I trail my tongue along his shaft before swirling it around the sensitive tip, teasing him.
Finally, I take all of him into my mouth, delighting in every inch as he gasps softly above me. Nash’s hand finds my shoulder, then slides up to cradle the back of my head, his grip tightening as if he might lose himself entirely if he lets go.
The heat of his skin, the way his fingers tangle in my hair and tighten with each flick of my tongue. It all feels intoxicating and overwhelming.
I lose track of the movie playing in the background. There’s only Nash, and the way his body tenses and his breath falters and the low moan he can’t quite suppress as I move up and down his length.
With my free hand, I reach up, covering his mouth so he can’t be heard no matter how badly I want to hear those sounds myself.
I hollow my cheeks, working him with a mix of tongue and lips. His breathing quickens, and I feel him getting close, his body taut with tension.
When he comes, he lets out a ragged breath against my hand, trying to keep quiet. I swallow every last bit before leaning back and wiping the corners of my mouth with my finger.
He pulls me to him, breathless, eyes wild and almost disbelieving.
“Jesus, Avery,” he pants, his voice a rasp. “You’re gonna kill me.”
I laugh, feeling giddy and bold and a little bit wicked. I zip him back up, and he kisses me again, slower.
“Your turn,” he whispers.
I’m reaching for the button on my jeans when I feel Nash’s hand on mine, stopping me. Looking into his eyes, I furrow my brows.
“Not here. I want to hear you,” he says, his lips brushing my ear.
A shiver barely has time to make its way down my spine before Nash is yanking me out of my seat and down the aisle to leave the theater.
I follow his motorcycle until we pull up to his townhome, both of us hurrying toward the door with the building anticipation of ripping each other’s clothes off.
As soon as we get inside, his hands and lips are on me. He grips my waist with such a firmness that I’m half convinced his hands will leave a searing imprint there. He backs me into the door until my body closes it for him.
I can feel every part of him pressed against every part of me.
His mouth leaves mine, trailing kisses down my neck to my chest, pausing only to lift my shirt over my head. He tosses it to the side as I kick my shoes off. His fingers trail down my bare stomach, finding the button of my pants and then lowering my zipper.
Grabbing my hips, he spins me around to face the door. He sinks to his knees, tucks his fingers in the top of my pants, and peels them over my ass and down my legs.
I step out of them one foot at a time.
He runs his hands back up my legs until he reaches my ass, squeezing and biting my cheeks until I let out a little yelp.
He spins me back around and places his hands behind my knees, guiding me to rest my legs on his shoulders as he situates himself underneath me. He plants kisses on the insides of my thighs before looking up at me and placing one final kiss over my lace panties, the heat of his breath making me quiver.
With two fingers, he hooks my panties and slides them to the side, exposing me.
He moves his mouth over me, and I feel his tongue dart and flick, a shock of warmth and wetness that makes every muscle in my body tighten. A gasp escapes my lips before I can stop it, and he responds with a muffled groan, shifting his focus to the exact spot that makes me grind against him, desperate and wild.
The door is cold against my back, a stark contrast to the heat building inside me. I tangle my fingers in his hair, pulling him closer and urging him on. He moves faster, his hands gripping my thighs, holding me in place as I shudder and writhe above him.
I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on. My legs start to shake as I come undone against his tongue. I cry out, my voice echoing through the empty house, and I feel him smile against me, triumphant and relentless as he keeps going untilI’m twitching and gasping. He finally slows and gives me one last lingering kiss.
“I love the way you taste,” he says, letting my legs fall to the ground.
I wobble, unsteady on my still shaky legs, but only for a moment before Nash stands, lifting me in his arms and carrying me up the stairs.
I kiss his neck, his jaw, tasting the salt on his skin. He carries me through the darkened hallway, kicking open his bedroom door. Both of us tumble onto the bed.
We scramble to get his shirt off before he tears it over his head and pushes me down onto the mattress. He pulls my bra straps down, biting my shoulder.
