He unhooks my bra one-handed—of course he does—and his greedy mouth is on my breast a second later, his hot tongue circling my nipple with absolutely no mercy.
I arch into him. Grab his hair. Try to drag him closer even though he’s already consuming me.
“I used to dream about this room,” he says against my skin, moving to my other breast, sucking hard enough to drag a cry out of me. “About bending you over this counter. Making you come so hard the chemicals spill. Ruining you for anyone else who ever tries to touch you.”
“You already did.” The confession slips free before I can stop it. “Ruin me. Eleven years ago. There’s been no one else?—”
He goes still. Pulls back. Looks at me like I’ve just walked into his chest, shut the door, and called it home.
“No one?”
Heat rushes up my neck. I swallow, but I don’t take it back. “No one.”
Something shifts in his face. Reverence. Fury at himself. A vow.
“I know I should feel like an asshole for being that happy about it,” he says, voice low and lethal with promise. “But I don’t. Because I’m about to make sure it stays that way.”
“Confident, aren’t you?” My laugh comes out shaky. “Prove you’re worth the monopoly.”
One quick, heated grin later, he drops to his knees. Right there on the darkroom floor, with his photograph dripping above us and the red light painting everything in shades of want.
His fingers find the button of my jeans. Pop it open. Drag the zipper down with agonizing slowness.
“I remember this too,” he says, peeling the denim down my thighs. “How you taste. How you shake when you’re close. How you choke on my name like you can’t decide if you’re worshipping or cursing me.”
Both. Always both.
My jeans hit the floor. My underwear follows.
And then his mouth is on me.
I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming.
He's not gentle. He's not teasing. He licks into me like a man starved, his tongue finding my clit with unerring accuracy, his fingers sliding inside me while his other hand pins my hips to the counter.
Oh god. Oh god oh god oh god?—
“Don't.” He pulls back just long enough to issue thecommand, his breath hot against my slick skin. “Don't muffle it. I want to hear every sound.”
“Someone could?—”
“I don’t care, let them.”
He seals his mouth over me again, drags my thigh over his shoulder opening me to him farther.
I stop caring about anything except the devastating rhythm he's building.
His fingers curl inside me, hitting a spot that makes my vision white out. His tongue works my clit in relentless circles, his stubble burning the insides of my thighs with each pass in the best possible way.
The pleasure coils tighter and tighter, a spring wound to breaking.
“Everett—” I gasp out, my hands fisted in his hair, my back bowing until my head thunks against the wall, the picture of him drying dangling overhead. “I'm going to?—”
“Don’t you dare, Sierra.”
He pulls back. I sob at the loss.
“What—”
