“Your tits are spectacular. Has anyone ever told you that?”
I manage a small shake of my head.
“Not even your pathetic ex?” His tone hardens, disbelief edging toward anger.
I swallow, fighting the instinct to defend. The man who spent years making me believe something was wrong with me doesn’t belong here. I shake my head again.
“That useless bastard should’ve been on his knees for you. This body—” his lips curl, wicked and hungry, “—was wasted on him. I should thank the idiot. Because now I get towreck it.”
He pinches my nipple so hard my breath vanishes. Pain flares, sharp and blinding, then melts into a rush of pleasure that makes my hips jerk. The ceiling tilts above me, thoughts scattering into static until there’s nothing but his mouth and his hands—one squeezing my breast, the other circling my clit, stubble scraping fire across my skin.
“You love this, don’t you?” His voice is rough, taunting. “The sting. The way I make you ache.”
He twists my nipple again, crueler this time, then sinks his teeth into the side of my breast. I gasp, clenching around nothing.
”Fuck, you’re so ready.”
His mouth begins its descent—licking, nipping, setting off tiny shocks that scatter through me. Every inch he travels lower makes the air thinner, as if I’m hanging on the edge of a freefall.
When his fingers hook into the waistband of my pants, my breath catches. He doesn’t rush. He slides them down slowly, peeling the fabric from my skin like he’s unwrapping a present. They hit the floor, joining the growing pile, and I’m left in my panties beneath him—heart racing, body open, walls down in a way I never thought I’d be able to allow.
He’s wedged between my thighs, every inch of him heat and muscle and intent. My pulse is in my ears, my breath coming shallow, my body wound so tight, I’m afraid it might snap.
I’ve been here before. But not like this. With Josh, it was clinical, mechanical. His head between my legs was something we “tried” a few times because it was supposed to be good. It was never more than a checkmark. I’d lie there, counting seconds until it was over, pretending I didn’t care that nothing happened. Pretending I didn’t feel…broken.
With Nate, I’m not pretending. I’m not thinking at all. I’m just feeling.
His hands slide under my thighs, urging them wider. “Spread for me, baby,” he orders, the words warm and sure. There’s no hesitation in his voice, no doubt I’ll obey. He already knows I’ll give him what he asks for.
I do.
He leans in, takes a long inhale right against the damp heat of my panties, and I swear my stomach drops straight through the mat. “God, you’re soaked, baby.”
I should be mortified. I should cover myself, make a joke, deflect. But the way he says it—low, hungry—makes my toes curl instead.
Then his fingers tear my panties away in one clean motion, baring me completely. The sound of the fabric giving way makes me shiver.
There’s no pause, no awkwardness. His mouth is on me in the next breath, tongue dragging one long, slow stroke from the very bottom of me to the top, ending with a deep, satisfied rumble in his chest.
“I wanna hear you sing for me when you come, baby.”
The words are a growl against my skin, vibrating straight into me. I gasp, my hips rocking before I can stop them.
And then I’m gone.
He doesn’t kiss me like he’s trying to get me off quickly. He kisses me like he’s worshipping me. Like every flick, every swirl, every deliberate press of his tongue is part of a plan only he knows. His hands hold me open, steadying me when my thighs start to tremble.
My head tips back, my eyes shut, and I let it happen. Let him happen. For the first time in my life, I stop bracing for disappointment and just…let go.
The sensation builds fast, coiling low in my belly, sparksskipping up my spine. My breath turns ragged, my fingers diving into his hair, pulling without meaning to.
He hums against my clit, the sound vibrating through me until I’m arching off the mat. One thick finger slides inside me, then another, curling just right. My hips jerk, chasing it. He picks up the rhythm, his mouth and hand moving in perfect sync, relentless but never rough.
I’m making noises I’ve never made before—raw, needy, unfiltered. I’m too far gone to care.
The pressure climbs and climbs until it’s too much—too sharp, too good—and then I’m shattering. My entire body locks for a second before it bursts apart, pleasure slamming through me so hard I cry out his name. My hips lift off the mat, my thighs clamp around his head, but he doesn’t stop. He stays with me, riding out every last wave, drinking down every sound I make until the spasms fade into aftershocks.
Only when I go loose beneath him does he lift his head, mouth slick, eyes heavy with satisfaction. “You are so beautiful,” he says, kissing a slow, reverent trail up my stomach, staking a claim with every press of his lips.
