I grip the shaft in my hand and work him firmly as I suck and lick on his gorgeous cock, reveling in how his hips gently thrust against me, pushing deeper inside my mouth.
Finally, one of his hands grips the back of my neck and he sets the pace, fucking my mouth in a steady rhythm.
“Lo, I’m gonna come soon, so if you don’t want me to do it in your mouth, you need to stop now.”
I moan and increase the pace, suck harder, pump my fist faster. His balls tighten and lift as he steadies my head, pulses into me, and erupts inside my mouth. I swallow quickly, massaging the head of his cock with my mouth as he shudders and convulses around me.
He gentles his grip and combs my hair in his fingers as I tuck him away, help him shimmy his pants back up his hips, refasten his pants, and sit back on my heels, smiling up at him smugly.
“That was fun.”
“I would have to agree.” He chuckles and pulls me back up onto his lap. “You’re good at that.”
“I haven’t had much practice.” I shrug, still smiling. “I like it.”
He chuckles and kisses me deeply. “I can taste myself. You taste better.”
His phone rings and I make a dive for it. “This is Ty Sullivan’s office.”
He cocks his head to the side, watching me with curiosity.
“Good, I’ll meet her at the door.” I hang up the phone and scramble off Ty’s lap and around his desk toward the door. “She’s a little early.”
“What are you up to?”
“Lunch.” I grin back at him and open his office door. “Did you get the extras I asked for?” I grin at Mrs. Blakely, who hands me a bag full of goodies from her deli, along with an armful of flowers and a bottle of wine.
“Good luck, dear.” She smiles wide, winks, and walks away.
I take a deep breath before turning and carrying our lunch back to Ty’s desk.
“Can you please move your laptop?”
He complies and stands to help me, but I stop him with a shake of my head. “Just relax. I got this.”
“Lo, what did you do?”
“Well”—I spread a tablecloth over his desk—“you do a lot for me. Probably more than anyone besides my parents.”
I pull boxes out of the bag, but rather than eating out of them, I plate our food on the nice plastic plates that Mrs. Blakely sent along.
“So, I thought it would be nice to do something for you.”
I set the bag and boxes aside and open the wine, pour us each half a glass, and sit down opposite him, finally meeting his eyes to see what his reaction is.
“How did you know that pastrami on rye is my favorite?”
“I asked.”
I can’t read him. His eyes are warm, but they look kind of scared too, and I can’t figure out if he’s happy or if this was all a bit too much on a Monday afternoon.
“Is this too weird?”
“You bought me flowers.”
Now I feel ridiculous. I simply nod and glance over at the pretty bouquet of lilies. “They brighten up your office.”
“Come here.”
I stand and walk around his desk to where he’s sitting in his chair. He holds a hand out for mine and pulls me onto his lap, wraps his arms around me, and kisses me ferociously, deeply.
Finally, his lips slip over my cheek to my ear. “You brighten up my office. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
He hugs me close and then pushes me abruptly to my feet. “I’m hungry.”
We munch happily on our sandwiches and chips and sip our wine as I look around his office, taking in the walls of books and the diplomas on the wall by his desk.
“So, why law school?”
“Why not.” He shrugs and takes a sip of his wine, watching me.
“You know, you never tell me much about you. You know all there is to know about me.” I push my half-eaten sandwich aside, finished with it.
“Do I?” He raises a brow.
“Pretty much. So talk. Why law school?”
He sighs, wipes his mouth with a napkin, and tosses the wadded paper on his empty plate before sitting back and watching me from across the desk, his gray eyes troubled.
“Jill and I had a shitty childhood.”
That shocks the hell out of me. I had no idea.
“Our mom is doing better now. She’s down in Florida with Cara’s parents, and she’s happy. But our dad was a scary son of a bitch.” Ty shakes his head and takes a sip of wine. “He typically beat on Mom; sometimes he’d beat on me. It didn’t really matter once he was drunk and pissed enough, as long as he got to smack someone around.”
I don’t know what to say, so I just sit and let Ty talk.
“Do you really want to hear this story?” he asks quietly.
“Keep going,” I murmur softly.
He rubs his lips with his fingers and shifts in his chair. “I didn’t want to go away to college because then there wouldn’t be anyone here to make sure that Mom and Jilly were okay. But I got some scholarships, and Mom insisted I go. She swore that she and Jill would be fine. Dad had sobered up some and hadn’t pulled anything in about two years, so I went.”
Dread fills my stomach at the look of guilt and anger on Ty’s face.
“I came home for Thanksgiving my freshman year to find my mom’s face covered in bruises and Jill hiding in a closet.” He raises his eyes to me. “I almost killed him.”
“What do you mean?”