Page 52 of The Accidental Dating Experiment
Juliet’s unreadable for a moment. That’s rare for a woman who wears her heart on her sleeve. Then, her lips curve up. “I mean, I’d really like to summon Jumanji again.”
I laugh, and it feels like it comes from the center of my soul. I reach for her, tug her against me, then cup her cheeks. “So what you’re saying is sex with me is better than music.”
She shrugs. “Some music.”
“Woman,” I say sternly.
“Well, I haven’t heard all your songs,” she says, then wiggles an eyebrow.
“Then, let me introduce you to my favorite one.” I scoop her up, carry her out of the kitchen, and bring her straight to the rose chaise lounge in the den. I set her down on it, then move to the end of it. “This is what I wanted to do when you were picking through potential dates yesterday.”
I don’t give her a second to respond. I just push up her T-shirt to her waist and spread those beautiful thighs apart, groaning at the glistening reward of her pussy.
“You’re already wet,” I rasp out.
“And what are you going to do about it?” she counters.
“Enjoy my favorite breakfast,” I say, then I dip my face to her sweet, hot center, kissing my Juliet in the morning.
Her taste goes to my head. So do her sounds, soft and greedy. Little yeses and mores. I take those words, and I heed them, lapping up her wetness, flicking my tongue across her swollen clit, bringing her closer to my hungry mouth.
Soon, she’s moaning, and I’m moaning, too, as I devour this beauty who parts her legs wide for me, who rakes her hands through my hair, who rocks her hips against my face. Who gives herself completely to me as she cries out then orgasms on my mouth.
I kiss her slowly as she comes down from her climax, then stop when she opens her eyes and meets my gaze. “Better than coffee,” she announces.
“But better than music?”
“Like I said, some songs.”
She reaches for me and pulls me close, offering me her mouth. That’s just…hot. She doesn’t hesitate. She kisses me while I taste like her, and for some stupid fucking reason, that makes my chest warm up even more.
When she lets go, she says, “We work together.”
She’s answering the question for me. She’s always been braver than I am.
I rein in a wince. “I know.”
“You’re not looking for a girlfriend,” she says.
Talk about cutting to the chase. I could give a simple that’s true. But she deserves more. “It’s not that I’m not looking. It’s that I’m not any good at romance,” I say, a little embarrassed. I’m the intimacy expert who’s no good at love. But is it any surprise, given how I grew up? My father detached from the world when my mom died.
“Did Elizabeth tell you that?”
“The evidence tells me that. My track record tells me that. And you,” I say, running a hand through her hair. “You deserve the best.”
She smiles brightly. “That’s true. I do.”
I fucking love that she knows that. And there’s no need to keep that to myself. I run my knuckles down her cheek. “Good. I’m glad you know you’re a masterpiece.”
“Feel free to tell me anytime.”
I press another soft, tender kiss to her lips, whispering, “Masterpiece.”
When I break the kiss, she slides her hand down my chest, and it feels so good I close my eyes. I have to. I can barely handle how her touch lights up some part of my soul. Especially when she snuggles closer to my neck, sniffing me.
I laugh. “Are you smelling me?”
“Yes. I sniffed you last night too. And you smelled like rosemary and shea butter. Like you got that day.”