so good,” I sigh out blissfully, letting my belt fall to the floor of the en suite bathroom. I open the drawer under the sink that Sarah keeps stocked with an obscene amount of toiletries and find everything I might need for a quick refresh.
I fetch floss, mouthwash, deodorant, and a few makeup wipes for a quick downstairs clean. It may throw off my pH balance, but that’s Win of tomorrow’s problem.
I hear a soft knock, followed by a creaking door opening, then shutting in the adjoining room.
“I’ll be out in a minute!” I call, removing some of the dark eye makeup I smeared on before the party.
“This is their guest bedroom?” Bo asks from the other side of the door, clearly impressed.
“You’re in finance, right? How much do you think this house is worth?” I ask before taking a shot of mouthwash and swishing it around my mouth, then trying to quietly spit it out.
He laughs but doesn’t humour me with a guess.
I toss my head forward, using my forearm and the crook of my wrist alongside my left hand to gather all of my hair into a high pony. I take off the leather skirt and boots but leave my white blouse—with extra buttons undone—and fishnet tights on.
With a few centring breaths, I apply some lip gloss, smack my lips together, and attempt to gather every shred of confidence required to open the door to the bedroom.
Sarah’s guest room is decorated in grey moody wallpaper and dark floors with a small chandelier in the centre of the room. I dimmed all the lights to a soft, flattering glow before making a mad dash to the bathroom. In the middle of the room, there’s a queen-size bed covered in a crisp white linen duvet, taupe knitted blankets, and throw pillows.
Bo sits on the edge of the bed, facing the doorway that I’ve yet to move from. The moment he spots me, he automatically lowers his hand to his lap and adjusts his trousers. Which does great things for my ego.
“Damn,” he says, his jaw working. He leans forward, chuckling to himself in an agonised, bittersweet manner before he looks up at me through hooded eyes. I’m struck by the illusion of power born from the eager look on Bo’s face telling me that he’d ask how high if I simply said jump.
“I took off some of the… stuff,” I say, holding on to the door frame for balance.
“I can see that.” Bo wets his lips. His hands rub up and down his own thighs as if they’re seeking out friction of any sort. “It’s a good look.” He clears his throat, sitting up slowly. “Great—you look… great.” He smiles, but his eyes don’t—they remain raptly focused on me.
I take five steps toward him on pointed toes, stopping between his parted knees. His hands find the back of my legs, just under my ass. They’re tense as they roam over my skin covered in thinly netted tights. Even with him sitting down, my face is only slightly above his.
“I guess you were kidding about the sexy maid costume, then,” he says, his hands roaming from the back of my knees to the crease below my ass, his thumbs playing with the strings crisscrossing my thighs like a harp.
“Disappointed?” I ask, leaning forward. The tip of my ponytail falls against the hollow of his cheek. Bo tilts his nose toward it, and his eyes close briefly as he breathes in.
“Only a little.” He moves one hand from the back of my thigh to the nape of my neck and pulls me closer, tilting his jaw up to press his lips to mine.
“Maybe next year,” I whisper just before our mouths collide.
Our kiss is exploratory at first. Gentle but intentional. It isn’t until Bo’s other hand reaches my waist that it grows heated—teeth tugging, hands pulling, mouths crashing. I climb into his lap, my knees straddling his hips, and moan unwittingly when he tilts up into me as he leans back—the feeling of him just between my thighs.
“I fucking love Halloween,” he practically growls against my lips, smiling even still.
All I think is off.
Take my clothes off.
Let’s get each other off.
Help me turn my brain off.
“I can’t really do other people’s buttons,” I say, peppering kisses along his jaw toward his ear, my voice raspy. “I mean, I can do it but… slowly.”
“Take all the time you need,” he says, words parted by tender kisses on my neck that have my eyes drooping, weighed down by heady lust.
I move my left hand to the centre of his chest and find the first button of his shirt. I go down from there, one at a time, unbuttoning as best as I can.
Bo begins undoing my shirt. At first, I think he’s teasing me with a slow, seductive unravelling. But then I realise he’s matching my pace purposefully, clearly slower than he’s capable of for my benefit. Which is just as sexy as if he was teasing me. Maybe even more so.
It is also, tragically, one of the larger romantic gestures of my life.
Once his shirt is open, I push it off his shoulders and down his arms, kissing feverishly as we go.
Once my shirt is off, I lean back and let my hands wander across his chest as my eyes drink him in. He’s got freckles across the tops of his broad shoulders and chest, sprinkling down his biceps before fading to just a few spots on his forearms.
I trace them with my hand, like drawing out constellations in the night sky as I lean in to kiss him again. He stops me by ducking his head lower, sucking at the top of my breast that has spilled over the cup of my bra.
I whimper, pushing my tits out toward him. His eyes flick up to me, watching my reaction as he kisses across my chest. My breath turns short and shallow as he tugs my flesh between his teeth and grips my hips tighter.
I place my right hand on the back of his head, desperately trying to take hold of his hair and keep him in place. Then shame creeps in. I drop my smaller hand off his head and over his shoulder, hearing the words of my ex loud in my ear. Don’t. No, use your other hand.
“I liked that,” Bo says, mouth and nose pressed under my collarbone as he kisses his way up toward my neck. He places my hand back where it was amongst his hair. I try my best to thread my short fingers through it, gathering as much as I can between my thumb and the side of my palm to pull.
Bo groans in response, so I do it again as he sucks on my pulse point under my ear, his hair brushing softly against my chin.
“I love how you smell,” I say, conscious of the panting breaths between us growing more urgent.
“You too. Like candied apples.” He presses his nose into my hairline, his lips against the edge of my jaw. “It makes me want to…” He tenses, his mouth opening and his teeth lightly dragging across my chin. “God,” he breaks the word into two syllables, laughing without humour.
“I want you,” I say breathlessly.
“Will you lie down for me?” he asks, gentle tone spoken against my cheek. “I want to see all of you.”
I nod demurely, moving off his lap and crawling toward the middle of the bed. Lying down, I soak in the feel of the luxurious linen on my bare arms and back. It’s all so soft that it turns me on even more. The feeling of the sheets against my skin and the sound of feather-filled pillows envelops me.
Bo moves to the foot of the bed, standing only in his black trousers. I watch as he takes off three rings without removing his eyes from my body. The rings clatter to the floor around his feet, but he doesn’t seem to care where they fall.
I rise onto my elbows, grinning in satisfaction at how Bo’s hair is already sticking up on all ends. It only gets messier as he rakes his hands through it again.
He’s losing his mind over me.
“Win,” he says, my name an anguished plea, shaking his head. “Fucking look at you.”
“Yes?” I ask, feigning innocence as my smirk only grows. I didn’t even say he couldn’t touch me or move closer, yet he’s distressed. He’s using all the self-control he has to make this last as long as we both want it to.
Admittedly, I love this feeling. The power I’ve harnessed while laid out on my back. The way my body can turn someone crazed. It’s the most in control I ever feel, next to being in the lifeguard tower on the beach.
He points at my knees with both hands. “Open those for me, honey.”
Honey? Hmm, I think I like it.
I dig my heels into the mattress, popping my knees up as I slide my legs apart.
“Like this?” I ask sweetly.
“Yes,” Bo answers, teeth bared around his knuckles. “Just like that,” he says slowly before flicking his hair out of his eyes.
I splay my fingers across the band of my tights around my waist and follow the side seam down to my hips. Then I trace a string cutting against the thickest part of my thigh. “Would you take these off?” I ask, toying with them.
Bo nods like a man possessed, bending over the bed to reach for my waist. He pulls the tights down in one strong, fluid motion until they’re off and resting over his shoulder. I thought that was an accident, and he’d soon discard them to the floor, but he’s keeping them close with a tight grip as he moves his opposite hand up the inside of my leg.
“Win,” he says, nearly whimpering. “Who are you?”
I’m more turned on than I have been in years, and the guy hasn’t even touched me yet. “Bo,” I whisper longingly, my hands clinging to the blanket underneath me.
What I want to say is stop caressing my leg and bring your hand, mouth, dick, or any part of you, closer. “Come here please,” I say instead, biting my bottom lip.
Bo walks around the bed, only giving up his hold of my tights when he sits to undress. Then he discards them to the floor.
I shuffle over to the right side of the bed as Bo undresses down to his boxer briefs. With his trousers and costume gone, I get a clearer view of his prosthetic leg. It looks more futuristic than I was expecting—metallic, with silver hinges and joints under a grey plastic socket.
Then I remember what he said downstairs about not having had sex since… since whatever happened. I want him to feel totally safe to choose what to do next, but this is uncharted territory for us both.
“You can take your prosthesis off or leave it on. Whatever you’re most comfortable with,” I offer, trying to keep my voice indifferent, making an effort to remain breathy so he doesn’t think I’m any less turned on than I was just moments ago.
Bo nods with his back to me before using his arms to help twist himself onto the bed. He lifts and adjusts until his back is straight against the headboard and both legs are out in front of him.
I waste no time getting back to it, moving my mouth from his bicep to the top of his shoulder and across. Once I lift my leg over his lap, straddling him once again, we come alive. The glorious sensation of nothing separating us but two thin, matching black layers of cotton is exhilarating.
“Call me honey again,” I say, grinding myself against his hardness.
“You liked that?” he muses, his voice cocky. “It sorta just slipped out.”
I don’t answer. Well, I do. Just not with words.
We fall back into kissing intuitively. Rough and greedy but coordinated—no bumping noses or awkward slips of tongue against teeth. Just two people winding themselves up higher and higher with the hope that we’ll eventually fall, crash, and burn.
I continue writhing against him, grateful that he doesn’t seem to be in too much of a rush. Dry humping is so underrated.
I’m starting to feel my body float away to that perfect edge when he reaches around my back and unclasps my bra. Two large hands find my tits immediately, playing with them until I’m gasping and moving for him like a puppet on his string. Bo drops his lips to my chest as I arch my back for him. He plucks my nipple between his thumb and finger before sucking it into his mouth and flicking it with his tongue.
“Yes,” I hiss, my hips’ rhythm picking up speed.
Moaning around me, Bo splays his fingers across my lower back, pressing me into him with his mouth passing between my breasts greedily.
“Lift up,” he says, his voice forceful through his teeth, his hand placed at the base of my neck.
I go onto my knees without question, lifting off his lap. He smoothly guides himself down the mattress until he’s flat on his back, his face perfectly positioned between my thighs.
“Good,” he says, scratching my inner thigh with his stubble as he pulls my panties to the side with an unexpected roughness. “Now sit for me… honey.” He throws in the honey at the end like he’s trying to sweeten the deal. I needed no additional persuasion.
Before I even have time to lower myself fully, Bo’s got both of his hands on my hips and he’s dragging me onto his face. His fingers dig into my sides until it almost hurts.
“Relax,” I breathe out as he burrows into me. But my smugness doesn’t last long. I gasp when his mouth begins working against me. My knees tremble, then give out entirely until I’m actually sitting on his face and holding on to the headboard for dear life as he presses his tongue exactly where I want it.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I whisper, my voice rough.
He reaches up with both hands, taking my hands from the headboard and placing them behind my back, holding them together in one strong, unrelenting fist. My body is entirely at his mercy, and I simply do not care.
He hums against me in response to every sound escaping my lips. A rewarding, prideful groan rumbles from the back of his throat each time I gasp, moan, or cry out.
I’ve had a fair number of men eat me out. But none have done it like this. Like they were truly starved for me. Like they enjoyed it just as much as I do.
Pleasure builds and builds and builds until I finally come undone, shuddering out one long, grateful whimper as I orgasm. Equal parts relief and pleasure cascade over me.
Bo gently releases my hands as he continues to lick me, sending shudders up my spine with each languid swipe. I wipe the sheen of sweat off my brow with my wrist, twitching as he works me over delicately with his tongue.
“I can’t,” I whisper, attempting to pull myself up and off him. Bo shakes his head between my thighs, groaning his displeasure at me trying to move. He attempts to hold me in place with a hand clasped around the back of my knee, but I break free.
He bites—not nibbles,but bites—the softest part of my inner thigh when I lift one leg to move off him. I yelp, laughing in surprise and sobering immediately, falling onto my ass next to the pillows.
“Sir!” I call out in shock. As in, how dare you?
I look over at him and find myself momentarily stunned. Bo’s parted lips are sparkling wet and slightly swollen, and his eyes are satiated. “Oh, hell yeah,” he breathes out a laugh, “I could definitely be into being called sir.”
I roll my eyes, though I can’t help but smile.
Attempting to catch my breath, I lie next to him. He moves a piece of hair out of his face before bracing his weight on his forearm to suspend himself over me and kissing me leisurely. I get off on the taste of myself on his lips, and based on the way he keeps brushing his tongue against mine, he does too.
Not long after that, I’m tracing his hardness through his boxers. “May I?” I slide the tip of my thumb under the hem. “Sir,” I reward him with only a hint of sarcasm.
“Have at it, honey,” he drawls, his voice arrogant as he falls onto his back with his hands braced behind his head.
