Series: Webs We Weave Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 167
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
“Not really, no.” I lift my feet to the bed and sit cross-legged. “It’s just another fascination, an obsession, to keep me from thinking of the job and the risks and all the ways I’m putting the people I love in positions that hurt them.” My throat swells. Emotion barreling into me. I toy with the chain on my pocket. “Easier to think about wolves than Oliver snorting an obscene amount of coke up his nose.”
“He’s still doing that?” Jake frowns.
“He went to Collin’s last night.”
“Maybe summering here will be good for him, too. Get away from that guy.”
“Maybe…” I’m unsure. It feels naïve to think this isn’t trading one viper’s nest for another. He slides his hand over his lips, the thick tendons and muscles a real turn-on for me. I love the veins tracking up his knuckles. I remember following them one night with my finger. Our bodies sweaty and spent after an hour-long fuck.
Jake watches me watch him. It’s like a book catching you reading its pages.
I smile.
His lips lift.
“Can I blow you?” I ask bluntly. A sudden desire to watch him come shoots through me. Desires. Wants. Aches. They’re so easy to share with Jake.
As I turn to him on the mattress, he leans forward. His fingers thread through my hair, cupping the back of my head. “I can get you off first—”
“No, I want you in my mouth.” I’m already sliding to the floor. My knees dig into the expensive carpet between his feet. The bed isn’t too high, thankfully. He stays seated while my hands rest on his thighs in practiced patience.
When I first asked him to fuck me, I was tornadic winds full of starved kisses and ravaging hands. He captured my wrists to try and slow me, but I kept kissing. The edges of his lips. His neck. His collarbone. “Hailey. Hailey. Hails. Heyheyhey. Slow. Slow down.” He cupped my cheeks, guiding my face back to his. I was breathless. Confused. Then he said, “There’s no rush.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Can we try it slow?”
Slow.
I’d never had slow.
But with Jake, sex is a slow-building four-section, hundred-musician orchestral performance. A grand symphony.
Here, now, in the guest room, a wanton breath escapes my lips when Jake unbuttons his navy-blue pants. He studies me, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. I pull his slacks to his ankles—too quickly for him. He catches my hand when I grip the hem of his dark gray boxer briefs. “Slow,” he reminds me. My pussy throbs just hearing the grit to his voice, and our eyes latch in an aroused beat.
The command both infuriates and electrifies me.
Desire is impatient. It aches for release.
Unhurriedly dragging down his boxer briefs, I free his erection from the fabric. His cock is already thick and hard. I pulse just imagining Jake inside me. I really love him there.
Blow job.
Don’t rush.
I nod to myself and grip him at the base, then I skate my tongue along the shaft. The pace is agonizing. My thighs quiver as I study his face while he studies mine.
His mouth parts. His hand clasps a fistful of my hair. I’m slow to take him in my mouth. Slow to fit him between my lips. Slow to ease him to the back of my throat.
When he’s inside me as far as he can fit, he commends me with a husky “Good girl.”
Wetness soaks my panties, and I make a concerted effort to breathe through my nose so I don’t choke. I begin to suck. Ease in and out. My whole body thrums as I watch him. Veins spindle through his neck, his breathing irregular. His pinpointed eyes darken in headier desire.
It feels so good not being inside my head.
It feels so good laying waste to these feelings instead of being tangled inside my thoughts.
A gentle creak sounds behind me, and before I can turn around, Jake mumbles out, “What the fuck?” I quickly remove him from my mouth and glance over my shoulder.
Jake’s hand tightens on the back of my head as he follows my gaze.
Oliver. It’s just Oliver.
Relief quickly spins into tension.
Oliver shuts the cracked door. Confusion lines his brows. A hairpin is pinched between his teeth, a book under his arm, and his gaze pings from me knelt on the floor to Jake’s legs on either side of me, quickly processing the erotic position.
And in this moment, I remember I asked Oliver to come to my room tonight. But that was before Jake was kicked out of his room. Before he became my roommate for the summer.
The error is mine. So I take responsibility for the building strain.
“I…” I start to say, but I realize Jake and Oliver aren’t looking at me. Their attention fixes to each other.
“You break into Hailey’s room often?” Jake questions, his tone protective. Accusatory. All while his hand still cups my head in tender affection.