Page 67 of Spin Control

I arch an eyebrow. “Will you be able to?”

He husks a laugh. “I like to talk during sex.”

I’m sure he’s already realized this, but I don’t. All I need is to know that I control them. What they think about me and my body is irrelevant. Wes must see it on my face because he says, “But I’ll only do it with your permission.”

Fuck.

“You get one shot,” I say. “If I hate it, you’re silenced forever.”

Delight flashes in his eyes. “Understood.”

I nod. “Stay right where you are.”

Wes doesn’t move a muscle. Not when I step out of my heels. Not when I reach under my skirt and shimmy my thong down my legs. Not when I lean my back against the wall. He stays entirely still, his eyes cataloging everything, drinking every moment in. I can’t resist making this next demand. It’s too delicious to ignore. “Crawl.”

Wes lifts his eyebrows. But then he grins wickedly and places his hands directly under his shoulders. I’m riveted as he lifts his head, those caramel eyes meeting mine as he prowls forward. It reminds me of the time I sized him up as a predator—there’s no doubt he is one. But he’s also perfectly fine with being prey.

When he’s at my feet, I tell him to return to his knees. He does it immediately, looking at me for his next instructions. It’s my turn to grin. I hike up my calf-length skirt and hook a leg over his shoulder. But before he can touch or speak, I thread my fingers through his soft hair, tugging at the roots until his chin tips up. “Let’s see if your mouth is as good as your cock.”

Humor glitters in his eyes, but he stays silent. Then Wes Grant leans forward, presses a warm hand on the front of my thigh, and takes my entire pussy in his mouth. His tongue is so dexterous that I can’t stop the harsh curse that’s followed by a lusty little laugh. I push my hips forward and Wes hums in approval. My hand is still in his hair and I use it to steady myself as I begin moving against him. He matches the rhythm, assuring the way he’s sucking and swirling is accentuated by the roll of my hips.

When Wes lets up to catch his breath, his lips are swollen and his eyes are brimming with lust. “You taste so goddamn delicious that I’m fairly certain it’s going to make me come in my pants, Jacobs.”

A laugh bursts out of me, wild and free, and he bites his lip. “Christ, that sound might be the best thing I’ve ever heard.” Wes puts his mouth to work again, his grip on my thigh tightening as he pushes himself closer, as if he can’t get enough. I move my hand to the back of his head and apply pressure. He groans into me, his deft tongue curling in a way that has me gasping.

When my grip on him loosens, he pulls back. “Would you consider fucking my face again? Please?”

He looks so eager and turned on and genuinely enthralled that I don’t even have to think about it—I just pull his face back to me and begin grinding. This time, I guide him to the places that feel the best, telling him to lick or suck or flick with the tip of his tongue. It’s a heady rush, having him efficiently switch gears as quickly as I can give him instructions.

When the sensations become too intense, I lean back and give in, letting the orgasm rush through me. Wes brings me through it, expertly navigating the path to my pleasure until I’m cooling down.

Those amber eyes stay on mine for a long, hot moment before he drops his gaze and presses a surprisingly chaste kiss to the inside of my thigh. “Thank you.” The whispered words are quiet, reverent, ragged. I marvel at this man, still on his knees, thanking me for allowing him to make me come.

I feel invincible. Benevolent. Like a fearsome god granting a favor to a loyal supplicant.

“Feeling better?” I ask

He nods. “I feel calmer. More centered.”

“I’m glad,” I say, meaning it. “You can stand now.”

Wes looks up at me again, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Maybe I like it here.”

He’s so hot I want to scream. Instead, I say, “Get up, Grant.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he says, standing. A stain near his crotch is immediately apparent, and my jaw drops.

“Told you,” he says, shrugging, as if coming untouched is no big deal. But then he laughs, the sound full of self-consciousness, a little bit of embarrassment, and a dash of dismay, despite him telling me it would happen. “As if I wouldn’t come when you’re grinding your ambrosial pussy on my face.”

“Ambrosial?” I repeat, unsure if I should laugh or go find the documentary camera crew so they can record this for posterity, my job security and reputation be damned.

“Yes,” Wes says, decisive. “Ambrosial.”

This time, I do laugh. “Okay, Fitzwilliam.”

He chuckles, and I go to the bathroom. After cleaning up and returning my clothes to where they belong, I head toward the door.

“Before you go,” Wes says from where he’s leaning a hip against the table. “Will you tell me the verdict?”