Lost King by Piper Lennox (best self help books to read .TXT) 📕

so I can avoid touching the guy behind me, who looks less than hygienic and smells like an ashtray. “Just a lot of people.”

“Here.” She opens her legs a little and pulls me in by my shirt, so that I’m pressed against the barstool instead of her knees. When the crowd shoves me again, I brace my hands on the edge of the bar behind her.

We’re so close. Eye-level.

“You look uncomfortable,” she calls, mouth buzzing against my ear. It’s such a simple thing but gets me so hard, I’m grateful for the barstool to hide it.

“Actually, I’m extremely comfortable.” I let my stare drip down her body. This angle and close proximity allows for some excellent up-close admiration.

Her cleavage reels me in, but it’s that freckle in the dip between her collarbones, right under her throat, that hooks me. I put my thumb on it and can hardly catch my breath when she swallows.

Something’s going to happen tonight. I’ve got no idea what, but I know even this place won’t be the end of my birthday celebration.

“I meant with the crowd,” she manages.

“Oh. Yeah, crowds aren’t my favorite.”

“Drains your social batteries, huh?”

“Almost instantly,” I nod, just when someone elbows me directly in the spine. It’s not the movements or shoves that I hate, though: mostly the noise. A million conversations at once, combined with laughter and warped music from overhead, might as well be stickpins in my nerves. It’s overwhelming, trying to keep up with it all.

“We can leave.”

The bartender passes us our shots. I hold mine to hers.

“Not yet. We’ve got a tradition to uphold. Though I have to admit, I’d much rather be feeding you real Swedish Fish.”

Ruby smiles, mischief flashing in her eyes. It’s only been a few days, but I already know that look well.

It happens whenever her real self comes out—when the walls comes down, and she lets herself simply be. I kind of live for those moments.

“Take it,” she says, pressing her glass to my lips. “This is basically like feeding each other the real deal, yeah?”

“Not even close,” I laugh. Eventually, I tip my head back and let her pour.

When I’m done hacking up a sugary lung, she opens her mouth and looks straight up at the ceiling.

“No way,” I laugh. “I’ll drown you, at that angle.”

“Come on. I’ve done ice luges and shit, I’ll be fine.”

“Do it this way.” Gently, I grab her chin and pull her face down a little, then rest the edge of the glass on her bottom lip. “Slow.”

It’s like feeding someone medicine from a little cup, except instead of wincing through it, she keeps her eyes right on me. It’s absurdly hot, and there’s no way in hell she doesn’t know that.

“Fuck, get a room.” The girl on the barstool beside us laughs, then does it again when Ruby, without looking, grins and gives her the finger.

“You should have let me pay for the drinks. And the rideshare.”

“You paid for the pie.” I wrap my arms around her while we wait for the car. We’re not that drunk (at least, I think we’re not), but definitely not good to drive. And even if I was, I love the idea of having my hands free. “Call it even.”

All we could find nearby this time of night was a larger ride, but I’m thrilled. The SUV that pulls up has a third row—far from the driver, totally dark, and all ours.

The second we’re moving, I undo my seatbelt and cover her body with mine.

“This was a great birthday.” I put my thumb where I think her freckle is, pressing lightly under her throat, and almost lose it when she moans in response.

“Not over yet,” she pants, as I drag my tongue from where my thumb rests, to the very bottom of her chin.

“Let’s start a new tradition.” I slip my hand into her shirt from the top, finding her nipples hard as hell for me. “I get to make you come once for every year of my age.”

Ruby laughs as I lay her down across the seat. “Twenty-three is a little much. One of us would pass out from dehydration at some point, I think.”

“We’ll just add the digits then. Two plus three.”

“Still pretty ambitious.”

“I like a challenge.”

I unzip my pants and shove them down, rubbing my cock through my boxers with one hand while the other shoves her jeans down her thighs.

As soon as I press my clothed erection against her panties, we both know five is not only totally attainable; it might not be enough.

“Hate to break it to you, but I can only have one per session. Trust me, I’ve tried. And besides,” she groans quietly, arching her back off the seat as I grind into her harder, “why are you making me come five times? Shouldn’t the birthday boy get more orgasms?”

“The birthday boy should get whatever he wants. And that’s you, finishing a minimum of five times.”

In the passing streetlights outside the SUV, her eyes flash again. “Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” I draw back, trail my hand down her body, and shove her wet panties aside. My fingertips tease her slick opening, a tempting in-and-out with no real penetration, until she’s bucking her hips for more.

“This is why,” I whisper, nodding up and down her body. “Because I fucking love how bad you want me, Ruby. Even when you’re fighting so hard to pretend you’re not at that point, yet.”

Slowly, I push two fingers inside.

“See?” My cock twitches when she clamps down and I see, in the flash of another streetlight, her eyes roll back in her head and flicker shut. “You’re so wet for me already.”

With some caution—but not one ounce