She rolled her eyes. “Come on. Not one academic memory? Nothing that left an impression on your young mind?”
I tilted my head and tried to think back. “Oh, wait. There is something I remember. Mackenzie Williams sat in front of me in American Lit, and she sometimes wore this really short skirt. So every now and then, I’d drop my pencil and—”
“Okay, enough.” She closed her eyes. “That’s not really what I meant, and I don’t think I want to hear the end of that story. You can stop talking.”
“Fine with me.” I kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo. She’d let me wash her hair, and then she’d washed mine. No one had ever done that for me before, and I couldn’t believe how good it felt.
She’d let me soap her up too, and I got stupid hard running my hands all over her body and watching her rinse the lather from her skin. She’d done the same for me, and I loved the way her eyes widened at the sight of my erection.
I was still hard. And she was staring down at it again.
“Sorry. I’ve just never seen it in the daytime,” she said, letting it slide through both hands.
“Don’t apologize. Does that mean you’re impressed?”
She nodded. “I have to admit I am. It’s so tall.”
“Thank you. But if you keep doing that with your hands, it’s not going to last.”
“Oh yeah?” A devilish gleam popped into her eye. “Like how fast could I make it happen?”
“Pretty fucking fast.” I clenched my jaw, determined not to explode like a teenager.
“Do you think you could last five minutes?” She gripped me tighter, stroked a little faster.
“Uh …” Fuck me, there was no way.
“I’ll bet you can’t.” Laughing like the evil little vixen she was, she dropped to her knees. “I’ll bet you lose control in three.”
“Three?” I croaked, bracing one hand on the shower wall as she rubbed her lips all over my cock.
“Uh huh.” She took the crown in her mouth and sucked. “Mm. Maybe even two. I can taste it already.”
“Oh, Jesus.” I wrapped my other hand around the shower curtain rod. “What are we betting?”
She paused. “Now let’s see. How about this—if I can make you come in under five minutes, you make me CEO of Brown Eyed Girl. President, with a fifty-one percent stake.” She flicked the tip of my cock with her tongue. “Essentially, you work for me.”
I fought for control. “And if I can hold out?”
“Then you get fifty-one percent.”
I groaned. “What if I don’t want to take the bet?”
She laughed and looked up at me, pure delight in her eyes. “Oh, you’ll take the bet. I know you, Oliver Ford Pemberton. You can’t resist.”
Damn her. She knew me too well. “When does the clock start?”
“Do we agree on a gentleman’s clock? Or do I have to set the alarm on my phone, like you did?”
“Fuck!” This was revenge. I could feel it. But I couldn’t say no. “Fine. Gentleman’s clock. Gentleman’s clock. Just … don’t stop.”
She had both hands on my shaft and was licking the tip of my dick like an ice cream cone. She was making noises too—ridiculous, over-the-top noises that couldn’t be real and yet I fucking loved them. I knew she was putting on a show for me, proving a point just to win the bet, but I didn’t care.
Surely no Shakespearean actress was ever more magnificent in a performance. She moaned. She panted. She licked and sucked. She looked up at me with innocent wide brown eyes. She took me to the back of her throat. She slid a hand between her legs and touched herself as her lips glided up and down my cock over and over again.
As for me, I cursed. I seethed. I yanked on that curtain rod so hard I thought for sure it was going to come down. I battled for control, and I battled hard—if I lost this bet, I lost control of Brown Eyed Girl. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Chloe, but once she knew the whole truth, she might not want it anyway.
Fuck, I couldn’t think about that now. And I couldn’t think about her mouth on my dick. Or how badly I wanted to come. Or how my body seemed to be moving without my permission, my hips jutting forward, jabbing my cock in deep and fast, fucking her mouth like I’d fantasized about so many times.
But no—no! I could hold out. I was strong. I was powerful. I was a man, and I was not going to go down without a fight.
Desperately, I tried to focus on other things. Unsexy things. Terrible, boring things.
Pemberton board meetings. Hughie’s kids’ piano recitals. Charlotte’s Nutcracker performances. Family dinners where my parents did nothing but praise my brother.
I felt like I had this. I could hold out. It wouldn’t kill me. Much.
And then.
And then.
I felt one of her hands wandering up my inner thighs. Playing with my balls. Sliding behind them.
Oh, fuck. She wouldn’t.
But she did.
She kept up her vicious, glorious sucking on my cock and eased one fingertip into my ass.
Not gonna lie. I came a little bit.
And that fierce little vixen only went at me harder. Pushed that finger all the way in. Relaxed her throat and took me even deeper.
Annnnd that was about it.
I no longer had the capacity to care about bets or my company or the fact that she might not be speaking to me by this time tomorrow. I didn’t care that she was getting me back for what I’d done to her ten years earlier in a room at my parents’ summer house or that she probably wasn’t enjoying this quite as much as she pretended to.
It had been nowhere near five minutes, and it had also been fifteen years.
My vision—gone. My control—gone. My manners—gone.
I took her head in my hands and emptied myself into her throat without a single regret.
She took it. She wanted it. She’d asked for it. And when it was over, she sat back, smiling and gasping for air, dragging a wrist across her mouth.
“That was fun,” she said.
Not I win. Not you lose. Not I just sucked off a majority ownership in your company （which she had）。 But that was fun.
My heart—gone.
We had dinner at the inn’s restaurant, seated on the outdoor patio. Chloe wore a white sundress that showed off her tanned skin and long dark hair, and I could hardly take my eyes off her.
After dinner we decided to head over to the dunes to watch the sunset. Holding hands, we ambled out along the wooden boardwalk and stood for a few minutes with all the other tourists capturing the moment with selfies, then posting them on social media. But neither one of us even looked at our phone. Tonight was ours alone, and I didn’t want to share it with anyone.
We strolled back toward the dunes and took our shoes off to climb up. At the top of the bluff, we dropped down on the sand and watched the sun sink into the lake.
“So beautiful,” she murmured with a sigh.
I elbowed her gently. “Glad you came?”
“Yeah. It’s been a long time since I did something like this—just sat and watched the sunset. It feels like there’s always something to be done at work or at home. No time to sit still.”
“I know what you mean. Whenever I sit still, I feel guilty, like there’s something I probably should be doing.”