“Please…”
His mouth works its way down my ribcage, stubble scraping my skin in delicious friction that leaves me tingling. His thumb finds my clit, circling just enough to make my thighs tremble.
I squirm, a breathless laugh slipping out—half nerves, half the unbearable ache building in me—as his lips reach the edge of my panties.
“Wait,” I blurt, my knees pressing in. “You don’t have to do this.”
His head lifts. “I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to do.”
“No, seriously—”
“You don’t want me to?” His gaze holds mine, patient despite the obvious hunger there.
“I… I don’t know, it’s just—” The words tangle in my throat. “I’ve never…”
His brows draw tight, disbelief roughening his voice. “Has a man never gone down on you before?”
“My ex didn’t want to. Said it wasn’t his thing.”
Patrick goes still. “That’s why you put it on your list.”
“Yes. And now you think I’m pathetic. The girl who’s never been properly...” I trail off, mortified.
“I think he’s a selfish bastard.” His tone roughens. “Georgie, I want to taste you more than I want my next breath, but only ifyouwant it too. No pressure, sweetheart.”
The ache between my thighs pulses hotter. But the anxiety’s still there. “I’m just worried you won’t… like it.”
“Like it?” His voice drops darkly. “Look at you. You’re perfect. And the fact that no one’s ever worshipped this sweet body properly just means I get to be the first to do it right.”
Without breaking eye contact, he lowers his face to my panties, pressing in deliberately, his mouth hot against the soaked fabric, nose nudging exactly where I’m drenched.
He inhales. Long. Deep. Filthy. The sound rumbles out of his chest, vibrating straight into my core like he’s trying to drink me alive.
“Oh my God.” My legs twitch, trying to close, but his hands clamp down on my thighs, holding me wide.
This is the fear no one talks about. Not whether you’re good in bed, but whether your body—the real, unfiltered, un-airbrushed version—will disgust someone you want. The thought makes me want to scramble for covers.
He doesn’t let me. His knees press harder against the mattress, caging me in. One hand grips my thigh, the other braced on the bed beside my hip, holding me open.
His eyes never leave mine. “I already like it.”
Holy shit. This man is intense.
“I don’t like how I look down there,” I whisper.
He groans, as if the words physically pain him. His big hands slide under my thighs, fingers hooking in the waistband of my panties. The elastic snaps against my skin before he peels them down, dragging damp fabric slowly over heat, catching on my knees before yanking them off and tossing them aside.
Now I’m bare. Exposed. Completely at his mercy.
For a second, I think he’s going to bury his face in me again.
Instead, he grips me like I weigh nothing and lifts me off the mattress.
A startled cry escapes me as he drops me onto his lap. My spine hits the hard wall of his chest; my ass pressed firmly against the thick length of his cock.
His thighs cage mine, forcing them wide, spreading me shamelessly open.
We are facing the full-length mirror across from my bed.
