That’s the only warning I get before Will drops to his knees in front of me, hands sure and shaking all at once as he drags my shorts down my legs. His mouth finds the inside of my thigh, like he’s offering up a prayer.
Like I’m something holy.
My pulse slams against my ribs. “Will, I’ve never…”
His eyes find mine—dark, focused, full of something deeper than lust. “Don’t worry, sugar,” he says, voice like smoke and sin. “Daddy’s gonna make this feel so damn good for you.”
And then he’s on me.
Mouth hot. Tongue unrelenting. He doesn’t play. Doesn’t tease. He devours. Like he’s been starving for this and now that he has it, he’s never letting go.
A cry tears from my throat, my head falling back, hands scrambling against the wood behind me, reaching for something to hold on to.
But it’s only him.
Only Will.
Every slow drag of his tongue, every groan that rumbles from his chest into my skin, winds me tighter and tighter until I’m gasping, falling apart, legs trembling on either side of his shoulders.
“Will,” I whisper. “Will, I?—”
He looks up at me with his mouth still on me, eyes wild and unblinking, like he wants me to break. Like he needs it.
And I do.
I shatter. Back arched, thighs shaking, his name slipping from my lips like prayer and confession and surrender all at once.
When he finally stands, his mouth is glistening, his hands braced on either side of me. His eyes are blown wide, chest rising hard and fast.
And I don’t even think.
I pull him to me, dragging his mouth back to mine, tasting myself on his lips, and knowing this is the moment everything changes.
“Your turn,” I whisper.
“Sugar,” he rasps, undoing the last of his jeans, “my turn’s going to take all night.”
He thrusts his jeans down just enough, just barely, and I gasp at the feel of him hot, hard, thick between us. My thighs part, welcoming the press of him as he crowds back in, his mouth crashing over mine, all tongue and teeth and desperation.
His hands roam like he’s memorizing me, claiming me, one on the back of my neck, the other sliding up my bare waist under the hem of my tank top. I arch into him, hungry for every inch of contact, grinding up against him like I’ll lose my mind if I don’t get more.
“You feel that?” he rasps, hips grinding into mine. “That’s what you do to me.”
I nod, too breathless to speak, tugging him impossibly closer. I can feel how ready he is. Thick and pulsing between my legs, every roll of his hips sending heat ricocheting through my core.
He grabs the base of himself and drags the head along my entrance, slow, teasing, and I shudder.
“Will,” I whisper, nails digging into his back. “Please.”
But just as he lines himself up, just as we both hover on the edge of the point of no return he freezes.
Breathing hard, forehead pressed to mine, he lets out a growl of frustration. “Fuck.”
“What?” I pant, dazed, desperate.
“We shouldn’t.” His voice is rough, pained. “Not like this.”
I blink, trying to find clarity through the haze of lust. “Why?”
