Page 95 of A Little Jaded
My chest swells as I press my hand to his, letting the steady rhythm of his heart ground me as I slowly move onto my knees in front of him.
“Raine…”
“You’ve taken care of me since the moment we met, Everett.” I peek up at him and reach for the seam of his jeans. “Let me take care of you for once, will you?”
His blue eyes darken, and if I didn’t know any better, I’d say he wants to tell me no. My fingers graze him, but I don’t unzip his zipper. Instead, I stay still and study him. The worry lines framing his eyes. The hardness in his jaw. The bruises. The dried blood beneath his nose clinging to his five o’clock shadow. The flare of his nostrils.
“Do you not want me to take care of you?” I whisper.
He pauses, his chest expanding with a deep, forced breath. “Not used to being taken care of,” he grudgingly admits.
It doesn’t surprise me. Everett doesn’t seem like someone who allows people to take care of him. It only feeds my determination.
“Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” I smile, reach for his button, and wait.
When he doesn’t tell me to stop. Doesn’t tell me to take this slow. Doesn’t tell me not to touch him, I continue my path. And I think we both need it. Proof I’m all in, too. Proof I’ll do anything to take his pain away, even if all I can give him is a distraction.
My fingers move deftly, the sound of the zipper ringing throughout the otherwise silent room when I tug the thick metal lower. I used to like giving blow jobs. That probably sounds weird, but it’s true. It made me feel powerful. Wanted. Desirable. Then Drake filmed me, and instead of it being the compliment Drake insisted it was, his actions made me feel used. Dirty. I didn’t like them after that.
A small part of me wonders if I still don’t like them, but it shrinks with every slow drag of the zipper, one small metal tooth unclicking after another. Anticipation mixes with the trepidation swirling through my veins, and I continue my pursuit, curious to see if it’ll stay. The anticipation. Or if it’ll be swallowed whole by my own insecurities and the past refusing to stop haunting me no matter how hard I try to bury it.
What do you taste like, Everett?
I let the question guide my movements as the zipper reaches its end, and his black boxers come into view. The ridge of his cock is outlined by them. They remind me of the ones I borrowed on my first night with him.
I rise onto my knees, blow a kiss through the damp fabric near the head of his cock, and pull him out. The mushroom head tempts me as I drag my thumb along the slit, spreading the precum around the tip as I lift my eyes to his again. I want to watch him. I want to see what I do to him. To see if I can drive him crazy like he’s done to me. Spreading my lips, I taste him, keeping my movements slow as I wrap my mouth around the head of his erection, using my hand to massage the rest of his length.
A groan rumbles from his chest. As he reaches out to hold the side of my face, I wait for fear to replace my curiosity and anticipation, but it doesn’t. No. I only want to make him needier. To steal another groan from him to see if it’s louder than the last. To take him deeper. So I do.
What do I do to you, Everett Taylor?
Running his thumb along my stretched lips, he shakes his head, looking down at me. Not in contempt, but disbelief. Like he’s in awe. Like he can’t believe I’m the one he’s with. The one sucking him off. When I’m the lucky one. The one who can’t believe I’m here. Safe. Appreciated. Cared for.
Pulling away from his cock, I swirl my tongue along thehead and catch my breath while trying to keep my potential freak out at bay. I dive back in, bobbing my head up and down over his erection. His hands slip into my hair, push it away from my face, and tug softly against my roots. It spreads tingles along my scalp. They race down my spine, and I press my thighs together. Spreading my hands beneath his shirt, I explore every inch of his body I can get my fingers on, savoring the way his muscles bunch and flex as he fights for control.
“Fuck, Raine,” he pants. “Fuck, just like that.”
I swallow around him, and he drops his head back, staring up at the ceiling.
“You suck me so good, baby. So fucking good.”
I can feel his need. His unsteady breaths.
His hands twist in my hair. My core clenches at the sound of his raspy voice and how it mixes with the wet, rhythmic sound coming from my mouth.
Yup. I’m pretty sure this takes the cake as the most turned-on I’ve ever been while giving a guy a blow job. Honestly, even my aching jaw and sore knees are a turn-on at this point. Because I want it. I want him. To make him unravel. To make him fall apart and come in my mouth. I press my thighs together and cup his balls, rolling them in my hand while hollowing my cheeks.
“Gonna come, baby,” he warns, dropping his hands and threading them together behind his head to keep from holding me against him.
Sucking him deeper, I wait for the familiar spurt to hit the back of my throat. I close my eyes and welcome it. Welcome the closeness. The way he’s so close to coming apart. The tiny grunts. The whispered curses. His dick jerks against my tongue before he explodes in my mouth, and I swallow every drop. Desperate for more. More of him. More of this. This intimacy. This connection. I squeeze my eyesshut, the realization hitting me harder than I expect. I really like this man. I really like what he does to me, and what I clearly do to him.
As he softens in my mouth, I slowly slip off him, running my tongue along the sensitive head to see if I can tease anything else out of the poor guy until he pushes me away with a low chuckle.
“Tryin’ to kill me, Raine?”
I wipe the corner of my mouth with my thumb and hold his gaze. “Maybe.”
Reaching for me, he orders, “Come here.”