My girl is art.
She’s soft light and temptation and trouble, and all I want is to press my mouth to every inch of her.
I climb onto the bed, straddling her thighs as I lean over her. My hands trace the shape of her waist, and I kiss the spot just below her ear.
“Mmm, Donovan,” she murmurs, half-asleep. “We have to get going.”
She tries to shift, but I slide my arm beneath her and keep her close.
“Later,” I whisper against her skin. “You’re lying here like a goddess draped in sunlight. You think I’m leaving the house without tasting you?”
My lips move down her neck, slow and reverent. Her skin blooms in goosebumps under my touch as I lift the hem of my shirt and press kisses along the curve of her spine.
When I reach the base of her back, I pause. Her breath catches. She shifts just slightly—offering herself without saying a word.
I kiss her again, slower now. Lower. Her body arches for more.
“Donovan,” she warns, her voice barely a whisper. “We really don’t have—”
I silence her with a kiss over the swell of her ass. Then another. Then lower still.
I part her gently, and the sight of her—glistening in the morning light—makes my pulse stutter.
She’s already slick, already aching. I groan softly and dip my head, dragging my tongue through her heat.
She gasps, hands fisting the sheets.
I keep going. Licking. Teasing. Worshiping.
Her hips rise instinctively, and I grip her thighs, anchoring her as I work her open. When she starts grinding down, chasing friction, I slide a finger inside her—then two—curling them just right as I suck her clit between my lips.
“Fuck, baby,” she pants. “I’m gonna—”
That’s all I need.
She falls apart against my mouth, trembling and breathless, her body pulsing around my fingers as I draw every last wave of her orgasm out of her.
She collapses for a moment, catching her breath.
Then she shifts off me, sliding to her knees.
“Stella—baby—you don’t have to,” I say, reaching for her. “We should get going. I just needed a taste. I needed you on my tongue before we stepped foot out that door.”
She looks up at me through her lashes, mischief painted across her flushed cheeks.
Just tugs my waistband down with purpose, freeing me from my boxers like she’s been thinking about this all morning. Maybe all week.
Her fingers wrap around me, warm and tight, and my breath stutters. I watch her—those wicked green eyes flick up to meet mine, her lips curling in the smallest smile.
She leans in, her breath ghosting over the tip of my cock, and presses a kiss right at the base, like it’s a promise.
“Stella,” I whisper, my voice already rough.
“I’m just making things even,” she murmurs, and then her mouth is on me—soft lips wrapping around the head, tongue swirling with deliberate care.
I groan, hands sinking into her hair as she takes more of me in, slow and steady. Her mouth is warm, wet, and perfect, and the rhythm she sets is nothing short of sinful.
Her tongue flattens against the underside, dragging with just enough pressure to make my hips twitch. She pulls back with a soft pop, then licks me from base to tip, eyes never leaving mine.
