My laugh muffles against his hand. I can’t believe it.Don’t move. Don’t come until I say. Dripping. Soak my cock. Sweet pussy.Straight out of chapter thirty on my Kindle.
He leans in, voice low and taunting. “Maybe I just know exactly how to make that sweet pussy beg.”
He releases his hand, and I swat at him. “You’re such a jackass.”
“Yeah, but a jackass who’s crazy about you.” He steals a heated kiss, then pulls back, eyes serious now, thumb circling over my nipple. “You gonna be a good girl?”
I nod, my smile fading as his hand trails across my breast and down my stomach, then stops. He strokes and teases, fingertips brushing low—but not low enough.
“Good,” he murmurs, kissing me deep before hooking his fingers around my underwear, gripping tight. “Now let’s see how long you last this time.”
He drags the lace down slow, knuckles grazing my thighs, eyes locked on mine as he sinks to the floor. The heat in his gaze pins me in place, a silent promise, a claim I feel down to my bones.
A kiss lands on my thigh, scruff rasping across my skin. Then his tongue flicks my clit, quick, taunting.
“Wait, babe,” I gasp. “Let’s move to the couch.”
He doesn’t argue, just scoops me up in one effortless motion, pulling a squeal from my throat. “Jensen!”
He chuckles, strides to the couch, and drops me onto it. A laugh bursts out of me, cut short when his body pins mine, lips scorching a path across my skin. He brushes a strand of hair from my face, eyes dark with intent, and I fist his shirt, yanking him closer, desperate for more of him pressed against me.
I blink up at him, chest heaving. “Why aren’t you naked?” He’s been wrecking me so thoroughly I haven’t even touched him. And now all I want is his skin on mine—his sculpted abs, that tattoo flexing on his bicep as he hovers over me. I ache for this body. Ache to please him. Ache to connect in a way I can’t with anyone else.
My fingers trail down his abdomen. “Take your clothes off,” I whisper between kisses, tugging at his shirt. He yanks it over his head and tosses it aside.
God, he’s incredible.My hands grip his shoulders, nails dragging down his skin. “You’re so fucking hot, babe.” I flatten my palm over his chest and slide it lower, pressing against the bulge in his pants. “You do things to me I can’t explain.”
His groan rumbles deep. “Fuck, baby. You trying to make me lose control?”
I fumble with his button until it pops, then tug the zipper down. “Take these off,” I demand, shoving at his pants with one hand.
He props himself on one forearm, shoving his pants and underwear down. Then lowers himself between my thighs again, but I press at his chest. “No. Sit up,” I breathe, my pulse racing. He’s been worshipping me all night, breaking me apart, and I can’t take another second without giving something back.
He obeys, settling back. I swing over, straddling him, nails scraping lightly down his chest. “My turn,” I whisper against his ear. Before he can argue, I slide down his body, knees sinking into the carpet.
His cock stands thick and hard, already leaking. Heat pulses low, my thighs clenching, and the ache to please him burns deep and insistent. I lick my lips, desperate to make him unravel the way he’s been unraveling me.
He rakes a hand through his hair and leans back, that sinful Jensen smirk tugging at his mouth.
God, I love this man.
I take my time, building it up—kissing his thighs, his hips, every line of muscle, my fingers tracing close behind. I flick my tongue over the tip, lapping at his precum, teasing. My mouth drags down the length of him, slow, deliberate, savoring every inch.
“Jesus Christ. You’re my fucking queen.”
My nails dig into his hips as I finally wrap my lips around the head, lowering down, torturously slow. I moan around him, letting him feel how much I love it—how much I love him. My hand slides lower, nails softly brushing his balls.
“God.You trying to kill me?” he rasps. “Feels so fucking good.”
I pull back with a wet pop, wrap my hand around him, and give one slow, deliberate stroke before swirling my tongue over the tip.
“Fuck…” he whispers, like a reverent prayer. His head falls back against the couch, one hand gripping my hair—not guiding, just holding on.
I take him deeper, hollowing my cheeks, thrilled at the twitch against my tongue, the way his breath roughens with every move. Another moan vibrates out of me, and his hips jerk, helpless, like he can’t stop himself.
“Jesus…” His voice breaks on a groan, ragged with pleasure. “You’re too good at this. I’m gonna come down your throat—and that’s not how I want to finish.”
He tugs my hair, gentle but firm, pulling me up. “C’mere, baby. I wanna come inside you.”
