This is totally fine.
It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before.
Except that was five years ago.
Before stress-eating through law school finals.
Before too many late nights with takeout at my desk.
Before my body decided to settle into this softer version of itself.
His eyes sweep over me and I have to fight the urge to cover myself.
“Beautiful,” he says quietly. Then he drops to his knees in front of the bed.
Wait.
What?
“Lie back,” he instructs.
I do, because apparently when Corin Saelinger tells you to do something in that voice, your body just complies.
He hooks his fingers in my underwear and I lift my hips so he can slide them down.
“You’re so fucking wet for me,” he says. “More than you ever have been.”
He reaches up, unhooks my bra.
Then I’m completely naked and he’s still partially dressed and kneeling between my legs, and this feels incredibly unbalanced.
“Corin—”
“Let me,” he says. “Show you.”
And then his mouth is on me.
Oh God.
Oh God.
Okay.
I’ve had cunnilingus before.
Obviously.
From him, even.
But this.
This is different.
This is methodical and patient and completely devastating.
He was never this good before.
Never.
