Wrong - Aston Jana - Страница 25

"Taste yourself, Sophie. You just came all over me and now you're gonna swallow my come."

I moan around his dick and he asks me if I like it. The insides of my thighs are slick and his words are making me wetter.

He grabs the side of my face and fucks my mouth. No gentle teasing now, he just takes. His hands are knotted in my hair when he comes and it's easy to swallow it all at this angle, most of it bypassing my tongue and going straight down the back of my throat.

He picks me up off the floor when I'm done and lays me on top of him in my small bed while our heart rates decrease. "You filthy bitch." He slaps my ass as I lie on top of him, running my nails lightly across his chest.

"What?" I'm so tired. Why is he still talking? "What did I do?"

"You masturbated while thinking about me, apparently."

"Oh my God." I stop running my nails across his chest so I can hide my face in my hands. "I didn't mean to tell you that. You had me all worked up. Just… forget I said that."

His chest shakes as he laughs at me. "Not a chance."

Chapter 20

I slide the pie into Luke's high-end Miele stainless-steel oven and search for a timer.

"How long?" Luke walks up behind me and presses my body into the oven, his front to my back. My hair is up in a bun while I bake, leaving my neck wide open, which he takes advantage of with his mouth. I lean into his touch, desire warming my skin.

"Forty-five minutes," I tell him and he punches the time into a digital panel on the stove before turning me to face him.

"You smell like nutmeg."

"Does that turn you on, Dr. Miller?"

He laughs. "Everything about you turns me on, Miss Tisdale." He's walking me backwards, hands on my waist until my butt hits the kitchen island before he picks me up and sits me on the counter. He spreads my legs and stands between them, then pins me in place by placing his hands on either side of me on the granite countertop.

"Sophie." He touches his forehead to mine then tilts his head and kisses me briefly before stepping back. "We need to talk."

What? My eyes fly to his and my heart races as I try to piece together what he wants to talk about. I thought we resolved everything yesterday at my dorm. After the awful day at his parents and the incredible dorm sex that followed, he told me to grab enough stuff for the weekend and took me back to his condo.

We went out this morning hand in hand for coffee and bagels before hitting the grocery story for pumpkin pie ingredients. Luke mentioned the store had pies already prepared, but quickly shut up at the look on my face.

Now he leans against the counter across from me and sighs, running a hand over his face before crossing his arms across his chest and looking at my feet dangling off his countertop. "What the hell are on your feet?"

"Turkey socks," I reply, wiggling my toes.

He shakes his head in response. Yeah, I don't think my socks are what he wants to talk about. What is it? Have I trashed his kitchen? Is he some kind of obsessive-compulsive about to flip out over dirty mixing bowls?

"Yesterday in your dorm room," he begins, slowly. I stare at him waiting, wanting him to spit it out already, but I sit silently, waiting for him to continue.

"I shouldn't have done that," he finishes.

Done what? The kinky roleplaying? I thought that was fun. Wait, did I initiate that or did he? Does he think I'm a freak? Or does he mean he shouldn't have come to my dorm at all?

"I shouldn't have…" He pauses, searching for how he wants to phrase this, and all I can do is stare at him and wait. "Entered you without a condom."

Oh. Okay. He's right, I guess. I want to tell him it's fine, no big deal, but I tread carefully, because I liked it. I liked that he lost control enough to want to. I liked that he'd trusted me enough to. And I damn well liked the feeling of him, sliding inside of me, knowing it was impossible to get any closer to him than that. Then when he came down my throat telling me to taste myself on him? I get a little wet remembering it and I shift on the countertop.

I want to tell him these things and remind him I'm on the pill and that he didn't come inside of me, but… gynecologist. I really want to avoid a safe-sex lecture from my lover.

"I'm taking the pill every day." I smile at him, wanting to lighten the mood. "And I don't have any STD's," I add in as a joke.

He doesn't look amused. At all. Instead he tells me to, "Stay," like a child and leaves the kitchen.

What is his problem? I fear he's going to whip out a pregnancy test and make me pee on it in front of him. He walks back into the room with a sheet of paper. Oh, shit. Does he have some kind of STD? Is that what he's so worried about? What the hell is on that paper?

"I had this done in October," he says, handing the sheet to me. I stare at it with no idea what I'm supposed to be looking for.

"Luke, I don't know what any of this means," I say, indicating the sheet. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm trying to tell you that I'm clean, you have nothing to worry about."

"Great." I smile, relieved.

"No, Sophie. It's not great." He looks annoyed. "You should always have this information prior to having unprotected sex." He runs a hand over his eyes. "I'm setting a really shit example for you. Promise me you'll never allow anyone to touch you without a condom before exchanging test results first."

"You want me to have all my future lovers hand over test results prior to ditching the condoms. Got it, Doctor," I say sarcastically because this conversation stings. I can't look at him right now. I cannot believe he's lecturing me about future lovers. Am I supposed to be touched by his concern? Creeped out by his authoritative decree? Or devastated that he's talking to me about other men touching me?

"Goddamn it." Luke mutters something about going to use the gym as he stalks out of the kitchen. I hear the front door slam two minutes after that and I still haven't moved from where he sat me on the counter.

What just happened? Is he mad at me or I at him?

I clean up the kitchen and take the pie out when the timer dings, then stare out the kitchen windows at the Philadelphia skyline, still confused about what set him off. Was I not taking his safe-sex talk seriously enough? Forgive me, but being lectured by my current lover about future lovers pisses me off.

Luke’s still not back from the gym. I know it’s in this building, but I'm not sure which floor so I couldn't go find him even if I wanted to. I'm bored, I'd like to go out for a walk and window-shop the cute stores along 18th Street, but I don't have a key to get back in and besides, I don't want to leave without talking to him.

I wander back into the kitchen and use my iPad to look up recipes on Pinterest. Determining Luke has all the necessary ingredients for pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies, I set to work on those to keep busy. This kitchen is a baker's dream. Tons of counter space and a big high-end oven. Plus a dishwasher to help clean it all up. I can't imagine Luke using any of it—I'm not sure why he even has mixing bowls and baking sheets. I don't want to think too hard about it either, because I don't want to imagine some previous girlfriend making herself at home like I am right now.