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“I want you on your knees,” said Dean. “Here.” He pointed to the carpet in front of him, his voice igniting something deep inside me.
Aftershocks rippled through me, and pleasure hummed in my veins. I made the right decision tonight. Every time he praised me, my inner self cheered. This could become addictive. I’d ponder the psychology later.
I went to stand, and a wave of dizziness rolled over me. I dropped to the floor and crawled to him. This was better. I smiled up. “Like this?”
“Perfect.” He palmed his dick, inside his shorts. “This is all for you. I’m going to fuck you a couple of times as well, so you’d better not be planning to sleep much tonight.”
“I’m not.”
“Good.” His lips curved. “Pull my shorts down. I want your lips on me.”
He’d been jogging but didn’t smell sweaty. I wouldn’t have cared anyway. I tugged at the elasticated waist, and it came down easily to his mid-thigh, along with the close-fitting briefs underneath. His cock sprang free, hard and thick, a pearl of pre-cum visible at the tip.
I licked my lips, and he groaned, a moment before I closed my mouth around him. My first boyfriend taught me the art of a good blowjob—how to take it right into my throat—and I mentally thanked him for the lessons. Dean was bigger in every sense of the word, but I could do it.
“Jesus,” he whispered. “You’re good at this.” He nudged forward, and I concentrated on relaxing. Breathing through my nose. Not panicking at the size of him.
“That’s so good.” His voice rumbled through me. “If you need me to stop, slap the floor.” He took hold of my hair in both hands, immobilising me, then eased deeper into my throat. He was going too far. Fear bubbled, making me tense, but then he backed off.
I drew a breath and looked up, to meet his gaze. He was focused on me, his eyes gleaming in the bedroom lights. Fuck, but this was sexy. Even though I came minutes ago, I was wet again and thinking about us having sex later.
Dean nodded and pushed deep again, before retreating. This time I was ready, and I breathed through it. There were another couple of slow back-and-forth movements, and then he picked up the pace. He dug his fingers into my hair with little pinpricks of pain, but it helped me focus.
I was giving him so much pleasure and loving every second of it. I never wanted the night to end.
He was panting. Perspiration sparkled on his forehead, and he had to be close.
“I want to come in your mouth,” his voice rasped. “Slap the floor if you don’t want that.”
I kept my hands on his rock-hard thighs and concentrated on the slide of his cock in and out of my mouth.
His nails scraped my scalp. He pumped twice, and then again, before giving a muffled shout as he came. I swallowed it all, my gaze on him—at the naked desire on his face. When he eased back, I went to lick him but hesitated.
The dizziness I felt earlier roared back at full force, accompanied by a wave of nausea so strong, it felt as though my stomach was trying to tear itself in half. I needed the bathroom. Ignoring Dean’s surprised hey, I tried to stand, and then half-lurched, half-crawled to the en-suite bathroom. I made it to the toilet in the nick of time.
I’d never vomited so hard. I’d not eaten a lot today, and had way too much alcohol. Together with my meds, it made for a dangerous combination.
I lifted my head to draw breath and flush the toilet, before launching into another wave of sickness. Dean crouched behind me, holding my hair back. I wished I could crawl into a hole and hide there. Could anything be more embarrassing?
He handed me a damp washcloth, and I wanted to weep. Why was he being so nice? Because he was nice, while I was proving my parents right once again. I was a fuck-up.
Several shaky breaths later, I leaned back against Dean while he wiped my face. His touch was gentle. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “If I’d known, I would have pulled out.”
What was he talking about? Fuck. He’d come in my mouth, a second before I bolted to the bathroom. Humiliation hadn’t finished with me yet.
“It wasn’t you.” My voice was croaky, my throat burning.
“Wait.” He handed me a glass of water. “Take a sip and spit it out.”
I did that, and then drank a little. It helped, but it still felt like I’d taken a razor to the inside of my throat.
“Are you okay?” He asked. “What happened?”
I could lie, or I could tell him the truth. He’d been upfront about only wanting one night, so it wasn’t as though I’d see him again. Indecision warred within me. “I’m taking some medication,” I said. “You’re not supposed to drink with it.”
The surprise on his face morphed into concern. “How serious is this? Do I need to call a doctor? Take you to the hospital?”
“No.” I closed my eyes and blew out a breath. “I think I threw it all up. It’s me being stupid.”
He didn’t say anything.
I took another sip of water. It stayed down. “I’m sorry,” I said. Tears pricked at my eyes. “I’ve spoiled everything. I should go.”
“Go? Hell no. I’m not letting you leave in this state.” He leaned across to the towel rail and tugged at a large bath towel, which he draped around my shoulders.
I managed a weak smile. I felt like shit, and I didn’t want to cry in front of him. “Thank you.”
“Are you ready to stand up?”
I nodded. “I think so.”
“Okay.” He helped me to my feet, and then guided me to the basin, where he ran the tap and passed me a tube of toothpaste. “I have a new brush in the cupboard. One moment.” He found it, ripped off the packaging, and gave it to me. “It’ll help the taste in your mouth. And while you’re doing that, I’ll make you some tea. Get into bed when you’re done. We need to have a conversation about this.”
He was still giving me orders, but I didn’t mind. It helped put off the moment when we had to talk.
I would leave soon—wait until I felt stronger, and then go home and do my best to avoid seeing Dean ever again. Oh God. He thought it was his fault I threw up. Shame burned through me, and I covered my face with my hands. I’d been here a week and fucked up already.
“Come on. Into bed.” Dean reappeared in the doorway, and with his arm around my waist, guided me into his bed. “The sheets were fresh this morning,” he said. “Are you diabetic?”
I tried to untangle his words in my head. “Diabetic? No.”
“Okay. I’m safe to put sugar in your tea.” He rearranged the pillows behind me, and then pulled up the duvet. I snuggled into the bedding and tugged it up to my chin. I’d been eager to leave a minute ago. Why was I now happy to stay?
He returned with a steaming mug and a side plate with cookies. He’d also put on a T-shirt. Mr. Hot-n-Sexy had been replaced with Mr. Caring, and my heart flipped. He felt responsible; that was all. He probably couldn’t wait to get rid of me.
I’d drink some tea, and bolt at the earliest opportunity.
Dean sat on the bed and turned to face me. “Right,” he said. “Talk to me, Steph. What meds are you on, and how serious is this?”