I arch into his touch as he runs two fingers through the slick mess between my thighs.
“This for me?”
“No,” I tease.“Buttercup really does it for me.”
He laughs—then slides a finger inside me, crooked just right—and my teasing turns into a moan that feels ripped from my chest.
“Don’t start what you can’t finish, sweetheart.”
I grab his wrist, panting.“Who says I’m not gonna finish?”
His grin darkens.“Oh, you’ll finish.Again.And again.And again.”
He moves lower, spreading me open like a gift he intends to unwrap with his mouth.
And then he does.
“Oh my god, Luke?—”
His tongue is sin itself.Precision and chaos.A perfect contradiction.Like him.
He works me over like I’m his only job, his only mission.Every flick and press of his tongue is matched with those thick fingers stroking exactly where I need them.
Methodical.Intentional.Devastating.
“Lukas, I need—” I choke on the words.“I need you inside me.”
“Not yet.”
He doesn’t even look up, just flattens his tongue against my clit and sucks.
I shatter.
My body jerks, heels digging into the mattress as I cry out, loud and unfiltered and completely undone.
By the time I come down, he’s kneeling between my legs, stroking his cock slowly, watching me with eyes that say you’re mine now.
“You okay?”he asks, almost tenderly.
I nod, barely coherent.“More than okay.But if you don’t get inside me in the next ten seconds, I might cry.”
With a grin as wicked as he is handsome, he reaches for a condom, rolls it on, and settles over me, notching the head of his impressive cock right at my entrance.
“Look at me, Sage.”
I do.
“I want you to feel every fucking inch.”
He pushes in slowly—agonizingly—until he’s buried to the hilt.
We both gasp.
“Holy shit,” he breathes, forehead pressed to mine.“You feel like heaven.Like velvet heat and bad decisions.”
I wrap my legs around his waist, locking him in.“Then make all of them.Right now.”
He fucks me like he’s got something to prove.Like he wants to rewrite every memory of everyone who came before him.
