Out of Love Read online

  “Fos—” she tries to push the word out between giggles and protests, “you have … to—”

  When I hear the hiccups start, I cease because I know how those suckers can actually get to the point of being painful. Slowly, I release her ankles and she lies there on her back, breathing heavily, chest heaving, holding her stomach, eyes closed. When they finally reopen, we don’t speak, but I know—I feel the smile spread across my face.

  “You vile betrayer.” She’s failing at masking her grin, and I detect a definite huskiness to her voice as she tosses out another quote from the movie.

  “That’s Sultan vile betrayer to you.” At my words—at throwing a quote right back at her—her smile is unleashed, blasting me with the full power of it. It makes me feel dazed, almost bewildered at the fact that this powerful smile of hers is making it hard to breathe, my chest tightening in the strangest way.

  It’s terrifying and dangerous, the fact that one woman is throwing me so off-balance.

  As if she feels the sudden tension, she slides up into the sitting position, her words rushed. “I’m going to get a bottle of water. You want something? A beer, maybe?” Standing from the couch, she’s off like lightning, on her way to the kitchen.

  “A beer would be great.” I follow suit, standing, recalling there’s a variety pack in the fridge so it’ll be easier to just pick one out myself.

  “Which one do you want?” Her voice is slightly muffled. As I approach the kitchen, coming around the island, I see she’s slightly bent, reaching into the fridge for the beer, waiting on me to tell her which one to choose.

  “The Belgian White’s good, thanks.” My eyes are trained on her ass, the fabric of her sleep shorts no longer loose-fitting but pulled taut, outlining her curvy ass, my fingers twitching in remembrance of how it felt in my hands.

  Closing the fridge, pulling the top off the beer with the magnetized opener on the side of my fridge, Noelle turns, not realizing I’m standing so close to her. Halting abruptly, causing the beer to slosh over the lip of the bottle, it spills onto my shirt, dampening the center, dripping down over the soft, cotton fabric.

  “Shit! Sorry!” Setting the bottle on the counter, she rushes to grab a nearby dish towel, attempting to blot the mess. Before she turns back, I’m in the process of pulling my shirt off, fingers gripping the back collar, my head momentarily hidden. When I hear her gasp, I know she’s turned around. I can’t stop the rush of pleasure it gives me to know that a flash of my chest and abs caused such a reaction.

  As soon as the shirt’s off, I ball it up in my fist, and she immediately begins to pat my chest and stomach with the dish towel.

  “Noelle.”

  She doesn’t look up. “Yes?” She merely continues her attempts at drying me off.

  My fingers halt her movement, wrapping around her wrist to stop her. Her eyes fly up to meet mine and whatever she sees gives her pause.

  “Don’t lie. You did that on purpose, didn’t you? Just to get me out of my shirt.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Noelle

  Huffing out a breath, I can’t resist rolling my eyes at his audacity. “You wish—” My words are cut off the moment he tugs me closer, eliminating the gap between us, our bodies pressed flush against one another.

  His eyes are locked on mine as he whispers, “Wishes only get you so far.” Foster’s hand swiftly slides around the back of my head, his mouth crashing down on mine as his lips take full control of my mouth.

  He takes advantage of my surprised gasp, deepening the kiss, turning my gasp into a moan. His tongue slides inside, flicking my own teasingly, and I hear myself make a sound I’d never before made.

  A whimper. Foster Kavanaugh actually made me whimper. What is it with this man’s power over me?

  He begins toying with my bottom lip, giving it the slightest tug with his teeth, backing me up against the kitchen counter, instantly giving me a feeling of déjà vu.

  “Did you just whimper, Davis?” His tone holds a tinge of amusement, and I barely resist the urge to shove him. I resist only because shoving him would mean he wouldn’t be able to continue with his kisses, his tongue darting out to taste my skin as he works his way down the column of my neck.

  “We can’t do this,” I say breathlessly, attempting to be the sound of reason.

  Attempting being the key word, here.

  “We’re not doing anything. Just a friendly conversation between friends,” he mutters, in between kisses and nibbles along my neck before he works his way back up to take my earlobe between his teeth and gently suck on it.

  “But the conversation—” I break off just as the tip of his tongue slides along the inner shell of my ear, my breathing becoming even more harsh. “It’s happening while we’re—”

  “Communicating with our bodies.”

  How in the hell does he sound so composed right now? When I feel like my entire body’s been lit up like a raging inferno?

  Ever the one to try and maintain reason and stay on the up-and-up, I try again. “But I thought we agreed this wasn’t smart.”

  “I think we can be smart about this.” He presses his hardness right where I want him most—directly in the apex of my thighs and there’s no way I can hold back my groan. “We can be very smart about it.”

  Somehow I think our definitions of “smart” differ right now. Greatly. So what do I do? I grasp at the first thing that comes to mind.

  “But we’re missing the movie.”

  One of his large hands brushes over top my breast, his thumb catching on my now hardening nipple. “It’s on Blu-ray. We can always watch it again later.”

  Damn it. That’s it. I’m out of excuses. That doesn’t mean, however, that I can’t try and lay down some serious ground rules.

  Raising my hands to grip his forearms, I moan at the feel of them beneath my hands—the cords of his muscles so thick and strong, “Seriously, Kavanaugh. I am not okay with you treating me differently at work.”

  He leans back enough to look me directly in the eyes just as his thumb brushes back and forth over my nipple in agonizingly slow strokes. It takes every ounce of restraint not to melt into a puddle at his feet. “Understood.” There’s a pause. “Is that all?”

  Hell if I know. “Ye—”

  His mouth swallows the remainder of my answer. With his body pressed against mine, he lifts me up onto the counter, his hands spreading my legs for him to nestle between them. God, the way his hardness is prodding makes me feel a frantic need to rid us both of our clothing.

  His fingers tug the hem of my shirt up and over my head, leaving me in my sports bra which he, too, immediately pulls off. I’m sitting there on his kitchen counter, topless, and at any other time I’d be feeling utterly self-conscious. What makes this different is the way Foster’s looking at me, the way his eyes make me feel while they take in my bare breasts, as though he’s perusing a work of art. When his hands cup the weight of them before running the pads of his thumbs over the tips of my puckered nipples, I can’t resist arching into his touch as I watch his face. The moment his eyes meet mine, those whiskey colored eyes bright and burning with lust, I become brazen like never before.

  Sliding a hand to the nape of his neck, I direct him, bringing him closer to me, to my aching nipples, arching farther into him, silently begging him to put his mouth on me. And he doesn’t disappoint me.

  His lips latch on to one nipple while he plucks at the other with his thumb and forefinger. But his eyes… God, those eyes continue to watch me the entire time, not missing anything, as though my reactions are turning him on even more.

  The moment his hand slides down my body, down to my center, ducking beneath the leg of my shorts to run against my core, I know I’m lost to this man. Lost to the way he makes me feel. Lost to the way he protects others—going above and beyond. Lost to the man—the sweet, kind-hearted, loyal man—who hides all of those traits behind his thick, protective walls.

  I’m lost to his body c
alling out to mine.

  When his finger slides inside of me, my gasp turns into a moan as he continues his assault on my nipple, his tongue flicking against the tip within the heat of his mouth all while thrusting a thick, long finger in and out of me. He adds another finger, and I feel that delicious stretch, feel myself get wetter, slicker with arousal. It isn’t until he speaks against my breast, his hot breath washing over my skin, eyes still locked on mine as if he doesn’t want to—can’t bear to—miss my reaction to his words.

  “Your pussy is so fucking smooth.” His golden eyes watch me and I can’t hold back the shiver they elicit. “I’m going to fuck you with my tongue.” He pauses to flick the end of my nipple with his tongue before saying, “Until you come so hard you’ll still feel it tomorrow.”

  My inner muscles clench around his fingers and the smile he gives me is nothing short of predatory.

  “I’ll take that as a sign of your acceptance.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Foster

  I don’t want to acknowledge the fact that I’m choosing to do this now, with Noelle. Or why.

  Wrapping an arm around her, tugging her closer as my other hand cups the back of her head to bring her in for another kiss. The moment I lift her off the counter, her legs instinctively wrap tightly around my waist.

  Making my way to my bedroom, I don’t stop until I’m a foot from my bed and lower her to her feet. Letting my hand graze her body, trailing over her breast, one thumb casually swipes over a nipple, continuing downward to toy with her cotton shorts. Pushing them down her legs, I lower myself, tugging them the remainder of the way off. That’s when I realize I’ve hit the motherlode.

  She’s waxed and so smooth I can’t help but drag my lips along her skin, reveling in the softness, in her scent. When my lips graze over her clit, I hear her sharp intake of breath and once my fingers slide back inside her wet heat, it’s even better than it was just moments before.

  Wetness. Hot, tight, wetness. As my fingers work inside of her, my other hand grips her hip, feeling the tremors my touch sends throughout her body. Her hands are on my shoulders, gripping them and I glance up to see her head tipped back, eyes closed, lips slightly parted as my fingers slide in and out of her.

  Slowly pulling my fingers out, I wait for her eyes to meet mine. The moment her hazy blue eyes meet mine, I slide my fingers inside my mouth, savoring the taste before removing them slowly.

  “I can’t wait to taste your sweet pussy,” I murmur, guiding her back onto the bed before leaning closer, brushing my lips over her center. “Better hold on tight.”

  “Wha—Oh, my God,” she breathes out when I hook her legs over my shoulders, leaning in and burying my tongue deep inside of her. And, fuck, she tastes good. The logical part of me wants to argue it’s because I haven’t tasted a pussy in a long time. Far longer than I can account for because I never go down on a woman. Never. They’re temporary and it just seems too personal. It’s a quirk of mine, no doubt, especially since I sure as shit haven’t had any qualms about women giving me head if they wanted.

  But with Noelle, there’s something about her that feels … safe. Safe to go outside of my normal comfort zone with women, safe to cross those lines.

  Sliding my tongue inside of her, tasting her intimately, turns me on more than I could have imagined. The way she’s gripping my head, my tongue becoming saturated by her arousal, and the way she works herself over my tongue nearly has me coming in my damn shorts.

  “Foster.” The breathy way she says my name makes me … fuck. I’m like a damn teenage boy experiencing action for the first time.

  Moving a hand up to her clit, I take it between my thumb and forefinger, giving it a slight tug. Instantly, I’m rewarded; her pussy getting even wetter, coating my tongue. Continuing to fuck her with my tongue while I work her clit with my fingers, her body begins to stiffen and I know this is it. The moment she arches, thrusting against my tongue, shamelessly riding it and taking the pleasure I’m giving her, is the only time my eyes fall closed. In that moment, I let the fact that I’m tasting her, that she’s coming all over my tongue—thrusting herself onto my face—roll over me, the satisfaction I’m giving her such obvious pleasure.

  Once the tremors subside and her muscles relax, I relinquish my hold on her, sliding my tongue out of her pussy and pressing a soft kiss to it before raising my head. Those blue eyes of hers are watching me and there’s a relaxed softness in them I haven’t seen before. Before I can say anything, a look I recognize begins to edge its way into her expression.

  Panic.

  “Don’t,” I warn her huskily, lifting up to lean over her, propping myself up on my forearms. Lightly dusting my lips over hers, I repeat, “Don’t go there.”

  She looks troubled. “I just came all over my freaking boss’ tongue.” Throwing her hands across her eyes, she mumbles, her lips barely moving, “And it was hot.”

  My smile feels like it’s about to burst, it’s so big and it’s a good thing she can’t see it because it’s safe to say it’s more than a bit smug.

  Lowering my lips to her neck, I press a kiss to it before dragging my teeth along her skin, watching as goose bumps pop up on her skin. And that isn’t the only thing popping up. Running my thumb down over a puckered nipple, she arches into my touch. But it’s not enough for me.

  Lowering my head to latch on to her pale pink nipple, her low moan is music to my ears. My mouth finds her other nipple and I suckle it, flicking the hardened tip with my tongue.

  “Stop.”

  Her words make me freeze, my eyes darting up to hers. But she isn’t looking at me with the expression I expect. Her next words confirm it.

  “I’m naked and you’re not.” She attempts a stern look. “That’s got to change.”

  One eyebrow raised, I challenge her. “Are you trying to call the shots here, Davis?”

  And there it is. The look that says, Really, Kavanaugh? with sarcasm rolling off of it in waves.

  “I’m pretty sure I just rode your face shamelessly. The least you can do at this point is let me see you naked.” Her shoulders lift in a mini shrug, attempting nonchalance. “Not saying I’m going to let you do anything to me, but…”

  Yeah. We’ll just have to see about that.

  Raising myself off of her, coming to stand beside the bed, I slide down the pair of comfortable workout shorts I’d put on over my boxer briefs. My hard cock juts out proudly as I push the briefs down and off too.

  “Ho-ly shiiit.” My eyes fly to Noelle, who’s staring at my cock with an expression I’m not sure I can describe. Astonishment, maybe? Mixed with apprehension? Finally, after a beat of silence, her eyes raise to mine, brow slightly furrowed. If I didn’t know her better, I would almost believe her next words are spoken out of concern. But it’s the sparkle in her eyes giving her away.

  “Not sure if you realize this or not,” she says slowly, one corner of her lips tipped up, “but it appears you have something going on down there.” Her index finger moves in a circular motion, gesturing to my cock.

  “I realize that.” I wait until her eyes meet mine again. “And it’s called an apadravya.”

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Noelle

  Moving to sit near the edge of the bed on my knees, my eyes dart down again as I reach out, my finger lightly toying with the silver ball piercing at the head of his cock, eliciting a shudder from him. His eyes drift closed, pushing into my touch.

  Wrapping my fingers around the base of his cock, I slide them slowly up his length until they graze the piercing on the underside, running my thumb over it. When I toy with the ends of the piercing, he jerks at my touch and I imagine my mouth over him, my tongue sliding over his cock. The image of that plays in my mind when his hands move of their own accord, twining his fingers through my hair, his heavy-lidded gaze watching me as I continue to stroke him, to toy with his piercing.

  I can’t resist the urge—I have to taste him, to see how he feels in my
mouth and give him as much pleasure as he gave me. Leaning forward, eyes locked with his, using my hand, I guide him into my mouth.

  The moment my mouth wraps around his cock, he groans, his grasp on my hair tightening. The way his fingers tug at it turns me on. When I moan around his cock, he stiffens, hardening even more. Dragging my mouth down his length before sliding off; my tongue darts out, flicking at the top of his piercing before sliding my lips over the tip and sucking. Hard.

  That’s when Foster Kavanaugh comes undone. Because of me. Me.

  His voice is gravelly, eyes—that never before appeared quite so golden—heavy-lidded, as he pulls himself from my grasp. “If you don’t want this, you need to speak up. Now.” Swallowing hard, as though nervous at the prospect of me backing out, his voice deepens. “Otherwise, I plan on fucking you good.” Lowering his face to mine, he whispers, “I plan on my cock being so far deep inside your pussy, making you come so hard you won’t ever want me to slide out.” He pauses, his eyes searching. “But you need to tell me you want this.”

  I flush at his words, my tongue darting out to wet my bottom lip before I answer. “I want this.”

  One of his hands moves down my body in between my legs, sliding inside of me with ease. “Tell me you want my cock inside your pussy, pushing deep. Tell me you want me to make you come hard.” His gaze is still locked with mine while my chest rises and falls, my nipples puckered against his chest.

  “I want your cock deep inside my pussy.” My voice is husky and I reach to drag the hand he still has threaded through my hair across my cheek over my lips. When I slide my lips down over his index finger, tasting myself from earlier, I suck hard, hollowing out my cheeks, making him groan.

  With a pop, I slide his index finger from my mouth and lick the tip of his middle finger. “I want you to push deep, to make me come harder than I ever have.” Just when I’m about to take that finger in my mouth, he stops me, dragging his two damp fingers down over my nipple, plucking gently at it.