Chapter 6 CHLOE

My core clenched almost painfully, and I gripped the table, nails scraping loudly, as I bit into my arm to muffle my screams. The air was musky and heavy with the scent of my arousal. I’d have probably fallen—if Derek hadn’t shoved my leg up the table for support, as he ate me out ferociously.

“Damn girl,” he groaned against my pussy. “You are so fucking wet, it’s like a river down here.”

He forked his tongue into my hole, doing something absolutely wonderful. A moan broke out of me. The storm that had been brewing surged dangerously up. Eyes tightly shut, I tried to control the waves—control my pussy, but then…

The thumb that’d been rubbing my ass slipped inside, just as Derek slapped my clit, roughly. My feet arched. I moaned helplessly, letting the wave sweep me away. Opening my eyes, I watched him flick my clit one last time, my release painting a sheen on his face.

“Naughty, naughty pussy,” he said, staring intensely at my kitty, as though he hadn’t just given her a thorough bath. “So tasty I almost came in my pants… You deserve a good fucking.”

An embarrassing sound escaped my throat.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” he asked, picking up on the sound. I nodded numbly.

“ ‘Course you would,” he murmured, stroking me lightly. “Jason not fucking you good?”

The words stung, sharp and forbidden—unwanted even, as something in me twisted with shame and heat.

Jason…

Somehow, my fiancé’s name pulled me back to consciousness, my hips still rocking slightly in the air. The slit in the curtains revealed a darkened moonless sky, the quiet interrupted occasionally by Jason’s light snores. Some aspects of the dream must have been true, because my shorts were soaked through.

Derek was bad for my laundry.

I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling and willing my body to calm the hell down. I could feel my pulse still racing from my orgasm, the ache between my slick thighs pulsing in time with my heartbeat—a reminder that even my subconscious had now joined my body in betraying me completely.

…Jason not fucking you good?...

Derek’s voice echoed in my head like a broken record. I squeezed my eyes shut to block out the memories, but that only brought the images rushing back, vividly.

…His mouth on me, that tongue, God… The things that tongues could do should be illegal.

… His face when he’d looked up with my wetness glistening on his chin, like he’d won a Nobel prize…

I was so fucked.

Getting out of bed, I tiptoed to the dresser, pulling open the drawer noiselessly. Grabbing the first pair of shorts I could find—soft cotton boyshorts—and a loose sleep tank, I sneaked into the bathroom for what felt like the umpteenth time since my arrival, feeling like a thief. The floor was cold against my bare feet, a sharp contrast to the heat still radiating through me.

Standing in front of the mirror, the image staring back at me looked flushed, eyes too bright. I looked like someone who’d just been thoroughly wrecked.

I took a few steadying breaths before splashing cold water on my face. Swapping my clothes, I dumped the soiled pair in the hamper, just as my stomach protested loudly.

I’d skipped dinner. Jason didn’t wake me, probably because he knew I detested having my sleep interrupted, even for food.

Leaving the room did not seem appealing—truthfully? I did not want to have another encounter with Derek. I mean, I’d established that I had zero filter or willpower, where he was concerned. He was already plaguing me, even in my sleep. If I could control my exposure to him, why shouldn't I?

Another rumble from my stomach forced my legs out the door. I would not be shocked if I found out it was a ploy to get me to leave the relative safety of Jason’s room, though.

Against my better judgement,, I glanced at the door to the right just before I descended the stairs. It was shut firmly this time.

I heaved a sigh of relief.

‘Good,’ I thought, but my heart still fluttered weirdly.

The house was dark and quiet. Just like last night—the distant hum of the fridge cutting through the silence as I padded across the cold tiles.

Stepping into the kitchen, I startled, shocked to see Derek hunched over the island in the dark, the faint light of his computer casting shadows across his face, making his eyes glint like a predator’s in the night. He was staring intensely at his computer, black hair falling messily over his forehead, and a slight furrow creasing his brows.

Looking up at me, our eyes met. And I felt the telltale signal of my body betraying me. Why did we have to keep meeting this way?