I round on him. “You were the one who said I should sleep with someone else.”
He steps closer. I can only get away from him by moving toward the wall, even as my body strains toward his. For the soft press of his mouth, for the weight of him bearing down on me, for the way his tongue would part me and then destroy me.
“You know he’s not who I fucking meant,” he says, closing the space between us, with his knee between my thighs as he pins me to the wall.
His mouth lands on mine, as if he’s held his breath for five years, waiting for it. As if he’s been starved, a wild thing off its leash. Soft and hard, rough and sweet, all at once.
I should have more pride than this, but I simply yield, a full-bodyyes. I arch toward him and he groans, lifting me with his hands beneath my ass, angling me so that his cock is pressedbetween my legs. Even separated by his clothing and mine, the friction is electric.
Or maybe it’s simply that I’ve waited five years and two months for him to do this again.
He kisses me hard, his mouth moving to my neck, one free hand slipping inside my shirt. When I gasp, his head jerks to the left and the right, and then he’s carrying me, ten feet behind the house to that patch of soft sand leading to the ocean. He falls to his knees and lays me down, his hand slipping beneath the lining of the shorts, his eyes locked on mine in the moonlight.
I’m already soaked, beyond ready, and too frantic for something slow and thoughtful.
His mouth lowers, first to my calf, then my knee and my inner thigh. His gaze moves to that strip of fabric between my legs, as if he’s trying to make out the shape of me beneath it and my breath, already inconsistent, ceases to exist. His chest rises and falls as he continues to look, and then his exhale ghosts between my legs.
His eyes slowly raise to mine, and then he leans close and presses his mouth first to my thigh. Then farther, to where his fingers still glide.
His tongue scalds me through the shorts’ lining—that’s how sensitive it is, how primed I am for it.
“Take them off,” I whisper, and he groans, as if I’m the one undressing him, then tugs the shorts down my legs. Could someone see us out here, in the moonlight? Possibly. But I’m squirming with need, breathless with it, and I don’t care about the neighbors. I don’t care about the past. I just want his tongue where it was and?—
Ah.His fingers brush against my softest skin, where I’m already soaked. It’s too gentle—I need more. My hand tightens in his hair, as if I’ve never had an orgasm, as if I didn’t just givemyself one the night before last, while he was in the bathroom five feet away.
He presses his mouth to my clit again and breathes me in before his tongue flickers. I ache. Have I ever wanted Thomas like this? If so, I can’t recall it. I’m so swollen it hurts. I could finish in five seconds if he’d just stay right where he is.
My hand digs into his scalp, silently begging for more.
“Not yet,” he croons.
He scoots closer, lowering my bra and pinching each nipple, his eyes at half-mast as he watches them tighten for him, watches the way it makes me gasp.
Through his shorts he gives himself a single, hard squeeze and then he lowers again, his mouth first on my breasts, then my stomach, and finally back—exactly where I want it.
“Elijah,” I cry as my thighs tremble. He pushes two fingers inside me hard, without warning, and I decimate, gripping his hair, arching against his mouth as I come. He remains there, licking and sucking until my back has settled into the sand. I’d forgotten how good he was at that. Or maybe I didn’t forget—I’ve just spent years telling myself I’d misremembered.
“Come here,” I say hoarsely.
He shoves his shorts down and climbs up until he’s close enough for me to take him in my mouth.
His cock is swollen, red and angry, already dripping for me. I pull the thick head of it between my lips and let my tongue swirl around it.
His breath stutters. “Fuck, Easton, it’s too good.”
There’s so much of him. I want to feel his cock pushing inside me. The thought of it makes me even wetter than I was. He throws his head back for a moment, lost to the sensation, then gazes at me again to watch. He’s controlling himself, not going too far, making sure it’s okay.
“You have no idea how often I’ve dreamed about fucking your pretty pink mouth,” he groans, pressing a little farther. “I’m going to come so hard, Easton. I’m going to come so hard, straight down your throat.”
I moan, and that’s all it takes.
“Fuck,” he hisses, and then he explodes, pulsing against my tongue.
His eyes squeeze shut and he falls forward, his arms braced on either side of me for one long moment before he finally pulls out.
I’ve still got his cum spilling from my mouth. When his hand descends, I assume it’s to wipe it away, but instead he smears it across my chin, as if it’s the finishing touch to a painting he’s proud of.
He swallows. “I’ve wanted that for a very long time,” he says. “It might have been obvious by the way I came in about five seconds.”
