His lips quirked but he said nothing as he sat up and started unbuttoning his shirt. Then, he glanced over his shoulder at me, his gaze traveling over my bare skin, my parted legs. I shifted, pulled the t-shirt down. He looked away, knowing I needed to regain a touch of control.
“I wanted you then,” he said.
I rolled my eyes but he was busy with his buttons. “No, you didn’t.”
“I did,” he said, shrugging out of the shirt. He placed it on the dresser with my skirt, leaving me to stare at the broad expanse of his back. He was strong, all carved muscles and sun-kissed skin. “I wanted you right from the start.”
Since I wasn’t going to let him pander to me while I was half stripped and orgasm-drunk, I scooted up to the pillows and tucked my knees all the way under the t-shirt. “You had quite an odd way of showing it, Beck.”
He turned, his hand resting on his belt buckle. I swallowed hard. I really wanted him to take those trousers off.
“It wasn’t my best day,” he said, holding my gaze as he unlatched his belt.
I held my breath for no reason other than wanting to hear every clank of metal, every catch of the zipper. Those sounds crawled along the back of my neck and over my shoulders, leaving behind goose bumps and a shiver that arrowed through my limbs.
With his trousers gaping open, he studied my new position on the bed. “Getting comfortable?” he asked. “Good call. What do you think about losing the shirt? I’d give anything in the world to watch you play with your nipples while I’m sucking your clit.”
“That depends,” I said with a glimpse to his trousers. “I don’t like being the only one undressed.”
Not once breaking eye contact, he set his glasses, phone, and wallet on top of my book stack and stepped out of the trousers, adding them to the pile on my dresser. Wearing only black boxer briefs that left nothing to the imagination, he motioned to himself. “More? Or should we wait a little longer to cross this bridge?”
I curled my hands around the hem of my t-shirt. I didn’t know how much longer I could wait. “Get over here.”
He dropped a knee to the mattress, watching while I pulled the shirt over my head. He glanced to the ceiling and ran a hand over his mouth before saying, “Talk to me, okay? Tell me what you want, what you like. What you don’t like. Stop me at any point.”
I leaned back against the pillows, my knees locked and my legs folded up in front of me. “I know.”
He nodded like he’d settled some internal debate and then he launched himself onto the bed and between my legs, one arm banded low on my waist as if he knew he’d have to hold me steady.
The first swipe of his tongue brought me all the way back to the edge. It was unreasonable. Unfair, really. He had no business being so good at everything. I hated him for it. I also loved it. The many mysteries of my life. “Oh my god,” I whisper-cried.
His response came in the form of sliding two fingers inside me and returning his tongue to my clit. I bucked against him and I couldfeelhim laugh into my flesh. Because he knew. He knew I was past the point of caring who won this round of our power struggle. Past the point of caring whether I was spread out and pinned down, vulnerable in the most stressful ways.
Again, “Oh mygod.”
Then he ran his lips along the inside of my thigh, saying, “You’re calling out to the heavens, but I’m the one in need of deliverance.”
I stared down the length of my body at him, bleary-eyed and disoriented like I was in a dream that kept turning upside down and starting over in strange new places. Like nothing I knew would be of any use to me in this world.
I ran my fingers through his hair, letting the wavy strands coil around my knuckles. “I want you inside me. I want you to fuck me.”
“No.” He nipped a soft, fleshy part of my leg, right near the curve of my bottom. “Not yet.”
And then the discussion was over because he went back to dragging his tongue around my clit in a way that left my mind chantingThis. This is what we’ve been waiting for.Part of me—the part that had believed I wasn’t good at being intimate with other people—was throwing a grand parade because even the best toys in the world couldn’t actually simulatethis. The other part was flat-out perturbed that Beck was better at this than any of the people I’d ever been with. Didn’t he have enough already? Wasn’t he blessed forty different ways to forever? Why did his tongue have to be a literal weapon too?
“When?” I asked, back to my weeble-wobbling in a desperate attempt to get more. I didn’t know whatmorereally was, but I knew I’d die if I didn’t get it. “I mean, you said you wanted to bend me over the bed and—”
“Fuck.Stop it, Sunny.”
He groaned into my leg and I was one giant goose bump, every inch of me overly sensitive and electrified. It was almost painful, this gathered swell of want. I pressed my palms to my breasts because my nipples were so tight, they ached. That was when I realized he was slowly, subtly rocking his hips against the mattress.
I grabbed at his shoulders to drag him toward me but it was like dragging a boulder out of the ocean. “I want you here,” I said, and I could hear myself pouting. “With me.”
“Not yet,” he said again. He twisted the fingers inside me, hit an angle that made me feel like I was sitting in the bottom of an hourglass, sand spilling over me. Burying me.
“When?” I whined.
He leaned on an elbow, watching as his fingers shuttled in and out of me. The brackets at the corners of his lips popped. “When you’re ready.”
