Page 22 of Ex Marks the Spot

Sweet mother of Claude Monet.

“But in the meantime,” he says, palming my breasts, “I have other options.”

Yes. Options are good. Great, even. Big fan of options. Except for when they involve Court taking three steps back.

“Wait, where are you going?”

One side of his mouth kicks up in a devilish smirk. “Nowhere.” He slides his arms out of his tuxedo jacket, drapes it over a stack of chairs next to the server’s station, and rolls up his sleeves.

I repeat, HE ROLLS UP HIS SLEEVES.

With nothing to hold on to, I press my fingernails into the textured wallpaper and brace myself for the man who’s pinning me with a gaze that can only be described as primal. Is this what an animal feels moments before it’s eaten?

Because I’m pretty sure I’m about to be eaten.

This assumption is confirmed when he closes the short distance between us and kneels, skimming his palms from my ankles to my hips and back down again, this time with my thong. Seconds later, it’s in his pocket and my leg is draped over his shoulder. He digs his fingers into my flesh and strings a line of biting kisses along my inner thigh but stops several painful inches from where I need him most. I’m just about to voice my protest when he trails his free hand up the inside of my other leg and glides his finger over my wet center.

His name comes out in a moan.

“Shh,” he says, bringing that same finger to his lips. Then, with his eyes locked on mine, he lowers his head to carefully and completely devour me.

My back arches and my hands trade the wallpaper for tufts of his dark brown hair, holding him in place while he traces hot swirls around my clit with his magical tongue.

Downstairs, the emcee announces the start of the official countdown to midnight. Without slowing his pace, Court arches a confident eyebrow as if to say, “Challenge accepted.”

“I mean you’re good, but I don’t know if you’rethatgood,” I tease, mostly because my body is already on fire and begging for release. If he can get me there in ten seconds, I’m all for it.

He responds by plunging his fingers inside me and hooking them forward, expertly massaging my G-spot to the rhythm of his tongue. I try to stay quiet. I really do, but I’m powerless against the exquisite burn building inside me.

I cry out when the crowd reaches “Eight!” and feel more than hear Court’s growl of approval as he inches me closer and closer to the edge.

“God yes, right there.” I’m shamelessly grinding against his face, and he welcomes it with eager licks and encouraging squeezes on my ass with his free hand.

“Four!”

His fingers move faster.

“Three!”

He sucks my clit.

“Two!”

Yes, yes, yes!

“One!”

My climax slams into me everywhere, all at once, robbing me of my breath and my bones and my ability to form words. I sag against Court and surrender to every delicious bolt of lightning coursing through my body as the rest of the attendees welcome the new year.

By the time they shift into “Auld Lang Syne,” he’s slowing the pace of his fingers and praising me between kisses on the inside of my thigh.

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I love making you come.”

“I can’t wait to fuck you when we get home.”

“Don’t you mean ‘duck me’?” I rasp. “Because I was really hoping to see what that’s all about.”