Chapter Fourteen
Melody
I wake up in his arms.
This isn’t how we fell asleep last night. But then, last night was a lot of acrobatics and we both just kind of collapsed and passed out wherever we landed. At some point while we were sleeping, he wrapped me up and pulled me close.
I sigh, breathing in deep, taking in his smell. This is as good as I’ve felt in a long, long time. My body feels relaxed. My soul feels content.
He stirs a little, but stays asleep and I just watch him, tracing my gaze over the strong lines of his jaw, the stubble he’s wearing that looks so rugged, down his chest to the full eight-pack that’s like a magnet for my pupils.
How did I get a man so incredible?
I run my tongue over my teeth and frown. They feel like velvet’s coating them.
Gross. I forgot to brush.
Groaning, I sit up even though I don’t really want to. It feels so good having Julian’s arm over me, but I need to stretch, too. I think I might’ve bruised my hip with all the thrusting and riding we did last night.
“Leaving so soon?” Julian says, dreamily, as I swing my legs out of bed and slowly stand up. “How about round two?”
Laughing, I shake my head and then start stretching. “Round two? It’s more like round seven.”
“Seven? That’s all? I could swear it was at least eight.”
He sits up in bed, blatantly eying me as I try and work the kinks out of my tired body. It’s flattering, and I wink at him over my shoulder. “Either way, I could be convinced. I just need a second to stretch. It feels like I’m just one single bruised knot.”
Chuckling, he gets up and turns on the room’s coffee maker. “I’d love to, but, in all honesty, I think it’s going to be a little while. You drained me last night.”
“As your doctor, I can tell you that’s a terrible excuse.”
“You’re a vet.”
“And you’re a dog, by your own admission,” I shoot back with a smile. “Who am I to judge how you self-identify? Especially if you’re right.”
He rolls his eyes and shoves a mug of coffee in my hand. I drink up the aroma, then take a sip. Already, I’m feeling more alert, more alive.
Rocking my hips slowly from side to side, I look him up and down. “I think you could go again.”
He laughs even louder, this big belly-laugh that shakes his whole body. “Now who’s insatiable?”
Maybe I am.
There’s just something about him when he’s not laser-focused on his goals that makes him so easy to be around. Something that’s irresistible. When he’s just Julian Stone — super-rich, super-hot businessman — he’s the kind of man I’d spend time with, even if we didn’t have some crazy fake-engagement arrangement.
He’s perfect when he’s not being an asshole.
I finish my coffee and turn to him, pretending to be angry. “So what if I am insatiable? It’s your fault for being so ridiculously hot. You make me feel like I’m wandering on some desert salt plain, I’m so thirsty.”
Eyes roll. “Wow. Just wow. Really?”
“See? That’s what happens when you get me all twisted up like that.”
“You drop terrible one-liners? Relax, we can fuck later. I’m calling room service for some breakfast. You want anything specific, or should I just get two of everything?”
My stomach growls.
“Two of everything it is,” he says.
He’s standing right by the bed, receiver next to his ear and coffee cup in his other hand; he’s entirely naked and his athletic body on full display. I can’t help myself.
I push him.
Hard.
He lets out a startled “what the—?” as he lands on the bed.
The coffee cup goes flying, spilling it’s liquid contents against a wall. I jump right on of him, straddling his chest, and I snatch the phone.
“Hello?” says a very confused hotel clerk. “Is everything ok?”
“Yes, thank you. Cancel our order. We’ve found another way to satisfy our appetites,” I say into the phone.
“Hold on,” Julian starts to protest, but I put my finger to his lips.
Shh.
“Julian Stone,” I say, loud enough that whoever’s on the phone is definitely able to hear us. “You have a reputation to uphold. Your fiance needs you. Now get to work.”
With the push of a button, I hang up the phone and then shimmy further up his body until I’m nearly straddling his face.
We’re both grinning.
Even when I pinned him, Julian didn’t fight me. We both know where this is going.
“You said you’re hungry?” I say.
He nods. If the grin on his face gets any wider, his face is going to split open.
I stand up right over his face, my legs spread wide, one to each side of him. Making a big show of it, I lean forward until my tits are right over his face and he is staring up at me, enraptured.
I love the way he looks at me. Every single time his eyes tell a story of naked desire, speaking to me as loud as if he used his voice that I am the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen.
I’m going to miss this when it’s over, I think, before I lower myself down to sit on his face. And then his tongue chases away any thoughts I have.
His tongue is magic. It’s worth more than all the money in the world for what he’s able to do with it.
His lips suck me in just the right places while his tongue teases a slow path to my clit. Stroking, coaxing, caressing, teasing and tantalizing every part of my pussy.
It makes one slow circle around my clit.
I bite my lip.
I know what’s coming, but still, when I feel that gentle suck as he pulls it between his lips and that first bracing caress, I cry out.
“Holy fuck.”
He chuckles beneath me and the rumbling vibrations light up my body.
Holy shit, he’s not a businessman — he’s a fucking magician with that tongue.
I grab hold of the blankets, knotting them tight in my tingling fingers. He’s doing something with that tongue, it’s gentle as a whisper and as rapid as a hummingbird’s wings and it’s making my toes curl.
“I love your tongue. Oh god, I love it.”
And then he starts growling. It’s this feral, wild, deep growl that says he’s in heaven, that there’s nothing in the world he’d rather be doing at this moment than licking my pussy.
My body starts tingling and twitching and I am tearing at the sheets.
I’m close. My breath catches. My eyes flutter shut.
“Julian.”
His tongue flickers, pushing me further until I’m right up to the edge of bliss. Through heavy-lidded eyes, I force myself to look down at him.
He’s staring right back at me with those bright green eyes.
Come, they’re screaming at me.
Come.
And then he growls again.
I lose it.
“Julian,” I moan his name, the word ripping out of my throat over and over again while I clamp down on his face with my legs. I ride every single lick of his tongue into oblivion.
Falling to the side, my body spasming like I’m riding my own private earthquake, I pull in a heaving breath. My uncooperative fingers reach for him and his touch sets off fireworks inside me.
Julian Stone, I just might love you.
Is this fake anymore?