to every game. And those were Saturdays he could’ve been hunting, fishing, and camping.”

She hums while I tell her a story about the time my friend Barrett and I teamed up to score a winning touchdown against Michigan State.

“I bet you were one sexy linebacker.”

“Tight end.”

“I have evidence that you have one fine tight end,” she says with a giggle.

I trap her beneath me, a mountain of comforter between us.

“Where are you going tonight, Becca Stone?” Home, I’m guessing. I don’t want her to. I can’t think of a single reason for her to leave. She swipes her fingers along my cheek and loses her smile. If there was a line, I just overstepped it.

“Back to my brother’s. I have my own room now, so that’s a plus.” She touches my bottom lip, flicking her eyes to my mouth. “I’m not the staying type, Dax.”

“I’m not the ask-you-to-stay type,” I admit.

Frozen in that span of seconds, fear captures her expression. Not what a guy wants to see when he invites a woman to stay.

I sit up, pull her up by the blanket, and wrap her tight. I grab the remote, because if the other option is that I keep talking about myself and she offers nothing in return, I’d rather not talk at all. Hell, what is there to talk about if she’s on her way out again?

“Hate to point this out, Princess, but someone needs to.”

She stiffens next to me like I just confessed I was a serial killer and my ax was under the couch.

“If this is sex and pancakes”—I toss the remote aside without turning on the TV—“or showers and quesadillas, then there aren’t a lot of conversations that need to happen.” I turn my head to find her chewing on her cheek in thought. “Right?”

“Right.”

“You want to get to know me, or do you want to fuck me and then leave? Pick one.”

Heat seeps into her gaze, and it’s not the sexy kind that will end with us sharing a bed tonight. She’s pissed.

I, for one, don’t care if she’s pissed. I’m glad to see her committing to an emotion. The ambivalence isn’t just lazy; it’s disingenuous.

“I can guess what you’d choose.” She tosses the blanket off her shoulders but isn’t able to disentangle herself from it before I catch her up in the folds and hold her hostage.

“No. You don’t know what I choose. You never asked.”

Her nostrils flare as she sucks in an irritated breath.

“I’m guessing you don’t want me to ask you what you want,” I tell her. “I don’t think you know.”

She shakes out of my grip and, still partially concealed by the blanket, drags on her clothes in jerky motions. “Yeah, well, I do know, but you don’t want to hear it. And like every guy who came before you, you want me to promise that I’ll be loyal, but it’s not like you’ll give me the same assurance. She stands and pulls on a sandal and wobbles while she pulls on the second. Then she throws my jeans at me.

I catch them an inch from my face and stuff my legs into them while she angrily throws ingredients into the shopping bag she brought.

“I came over to spend time with you because I wanted to see you and I hoped you wanted to see me,” she says.

“I did. I do,” I say, buttoning my jeans.

She storms past me.

“I don’t know what you expect from me! Isn’t pancakes and a blow job enough?”

Her question shocks me into silence. Because, God in heaven, shouldn’t it be? My life is in Ohio and hers is here. I’m visiting for a limited time, and she’s been here for months and isn’t willing to put down roots. A no-strings fling during vacation should be utopia. Ask any guy if he wants pancakes and a blow job and I promise you he’ll say yes to both. Simultaneously.

Becca’s eyebrows draw over her nose and her mouth flattens into an angry line. She doesn’t want my honest answer. Trepidation shakes her arm as she jerks the bag onto her shoulder.

She’s getting an answer anyway.

“You bet your sweet ass it isn’t enough, Princess. Question is, are you brave enough to do something about it?”