“You have no idea,” he murmurs, “how many times I’ve imagined you in my bed.”
“Tell me.” My voice comes out husky, unfamiliar.
His eyes meet mine, dark with want. “Every night. Every goddamn night since I met you.” His fingers find the clasp of my bra, flicking it open. “I’d lie in bed thinking about your skin, your taste, the sounds you make when you come.”
He slides the straps down my shoulders, baring me to his gaze, and his expression steals my breath.
“So beautiful,” he whispers, lowering his mouth to my breast.
The first touch of his tongue makes me cry out. He’s maddeningly thorough, sucking and licking one breast while his hand kneads the other, until my body writhes beneath him.
“Please,” I beg, fingers tangling in his hair. “I need—”
“I know what you need.” He pulls my pajama pants and underwear down together, tossing them somewhere in the darkness. “And I’ll to give it to you.”
Completely bare while he’s still fully clothed, I should feel exposed. Instead, I feel powerful, because his eyes are devouring me like I’m the only thing he’s ever wanted.
“Spread your legs for me, baby.”
I do, and he settles between my thighs.
“Holy hell, sweetness.” His breath is warm against my inner thigh. “You’re already so wet for me.”
“I’ve been wet since I first saw you,” I admit, shameless.
He looks up at me, eyes blazing. “Good. Because I’ve been hard since you got out of your car.”
Then, his mouth is on me, and coherent thought becomes impossible.
He wasn’t lying about taking his time. His tongue explores every fold and sensitive spot. When he finds my clit, circling it with maddening patience, my hips buck off the bed.
“Stay still,” he orders, one arm banding across my hips to hold me down. “Let me taste you properly.”
The combination of his tongue and the restraint of his arm sends me spiraling. I make sounds I’ve never made before, desperate and needy, my hands fisted in his hair.
“That’s it,” he murmurs against me. “Let me hear you. No one can hear us up here.”
The permission undoes something in me. I stop trying to be quiet, stop trying to control my reactions, and just feel. His tongue is relentless, circling and sucking and licking until My whole body shakes, until I’m right on the edge—
He slides two fingers inside me, curling them just right, and I shatter.
The orgasm rolls through me, stealing my breath, and I’m gasping his name between ragged moans. He works me through it, tongue gentling but never stopping, fingers maintaining that perfect pressure until every muscle goes liquid.
“One,” he says, kissing my inner thigh, his beard rough against sensitive skin. “You taste even better than I remembered.”
I’m still quivering when he starts again.
This time he’s less patient, less gentle. His tongue is demanding, almost aggressive, like he can’t get enough. He adds a third finger, stretching me, and the slight burn mixed with pleasure makes me whimper.
“You can take it,” he growls. “You’re going to take everything I give you.”
The filthy promise in his voice, combined with the relentless rhythm of his fingers and tongue, builds me back up faster than should be possible. When he sucks hard on my clit while his fingers hit that spot inside me, I come apart again.
This one is almost painful in its intensity. Sobbing his name, my hands clutch at the sheets, at his shoulders, at anything within reach.
He doesn’t stop. Even as I still pulse around his fingers, he’s moving up my body, shedding his clothes with quick, economical movements.
“You’re sensitive,” he says against my mouth, letting me taste myself on his tongue. “But we’re not done yet.”
