Slowly, like he’s trying to savor the reveal of every inch of skin, he slides them down my legs, tossing them to the side once they’re off.
“Mikelle,” he says in a lethal whisper. “You’ve been wearing my pants without any panties on?”
“I didn’t have a change of underwear in my truck…” I trail off.
“It’s hot as fuck,” he declares. Then, he’s lifting me in one fell swoop and depositing me on the counter. He steps between my spread legs, cupping my jaw and kissing me with urgency. Ourkiss is heated and passionate, tongues tangling with a fervor, like we’ll die without the taste of the other.
He pulls away and trails his lips down my neck before kneeling. At this height, his face is directly level with my pussy.
Instinctively, I try to close my legs, but Saint tuts. “No, don’t hide from me, please. Let me see your pretty pussy. Spread your legs.”
Doubt creeps in when I realize I’m going to be exposed to him. I don’t wax because I don’t have the time or the energy to go to the salon. The one time I tried to do it myself, I did it wrong. It was so painful I couldn’t wear underwear for three days. At best, I take my razor to it every couple months. I’m not bare and hairless down there. Will that turn him off?
“Hey.” Saint’s voice softens and pulls me from my mini spiral. He stands, cupping my face. “What happened? Where did you go, Mikey?”
“I’m not completely shaved, and… I’m embarrassed I went commando in your house, in yourpants.”
He chuckles, low and sensual, and it sends a shiver down my spine. “You think a little thing like hair on your pussy is going to bother me?”
“It doesn’t?”
“Hell no. I’ll eat your pussy like it’s my last fucking meal. As for the commando thing…” He leans in close like he’s sharing a secret. “I’m so fucking hard thinking about it. I love seeing you in my clothes.” He rolls his hips, letting the hardness between his legs bump my thigh to emphasize his point.
Lust quickly replaces my embarrassment when I feel the evidence of what I do to him. Of how much he wants me. Attraction isn’t something he could easily fake.
Against all odds, this Viking baker, god-like man wantsme.
God, I want him, too.
“Now,” he places a kiss on my nose, “Can I get back to what I was doing?”
I nod, but he quirks his eyebrow. “Yes, please.”
“Fuck, you sound so pretty when you beg.” Like he can’t help himself, he places a drugging kiss on my lips before kneeling between my thighs. “Spread a little wider for me. I need room to eat. I can get a little sloppy.”
I do as he says, slowly spreading my thighs until cool air kisses the damp, heated skin between my legs. Arousal licks up my spine as he lets out a low moan. His thumbs slide up my thighs, meeting in the middle and spreading my pussy lips. He traces gently over my sensitive clit, like he’s exploring me before he wrecks me.
“You know, I used to say red was my favorite color,” he whispers reverently, his eyes flicking up to mine briefly before they lock on my pussy again. “Then I met you and decided it was teal. But pink, specifically the pink of this cunt is becoming a close second.”
Who says stuff like this?
Saint Valentine, apparently.
He tightens the tie on his bun, then tosses my legs over his shoulders. “Hold on tight, sweetheart. I’m not coming up for air until you’ve soaked my beard so thoroughly, I’ll have to take three showers just to wash the smell of you off me.”
I don’t have time to retort because his warm, rough tongue swipes through my pussy lips and languidly brushes my clit, and my hips jolt.
Saint’s grip on my thighs tightens to the point I’m sure there will be little bruises tomorrow. His beard tickles the inside of my thighs with every movement, amplifying the sensations between my legs.
“Oh,” I moan as he flattens his tongue and firmly licks my clit. Bracing my left hand on the counter, my right handautomatically grips his bun. Does this hurt him? Testing the waters, I tug gently, and he groans against my pussy, sending vibrations through my core.
“Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted. Wish I could bottle it up so I could have a taste whenever I get a craving,” he mumbles, lapping at my arousal like it’s a decadent dessert. I want to protest, tell him he’s being dramatic, that he’s just saying things.
But I can’t form a coherent sentence.
One of Saint’s thick fingers traces over the lips of my pussy, and he pulls away long enough to look up at me over the soft swell of my stomach. “I wish you could see yourself right now. Face flushed, pussy dripping for me while you’re wearing my shirt. Goddamn gorgeous. How long has it been since someone’s treated this pussy how it deserved?”
“N-never?”
